He came back over to me and knelt before my chair, hesitating before taking each of my hands in his. I wasn’t sure if this gesture was still as a friend, or not. I wasn’t sure if, as queen, I should be allowing such liberties. I was sure that I was too confused to know just what to do.
“Ella—Your Majesty,” he corrected. “If ever you don’t taste the cherries, don’t drink the wine.”
I nodded at him, still befuddled. He raised one hand, as if to touch my face, then seemed to remember himself. He jumped back and resumed his regular, impeccable posture.
“Sleep well, my queen,” he said, snapping out a perfect bow.
He pivoted and left the room, leaving me to wonder about his thoroughly confusing behavior.
The Third Clue
I rejoined the coronation celebrations on the last day, just in time to see most of our guests off.
Just before that, however, my life shattered.
It seemed that all the time I was forced to spend in my chambers recovering did my mind some good, because no sooner had I emerged, ready to rejoin the ceremonies that last evening, then an idea hit and I redirected my course from the banquet hall to Sir Percival’s office, knowing he’d still be there, because he almost always was.
I waltzed in without bothering to be announced. “Trade schools,” I declared with triumph.
“Pardon, Your Majesty?” Sir Percival asked.
He rushed up to bow but kept one eye on the papers on his desk. I wondered briefly if he dared treat Alexander with the impertinence of divided attention.
“Eyes here, Sir Percival,” I commanded. Only after he quickly obeyed did I continue. “The solution to our problem with the poor. We establish trade schools for them to attend.”
I didn’t have to demand Sir Percival’s attention now, though it was plain he wasn’t entirely sold on the idea. Yet.
“I’m not sure I understand, Your Majesty,” he said as delicately as he could.
Spurred on by my idea, I paced the room to keep control of my sudden rush of energy. “There are poor villages without craftsmen enough,” I began, “and there are poor men without craft enough. There are men without work. There is work without anyone to do it. The simple solution is to train those men and women so both issues will be resolved. Bridges will be fixed, the sick will get their care, anyone else, their families and towns must look after them.”
Sir Percival shook his head. “Perhaps Her Majesty isn’t considering the cost to the Crown in setting up such fine schools,” he said.
“Fiddlesticks the cost!” I exclaimed in exasperation. “Must I do all the thinking for you?”
“Your Majesty, just the coronation alone…” Sir Percival left his sentence to finish itself. “Where do you think the money comes from? Even for the gown you’re wearing now?”
I pulled up short midstep. “I’ll have you know, good sir, that while this dress is new, the materials to make it are not.”
“I’m not sure I understand Her Majesty,” Sir Percival stuttered again.
I really hadn’t meant to tell anyone else, Javotte and the Captain were already enough. With each person that knew, I risked the king eventually finding out. I didn’t think he’d take to the news well, as he’d been most decidedly set on my designing of a new wardrobe. But once I let it slip, I had to explain. If only so Sir Percival wouldn’t muddle things up by asking around about it.
I sighed. “When we moved quarters, I realized just how many dresses I have. So I took apart the better ones and remade them instead of ordering up brand new ones.”
Sir Percival didn’t answer. He simply stared at me in shock.
“Back to these trade schools,” I resumed my pacing, hoping my enthusiasm would help pull him back on topic. “There must be something we can figure out. If the Crown must build them and not the villages and cities themselves, then the Crown must get something in return to make it worthwhile. Don’t you agree?”
Sir Percival nodded dumbly. I had never said so many words to him, and probably not to anyone else around here either. He must have been amazed that I had a voice, let alone that I knew how to use it. For my part, I thought most of this was just pent up energy from spending too many days in my rooms. With time, I would recognize this energy as a positive force to fuel worthy goals. I did have a dragon in me somewhere.
“As we are speaking of poor people, they will not have money for tuitions,” I continued, not even giving him a chance to comment. “So we must demand what they can give, which will be the very skills we teach them.” I stopped having hit upon the real solution. “One month of service to the Crown for every month spent in the Crown’s school. That can mean a significant portion of income, free assignments for the Crown, whatever we deem appropriate. Roads from stonemasons, windows from glassmakers, whatever the service may be. At the same time, the now educated craftsman will be given leave to return home and practice his trade according to the laws of the land.”
I finished in the center of the room, planting myself there with a flourish. Sir Percival, for his part, had not yet moved from the side of his desk. I would like to think the astonishment in his eyes was shaded with respect.
“Well?” I demanded.
Sir Percival’s lips worked to let words out. “Your Majesty, I must confess, when the queen originally spoke about finding an answer to the problem with the poor, I was not expecting,” he waved his arm over the length of my pacing, “this.”
“Didn’t expect this?” I titled my head, energy still coursing through me, which is the only explanation I could give for my newfound boldness. “Didn’t expect that a peasant Cinderwench could have any idea about running a kingdom?”
Sir Percival kept mute.
“Answer me!”
He flinched. “Yes—no, Your Majesty,” he floundered.
