by E. D. Walker
She had no time to stand there pondering the question, unfortunately, or pawing at herself to look for the letter Ned had no doubt hidden on her somehow. Yonca was impatient to be home, and Violette’s neck itched with nerves to think of the two men following her.
On their way home, she glanced behind as casually as she could and as often as she could, but the streets were too full. Keeping Yonca in sight was challenge enough. Keeping two men following her in sight in the bustling market? Impossible.
By the time she’d reached the villa they were staying at, Violette had managed to tear her own nerves to shreds. She’d been so proud when the princess had asked her to take on this secret letter exchange. Now Violette wondered if she was really capable enough to handle it. And where did that damned squire hide the letter from his king? If she couldn’t find the missive before her princess summoned her, she would look a complete fool.
Yonca pulled their villa’s wooden door open for them both, and Violette passed through first into the cool, dark reception room, her shoes slipping a little on the tiled entryway. Two regal peacocks assembled from a bright mosaic of tiles bloomed across the floor. A beautiful piece of artwork, and it always seemed odd to her that it was the Southern style to tile their floors with such beauty. Of course, this was a fine villa, so the walls and ceilings had their share of beautiful tilework too. And truly, the twin peacocks were a cheering sight whenever Violette first walked inside. Still, she hated stepping on them.
Violette glanced through the open doorway that led off into the garden and courtyard that formed the heart of the house. She couldn’t see the princess or hear voices. Where is that blasted letter? Violette slapped at her skirt pockets, turned them inside out. She reached up her own sleeves, gazed down the neck of her own bodice. Nothing.
If the exasperating Ned had been there in front of her, she would have—would have bitten him. And enjoyed it too. The rogue. The incorrigible, difficult, scheming—
“Is something amiss, Lady Violette?” Yonca had paused on her way out through the courtyard, no doubt on her way to the kitchens with their laden market basket.
“No, no. Thank you.” Violette fumbled a few coins out of her purse and slid them into the other woman’s hand. She held her gaze. “Thank you most sincerely.”
The servant snorted and disappeared the coins somewhere in the folds of her rough brown tunic. “Of course, my lady. You, ah, you might want to check your hair, by the way. If there’s something you’ve mislaid.” With that, Yonca wandered off to the kitchens with her burden.
Violette stood there a long moment, blinking. Ned’s fingers gentle against her neck, sliding into her hair…The memory made her feel sort of soft around the edges, weak-kneed. Warmth bloomed anew in her cheeks.
Biting her lip, Violette combed her fingers through the curls at the back of her neck that were tucked into her coronet braid. The leathery crackle of vellum brought a smile to her lips. She laughed, staring down at the coiled missive in her hand. “Clever boy.” She snorted. “Clever, irritating, impossible boy.”
Gathering her skirts with one hand, she headed toward the garden courtyard in search of her princess so she could deliver this most troublesome of letters.
Chapter Two
The villa’s garden was empty as Violette passed through it on her way to the princess’s chambers. Before she’d traveled in the Southern lands, Violette had never seen a house built around a garden in this way, but she found she rather liked the airy openness of Tiochene-style homes. Especially in this heat. This garden was heavily controlled, of course. Potted and trimmed. Entirely tame. Not like the wild woods and meadows in Jerdun. And none of the trees or ferns grew much higher than her own head. Still, it was a charming arrangement, and Violette had grown to enjoy falling asleep to the gurgle from the central fountain each night.
As Violette padded through the courtyard, she caught the faint sound of voices and paused, listening hard to figure out what room they were coming from.
“If you feel it’s becoming too dangerous, perhaps you and Llewellyn could take over the love ruse.” Princess Aliénor’s voice. Coming from her own chambers, it sounded like. Violette turned her steps in that direction.
A low chortle sounded, and Violette recognized it as belonging to the princess’s other lady in waiting, Noémi. “No good, my lady,” Noémi said. “It’s a very open secret that Master Llewellyn prefers men. Your cousin’s spies would never fall for a love affair between him and me.”
“Really? My king never told me that. Noémi, I know you’re uneasy about this scheme, but you would hardly be an appropriate paramour for young Ned. The ruse has to at least be plausible.”
