The men kept themselves busy; apparently there were some new horses Alaryx wanted to show the prince, and I sat with the duchess enjoying the refreshments and the fresh air. While sitting there, the second to youngest child, a darling little girl with curling brown hair and large doe eyes made herself comfortable beside me.
“What are you holding in your hand?” I asked gently, nodding toward her clenched fist.
The girl slowly opened her fingers to reveal a bright yellow wildflower. “I’m saving it to keep in my room,” she told me.
“Well,” I said, “that’s a lovely idea, but you have to be careful not to crush it like that.” I carefully took the flower from her and began to straighten its petals.
“Why not?” the little girl wanted to know.
She couldn’t have been older than four, if even. My heart puddled from her wide, innocent eyes.
“Well,” I said, and all at once I was taken back to another estate in what felt like another life. There was a little girl there, too, one who loved to explore every flower and the wide promise of magic each petal offered. “Well,” I said again, “because tiny pixies live in these flowers, and if you crush them up then they can’t stay there anymore.”
The girl’s eyes grew even wider. “Really?” she asked.
“Really,” I confirmed, slipping with surprising ease back into the sunshine days of my most imaginative years. I held the flower up to my ear. “If you listen closely, you can hear them singing.” I hummed along to an unheard melody. “You try.”
The little girl delicately took the flower back, then, with some hesitation, held it up to her ear and screwed her eyes shut as she listened intently.
“Do you hear it?” I whispered.
She shook her head no.
I frowned. “Perhaps they already left this flower,” I said. “Should we find another?”
The young girl nodded eagerly. I stood up and brushed off my skirts, “You’ll have to show me where they grow,” I told her seriously. “Only children know which flowers are pixie homes.”
The little girl jumped up and slipped her small hand into mine. I thought then to look back at her mother. “I hope you don’t mind?”
Kaitryn smiled back widely. “Not in the least, Your Highness.”
So I went with the little girl, each step bringing me closer to innocent days painted with broad strokes of naiveté. By the time we had uprooted at least a half dozen more flowers, the little girl was finally convinced she could hear the pixie music, too. She hummed along with me as we walked back to the terrace, her little hand tucked into mine, her other carefully holding the prized flower aloft.
The men were waiting for us, their amused expressions at our return revealing that they had been let in on what we were after. The little girl ran to show her father her find, and in one motion Alaryx lifted her up and pressed his ear to the flower. He tried to hum along with her, though she couldn’t quite keep the tune I’d taught her.
“It’s time we were returning, my love,” the prince said to me. He turned to the captain’s family. “We thank you for your hospitality.”
“It was our pleasure,” our hosts chimed as one.
The duke, still holding his little girl, and Daedryk walked us back to our carriage. The prince, it seemed, would not be riding with me, as he was now the proud owner of a new chestnut-colored mare. He stroked its mane lovingly while he waited for the rest of us to get settled. The captain was already back on his horse and calling out orders for the rest of the journey home.
The little girl whispered something in her father’s ear, and he turned to me with a soft smile on his face. “She wants to give you something,” Alaryx said.
“Of course,” I replied sweetly, not in the least suspecting what it could be.
He set her down and I bent to receive whatever she intended to give me. I was taken quite by surprise when she placed a quick, shy peck on my unsuspecting cheek. I still smile when I think of that moment, a single, pure gesture to wrap up a lovely, unexpected afternoon.
The duke once more held his daughter and offered his free hand to help me into the carriage. I settled in and he closed the door behind me. I leaned out the window so I could tell the little girl, “Thank you. It was so nice to meet you.”
“If it’s not too forward of me, Princess,” Alaryx suddenly said, “I feel I must thank you.”
I looked at him in surprise. “Whatever for?”
The duke fidgeted. “I’m not quite certain how to say this, Your Highness, but while my brother has always been an honest and loyal soldier, there’s been something missing in his service.” Here the duke stopped and rubbed his fingers together, as if that motion was enough to fabricate the words he was seeking. “He’s proud to serve the prince, but he lost a part of himself in those wars. Only recently does it seem he’s finding himself again, as it were.”
“I’m not sure I understand your meaning,” I said frankly.
Alaryx took a deep breath, his eyes wandered over to his brother, watching him, studying him a moment, before turning back to me. “Simply put, in a good way, he wasn’t like this before you came to the palace.”
I still didn’t understand what the duke was trying to get at, though I have my assumptions now.
“The captain is a very good friend to me,” I replied.
The duke nodded slowly. “Yes, a friend.”
We didn’t have time to discuss his odd comments any further, because the carriage started forward and we were on our way.
“Safe journey, Your Highness,” Alaryx called after me, leaving me to wonder after our strange parting the rest of the way home.
Later that night, after we had safely returned and been settled back into the palace, I sat with the prince over hot cups of tea and made sure to tell him what a wonderful time I’d had at the duke’s house.