I sighed and tried to recapture the anger that had snuck out of me. “Well, maybe I don’t,” I conceded, much calmer now, “but I do know about hard work, about poverty and the indignity of charity.” I tried to hide my wince in thinking of the flash of a gold coin in an idyllic piazza, tossed without care to a lowly servant girl at a well. I forced myself to think of wings cutting above the clouds. “Let us train these men and we will help them believe in themselves again,” I advised him. “No matter the initial cost, it will be for the ultimate good of the kingdom. The king will be proud of what we’ve done when he sees what comes of it.”
To his credit, Sir Percival didn’t respond immediately, the furrow in his brow proof that he was seriously contemplating what I’d said. Finally, he refocused on me and asked, “May I speak openly, Your Majesty?”
“I would appreciate it,” I replied in earnest.
“I truly believe that much good can be accomplished with this plan. It has been a while since any royalty came in here with such a sound idea,” he admitted.
I frowned at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Didn’t my husband meet with Sir Percival often? What had they been wasting time on if this was the most sensible idea he’d heard from the family in a while?
As if reading my thoughts, Sir Percival’s gaze flitted, but only for a second before he yanked it back, to two particular stacks of papers on his desk. Neatly lined up side by side, the first was significantly higher than the second.
“What are those?” I began to ask, then darted forward and snatched up a paper when I saw Sir Percival shift to block them.
I quickly skimmed through the contents of the page. “What is this?” I demanded, shaking the parchment in his face.
“One of the king’s proposed edicts,” Sir Percival answered me straight.
“To lock up anyone caught throwing a gold coin? What for?” I cried.
He answered through tight lips. “Because his image is engraved upon it.”
I stared at him long enough to see that he wasn’t joking. “That is a terrible decree,” I decided.
“I agree, Your Majesty, it is foolish,” Sir Percival dare
d to say.
“Sir Percival, you forget yourself!” I snapped.
He bent his head slightly. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I only intended to be open with you.”
That stopped me short and I nodded vigorously. “Yes, you are right. You must be open with me. But these, these are vexing.” I grabbed the next page from the pile. “This is to hereby decree that the Crown has full right, without warning or reason, to annex any man’s property, according to the king’s judgement, in the interest of the kingdom.
“According to the king’s judgement?” How much had Madame taken from me according to her judgement? I looked up with wild eyes. “Are they all like this?”
Sir Percival nodded and indicated the taller stack of papers. “Those are.” He pointed to the smaller stack. “These I could alter to better versions of His Majesty’s original ideas.”
I reeled from this newest revelation. How could it be that I had married a man so perfect, yet still so vain, so… thoughtless? Something didn’t make sense here, and I was determined to get to the bottom of it. Sir Percival must have seen the look on my face, must have understood my shock, because he respectfully offered me his hand so he could walk me out.
I shook my head and stepped away from him, though I didn’t want to be there anymore. I didn’t want to see those papers, that proof of Alexander’s inability to understand those he ruled. This had to be a mistake. Being married to me had to have taught him something about the common people. I was of the common people and he loved me!
Before I left, I stopped abruptly. Heaven knows why, but suddenly the day the prince came to me with the slipper I’d left behind flitted before my eyes. I saw it then with undiluted clarity, as clearly as if I was looking through a freshly shined, clear glass window. The scene replayed, not the way the stories remembered, but the way it had truly happened. I saw the moment when I had come down the steps, the moment when the prince had hesitated to try the shoe on me, though there was hardly any doubt it would be mine. Then came the moment Sir Percival had reached out for the prince and a sick feeling washed over me.
I lifted up my ribs as Madame had taught me, lifting up my tiny frame as high as I could raise it and looked into Sir Percival’s eyes, holding his gaze determinedly so he couldn’t look away. “If you didn’t think I would be much of a ruler,” I asked, my voice low as if the volume would soften the blow for me, “then why did you let the prince find me? Why not choose someone who at least had the title to cover up her inabilities?”
Sir Percival gave me a small smile, and through it I could feel the pressure building against the glass bubble of my life. “First, let me humbly admit that I underestimated Her Majesty, and I am glad of it,” he said simply. “Second, as to the question,” he shrugged, “rumors about the mystery woman were catching the interest of people across realms. Then we found you, and you were just a servant girl, just one of the people, yet you had the chance to become a princess!” Sir Percival’s eyes shone as he relived the drama that was my life. I thought then that Alexander may have been wrong in his assessment of Sir Percival’s ability to have fun. “No lady with a title stood a chance after that. And why should she? You made for a much better story.”
As each word left his mouth, I felt the pressure increase. The moment he was done, the glass bubble of my life splintered to bits around me.
“Thank you,” I managed to say, then turned on my heel and left.
I stormed down the hall, my mind both furious and numb. I hated what he said, hated what that said about my life and the love I thought I shared with my husband. However, I had to admit that I appreciated his honesty. Rather, I appreciated that he respected me enough to be honest with me.
My night would only get worse from there.
The energy I unleashed in Sir Percival’s office followed me the rest of the night, setting me down a warpath on which I was intent on deciphering every piece of fantasy lodging in my skin like glass the moment my bubble had burst.