The door hadn’t caught all the way closed, and Violette glanced around, looking for servants who might be listening. She was alone in the garden for now. I should knock. Tell the two ladies they can be heard—
“The ruse is growing too plausible if you ask me.” Noémi snorted. “And it’s not safe. Not for either of them.”
Violette froze, her foot literally poised between one step and the next. She slowly lowered it and strained her ears. Not safe?
“My cousin’s grooms only follow them,” the princess said, her calm alto soothing. “Those men have shown no sign of intending to hurt Violette or Ned—”
“That’s not what I mean, my lady.” Noémi cleared her throat. “Your pardon. I didn’t mean to be short.”
“It’s all right.” The princess lowered her voice, and Violette had to shuffle forward a few quiet steps and strain to hear. “Perhaps you’re correct. It wasn’t fair of me to throw Violette and Ned together and ask…that.”
Violette’s lips burned with the memory of Ned’s kiss. No. Her liege lady would never have asked or expected that level of commitment to the ruse. So why had Violette allowed it to happen? Why had Ned kissed her in the first place? Violette clasped her hands in her skirts, her stomach knotting.
Princess Aliénor’s voice was tight as she spoke again. “I’ve had another letter from Violette’s family. They want her back once we make it home to Jerdun.”
Something burst in Violette’s stomach like an ice storm that spread chilly fear all through her arms and legs. She crossed the last few steps to the room and pushed the door open. “No, my lady. Please don’t send me back to them.”
Princess Aliénor and Noémi both flinched and stared at her in surprise. The princess was a tall redhead, slim like Violette, but with an air of elegance about her that Violette desperately wished she possessed.
The princess dropped her gaze from Violette’s, and the ivory of her skin betrayed her in a blush as redness spread from her neck to her cheeks. Princess Aliénor swallowed and at last looked up at Violette with a face coolly composed despite her blushing. “And I want to keep you with me, Violette.” She turned and reached a hand out to Noémi. “Both of you.”
Noémi squeezed the princess’s hand back before dropping it. The older lady in waiting was the eldest of them all by almost a decade. She was a stout woman with a pock-marked face and startling, sea-green eyes. Noémi caught Violette’s gaze and jerked her chin toward the door.
Still vibrating with tension, Violette stepped all the way inside and pressed her back against the wooden door until it had clicked closed. She leaned hard against the wood to keep herself upright. “Please, my lady. Don’t give me back to my aunt.”
Princess Aliénor shook her head, her lips pinched tight. “I don’t have much choice, Violette. King Fernand makes such determinations, and…well.”
Violette nodded, her mouth dry. Of course. King Fernand would decide all their fates. And once he found out that Princess Aliénor intended to marry the foreign King Thomas, the enemy king, then all Princess Aliénor’s goodwill with King Fernand would be used up. She would have none left to beg a favor for Violette.
Princess Aliénor clasped Violette’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “We could send you on ahead, perhaps to Lyond. Send you with a servant and some part of King Thomas’s m
en. It’ll be hard for anyone to take you back at that point.”
Violette bit her lip. This was the sticking point. As much as she loved the princess, as much as she wanted to continue serving her great lady…Violette didn’t wish to live in Lyond. Didn’t wish to live among the people her country had been at war with for generations. She knew Noémi felt the same, but neither of them had yet found the courage to tell the princess the truth.
Better to return to Aunt Fritha then? Violette closed her eyes, feeling tears prick.
“Oh.” Princess Aliénor cupped Violette’s face, her hands cool against Violette’s skin as she gently compelled her to look up. “Is your aunt unkind to you? Does she mistreat you?”
Violette dabbed at her eyes to make her tears evaporate quicker. She forced herself to smile a little. “No, my lady. Only…only I know they will want me to marry. And I’m not sure they will waste much time finding a candidate.”
Princess Aliénor chewed on her lower lip. “They hinted as much. I’m sorry, Violette. But sending you ahead to Lyond is a good plan, I think. King Thomas is sure his people will welcome all of us with open arms.” But her voice wavered on the end, giving the lie to her certainty. Even Princess Aliénor was worried about her reception in Lyond. What her life might be like. And the princess would be queen there, married to a king beloved of his people. If Violette went, she would just be a hanger-on without family or connection.