“It was a lovely visit,” the prince affirmed.
“Their estate is just charming,” I went on, “and the children, what a delight!”
“Hm? Yes, very delightful,” the prince agreed.
I had contemplated different ways of bringing up the topic of children to the prince many times before that night, and I figured then was as good a time as any for us to discuss our future family. I was happy for the time we had alone, but my visit today stirred my desire to have a child of my own. Besides, wasn’t the need for an heir part of why the prince had been pressured into getting married so soon after returning from war?
“And that little girl,” I gushed, “was just so darling.”
“Very darling,” the prince echoed. “It’s always nice to visit with old friends.”
He stretched and leaned back in his chair, settling comfortably against the cushions with a contented smile.
“Did I ever tell you about my first day at the Academy?” he asked.
“No,” I said hesitantly, trying to hide my disappointment at his move to change the topic of conversation.
“Well,” the prince began, “Alaryx and Daedryk were already there, but it would be the first time the four of us would be together again in some time…”
I listened with half an ear to the rest of the story, which I would have been happier to hear almost any other day.
I should have known then, should have sensed from his actions the truth about the prince’s thoughts on expanding our family. Now, after all that’s been, I can say plainly that the fault was with me. Not because of who I was, but because of who I refused to see. There was something not right about the man who couldn’t even be bothered to have a civil conversation with his wife about having a family. Something suspicious about a prince—and future king—who wasn’t anxious for an heir.
The First Clue
Changes dark as thunderclouds slowly drifted in as that year went on, changes that would shake up life at court, rocking the foundation like an earthquake that cracks the land to shake off unwanted bits. Even a faerytale princess was not to remain untouched.
The first
thing to happen, the first change that set off all the others, occurred shortly after we returned from our trip. The health of His Royal Majesty, King William Robert Alexander, decided it had enough of his body and wanted out. Over the next nine months, the color, the life, the will slowly oozed from the king’s body, eventually leaving it bedridden in his chambers.
And I was there every day to watch it happen. After three years living in the palace and never exchanging more than basic pleasantries with the king, I was now by his side every day.
When news first came that the king had collapsed stepping down from his throne, my husband and I rushed to his bedside and stayed there most of the day. The king was still fully conscious then, and even though he seemed to understand that his time was up, the rest of us were still shaking the hourglass, searching desperately for a few more grains of sand.
After a week, it became apparent that though the king would have some days that were better, he would not actually get better again.
“I’m worried about Father,” the prince confided to me one winter night as we sat before the fire.
“The king has the best physicians,” I reassured him. “Whatever can be done, will be done.”
The prince sighed. “I don’t even know that he wants it anymore. He was never the same after Mother died, and I suspect he’ll be glad to see her again.”
“You shouldn’t talk like that,” I hushed him, though I knew exactly what he meant. I stood to massage his shoulders, kneading out the knots that had grown thicker since the king took ill.
There was no point denying that it wouldn’t be very long before the prince became king. I never thought of what that would mean for me, how that would trap me even further in the responsibilities and life I was still growing accustomed to. Then, my thoughts were still only consumed with him.
“It’s difficult to see him like this,” the prince continued, yielding to my touch, relaxing into it. “Is it horrible of me to say that I don’t want to see his decline? It is pretty horrible, isn’t it? Someone must be with him, though.”
I knew the prince had little respect for his father, though he must have loved him to be so bothered by whatever faults he saw in him. I thought this must be the reason why he was concerned about him now. After all, no man should die alone.
“I’ll visit with him, every day,” the words slipped out without any thought. It was so automatic for me to say what he expected, what he wanted, what would make him happy. I leaned forward and kissed the top of his head. “And you’re not horrible.”
The prince tilted his face upward and smiled into my eyes. Heavens, he was beautiful. After three years of marriage, he could still melt me with a look. “I’m not that horrible,” he conceded, grinning.
“Not that horrible at all.”
“Maybe even a little nice?”
“Maybe. A little.” I stopped massaging his shoulders so I could walk around and face him. “Rather, you’re positively charming.”
The prince’s smile grew to match my own. He pulled me toward him, and we were done talking for a while.
The next day, true to my word, I was announced to the king, who actually made an effort to move from bed to chair for me. I sat with him a while, listening patiently as he rambled on about the kingdom. In the beginning, I listened because he spoke, but as I visited with him every day for months, I began to see the man under the crown, who really wasn’t anything like what I was led to believe.
Outside of the respect I showed the king because of his position, I’d never really felt comfortable around him. ‘Father-in-law’ seemed the term for someone warmer, someone more regular and mundane. As it turned out, the king was a regular man, quick witted, intelligent, and proud of his son, wife, and kingdom. Soon, I began to listen because I wanted to hear what he had to say about the prince growing up, about the history of the kingdom, about the future he wouldn’t see. When he spoke of such things, he didn’t seem at all like a man utterly controlled by his wife.