Some I had to find on my own, others came straight to me. Some would come immediately, others would take a while. But all would be found eventually.
I joined the banquet when it was already well under way, but the moment I stepped through the doors, I no longer wanted to be there. I didn’t want to be with those people celebrating our coronation, didn’t want to be with those people celebrating the farce that had been so meticulously maintained.
Truth be told, at that point, I was still certain the prince loved me, that I was very deeply in love with him. I was wrong.
I stayed long enough to be noticed, greeted the right people so word that I was well and attending the celebrations again would get around on the rapid gossip vine present in all courts. From the raised dais at the head of the room, the new king caught my eye and indicated the empty seat beside him. I forced myself to give him a special smile, then shook my head and pointed to my stomach, as if the rich smells had proven too much. The king nodded in understanding then raised his glass toward me. It took everything I had to answer him with an innocently flirtatious smile and wave. I didn’t want to see him then, didn’t want to be held by the hands that had signaled death, didn’t want to drown in the deep pools of his eyes. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to breathe.
Someone came up from behind and diverted the king’s attention, so I diverted mine to find Princess Lyla.
“Ella!” she exclaimed upon seeing me, as usual not caring a whit about propriety as she flung her arms around me and pulled me into a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re well.”
“Lyla, I must talk with you,” I said into her ear.
At the tone of my voice, the princess pulled away and gave me a worried look. “What is it?” she asked.
I shook my head, not here, not now. “Later, after midnight,” I whispered, “under my pear tree.”
Princess Lyla nodded, and I turned away, pressing myself through the crowded room so I could press out of it completely. The truth was, I wasn’t yet sure what I was going to say to her, but I knew I had to speak with someone about this. As cousins of sorts, the princess knew the prince fairly well, and as my friend I trusted her to steer me right. The captain, as a friend to us both, was another option. I hurried down the hall back to my chambers where I could think in peace. I wasn’t keen on seeing him right now. He’d been there that fateful day. He’d been the one to find me in my attic cell.
Apparently, he couldn’t read my thoughts, because no sooner had I left the revelry behind, then he materialized out of a shadowy alcove and caught my hand so I’d follow after him.
“Please, Captain,” I begged, taking my hand back.
“I’m afraid it’s rather important, Your Majesty,” he rumbled, not budging a foot.
I sighed and ducked into the alcove behind him, whereupon we came across a small man who, upon seeing me, let out a small yelp and threw himself at my feet.
“What is this?” I demanded of the captain.
“This man,” the captain explained, “is one of the royal food tasters.”
“Rise,” I commanded the man impatiently.
On shaky legs, the man eventually managed to get off the floor, but he stood hunched and trembling, trying his best to shrink into the stones at my feet.
I really wanted to get back to my rooms. This man was wearing on my patience. “Speak,” I encouraged.
A string of indecipherable syllables escaped the man’s chattering teeth.
I glanced at the captain, who rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Go on,” he told the taster, “tell the queen what you told me.”
Still, nothing coherent came out.
“This is very important,” the captain growled. “You’ll not be harmed for anything you say.” He gave me a meaningful look.
“You’ll not be harmed for anything you say,” I echoed, and finally the man peeked out from under his scrunched frame.
“Good. Now, tell the queen what you tasted in the drink I gave you,” the captain said, holding up the cup he�
�d taken from my room, in case I still had any doubts of what this was about.
“Bloodapple,” the man dutifully replied.
“And what is bloodapple?” the captain asked in a tone used for reviewing lessons with children.
“Poison,” the man explained. “Very powerful poison.”
“How powerful?” the captain pressed.
“Near untraceable once consumed. Causes temporary sterility in small doses. Can kill a man in large ones,” he recited. “Or an animal. Like a horse,” he unnecessarily added.
The captain concluded his interrogation with one more question. “And what does bloodapple taste like?”
The man scrunched his brow in response. “Bitter. Acidic. Rotted fruit. Some try to hide it with strong spices, like cinnamon.”
“Thank you, you are dismissed,” the captain said, and the taster scurried away as fast as he could.
The captain turned to me and even he couldn’t hide the pain, hurt, and fear etched in his eyes. Or maybe I was only seeing a reflection of my own. I didn’t have anything to say, I simply shook my head at him slowly, right to left, left to right, as if doing that enough times would undo all that I’d just heard. Facts I knew too well to be true.
The captain clenched the cup in his fist, and I expected it to crack any second. “I will find out who is behind this,” he vowed. “On my life, Ella, I will protect you.”
I didn’t respond to his improper use of my proper name, or the ferocity with which he made his vow. In succession, the night had taken an ax to my foundation and disinterestedly observed as I lost ground each time it swung. I shook my head again and walked back to my chambers.
I hated the thought that came next. Hated that it could even exist in what was still supposed to be the enviable faery tale of my life. Which may be why I didn’t walk straight for the palace doors and leave my ruined dream behind. In its own way, magic had made me weak, too, so though my heart remained delusional and firm, my rational mind fought for every step it could take toward the truth.
And that mind knew exactly what it would ask of Princess Lyla.
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