But what did I know of such things? It wasn’t until much later that I would realize how much I had willingly given my whole self over to my husband, and the prince hadn’t used any magic aside from that automatically spun into the fabric of every faery tale.
When the weather warmed up, the king was wheeled to the gardens, and I sat faithfully beside him. Passing courtiers would be invited to join us. Some did for a while, others only stopped long enough to curtsy and bow. What all did see was my devotion to the king, what all knew was that I wove no spell over him outside of that engendered by constant companionship.
“Why must you eye Lady Rhodellia so suspiciously?” the king once whispered over to me.
I started. I hadn’t realized the king was adept at reading my expression. I hadn’t realized I’d allowed myself any expression when the lady in question had greeted us two minutes before.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “She likes to talk,” I finally explained.
The king waved away my resentment. “People always talk.”
“And if it’s untrue?”
“That’s when they talk the most. But we royals,” he grinned conspiratorially, “are above all talk.”
Now my expression showed my doubt. “Is it those lovely eyes, Ella?” the king asked. “Do they accuse you of casting spells on my son as my wife cast spells upon me? Or perhaps they worry about the future of the royal line?”
I stared, unable to answer. I never figured the king for a fool, but I certainly never thought him so keen either.
The king chuckled. “While they talk, you act,” he advised. “Sometimes they’ll admit the truth, sometimes they won’t, but at the end of the day, they cannot do the things you can.”
I remember that moment so clearly, and for good reason, too.
“Your visits get His Majesty out of bed each morning,” one of his nurses once told me as I was leaving. “The king so looks forward to them. He may be hanging on a little bit more just for you.”
I reported this to the prince, who warmly pressed my hand between his in gratitude. “Then you must keep at it, darling.” He kissed my palm then placed it on his chest. “It eases the heart to know Father’s surrounded with such love before he passes.”
So, of course, I kept at it. The curious thing about it all was that it became harder and harder to reconcile the man I was beginning to know with the person the captain, and even Princess Lyla, had once described to me. That one day in the capital, the captain had told me about a man too weak to keep his wife from governing him, yet the man I was visiting seemed anything but. He had sound philosophies for running his kingdom, though having been his subject all my years, I can’t say that I always saw all of them in action. Still, I had lived a sheltered, if cruel, life and it could be that I had missed much during that time. Either way, it didn’t seem like this man could be anything but good. Unless his wife truly hadn’t allowed him to be.
By the time the king could no longer leave his rooms, my visits had already become a regular part of my daily schedule. Which could be how Sir Percival knew where to intercept me one day as I was leaving the king’s chambers.
“The king is resting,” I told him, as the door clicked softly shut behind me.
“I was hoping to speak with you, Princess,” he replied.
I shot him a quizzical look.
“May we walk?” Sir Percival suggested, gesturing away from the king’s chambers, down a quieter hallway.
I led the way.
“At a time like this,” Sir Percival delicately began, keeping pace but remaining a respectful step behind, “one worries about the overall effects such a situation could have on the general wellbeing of the kingdom.”
“One would,” I echoed uncertainly. I knew he was talking about the king’s declining health, but I didn’t know why he was speaking with me about it or why he needed so many words to say it.
“And yet,” Sir Percival continued, “the expected feelings of uneasiness aren’t as prevalent as on
e might suspect considering the circumstances.”
“They aren’t?” I repeated dumbly.
“They aren’t,” he confirmed. “There is sadness, there is loss, but there is also a hint of anticipation, an undercurrent of comfort. A strong undercurrent. Enough to affect a river’s course.”
I didn’t even bother to parrot his words back to him. I looked at him expectantly, ready for the point of this odd little conversation.
Sir Percival held out a small slip of paper to me, and I took it hesitantly.
“This was attached to a new plow in a poor farmer’s yard,” he explained, “and he is only one of several others to have found something similar attached to a much needed gift.”
He gave me a significant look, then bowed and dismissed himself with a “Thank you, Princess,” before I even had a chance to glance down.
Alone, I examined the paper.
The one side was blank.
I flipped it over.
Neatly formed, clear block letters, so even the barest educated of men could sound it out.
TO TOMORROW.
A sketch of a little crown made up the signature.
A particular moment in a glassblower’s shop in Camallea leapt to mind.
The captain. It had to be.
Was he having these included with every coin—and piece of equipment, it now seemed— that he was losing for me around the kingdom? He’d since recruited two other soldiers noted for their discretion to expand my little cadre of helpers, and it seemed they had been efficient in their work. Through them, how far had I reached across Laurendale? Were the few coins I was sending out really making a difference?
People always talk.
Good, I ducked my head to hide my smile, let them talk about this.
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