These, then, were Violette’s choices: to follow her princess to a foreign, enemy land or to return to her family and be sold off in a marriage of convenience. Unless I make a third option for myself.
But what?
How bitterly she envied Ned. As a man, he could become a soldier, a scholar, seek a wealthy patron, explore the world. Violette’s options were to serve or to marry.
A knock at the door sounded overloud right behind her ear, and all three of the ladies jumped guiltily away from the door.
“Princess?” Yonca’s voice. “Your cousin has come to call.”
Princess Aliénor smoothed a nervous hand over her skirt. “Yes. Show him to the reception room. I’ll be there in a moment.” She cast a quick look back and forth between her two ladies.
Violette stepped forward. “I’ll go. But here’s the letter first.”
Princess Aliénor’s eye brightened, seeing the scrap of vellum. Her hand even twitched to take it, but with a sigh she let her hands fall again. “Give it to Noémi for safekeeping, please.”
Violette passed the letter over then pulled the door open so Princess Aliénor could precede her outside. Her head was buzzing. Marriage or service. And no choices.
They stopped before the reception room door, and Violette opened it for Princess Aliénor then passed through herself.
The princess’s cousin, Lord Guillaume, stood as they both entered. He was a tall, strong, handsome Jerdic knight of thirty or so with a square chin freshly shaved and a long scimitar of a nose slashing down his face. His coloring was much like his cousin’s, his eyes the same dark brown as hers. But his close-cropped hair was a paler shade of red than Princess Aliénor’s bright sheathe, more blond than ginger. He wore his silver ceremonial breastplate over a white tunic paired with a long blue cloak. He had to be stifling in this heat, but still the forms must be observed, the proprieties maintained.
Violette had always appreciated that about him—that he was never anything less than chivalrous and proper, every inch a Jerdic knight and nobleman at all times. Of course, sweat streaked down his brow, causing tracks on his face where it cut through dirt from the streets. She remembered Ned’s jerkin had been untied that morning, his tunic unlaced. He’d been improperly dressed, yes, but he had not looked so meltingly overheated as Lord Guillaume did now.
Violette shook her head. Silly to compare Lord Guillaume and Ned. Ned was…just Ned. And Lord Guillaume was one of the finest knights she’d ever seen. Splendid really.
Lord Guillaume bowed formally to his cousin and kissed her hand. He spared a polite nod for Violette, even smiled at her, his bright teeth gleaming. “Lady Violette, a pleasure to see you again.”
She dipped her knee in a curtsy, nerves fluttering. “And you, Lord Guillaume.” If my family could find me a husband like Guillaume, I shouldn’t mind marrying—
Violette froze, the thought like a lightning strike to her heart. Marriage or service. Those were her choices. But. If. Could I…If she chose marriage, did it follow that she had to let someone else choose her husband? She swallowed as she studied Lord Guillaume’s handsome face, a desperate hope blooming in her heart.
Princess Aliénor invited her cousin to sit across from her, and Violette took a chair toward the back of the chamber. She pulled the communal mending basket out from under her seat and looked for a likely project. She was there to lend propriety to the meeting, not to participate. Still, her ears strained to catch every word.
The wooden camp chair creaked as Lord Guillaume shifted his weight to lean closer to Princess Aliénor. “I come bearing good news and bad news.”
The princess sighed. “Oh dear. Start with the bad then.”
Lord Guillaume cleared his throat and, for some reason, his gaze flicked to Violette again. She gave him a smile, her heart battering away inside her.
Lord Guillaume’s mouth quirked in an answering smile, but the expression was muted. “I’m afraid after the latest wave of refugees, the governor of this city has had to enact some new laws to help maintain order.”
Princess Aliénor tilted her head. “Oh yes?”
Lord Guillaume shifted in his chair again, his fingers clenching around the arm rests. “A curfew for all those of Tiochene descent. They must be within their homes by sunset or the city watch will take them into custody.”
Violette stiffened.
Princess Aliénor burst from her chair and began pacing the room. “But half the people in this city are Tiochene or half Tiochene or married to a Tiochene! That doesn’t make them any less loyal. If they wanted to join the army raiding the Northern colonies, they would have done so by now.”
Lord Guillaume shrugged. “Men are not always reasonable when everything they’ve built has been taken.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. He was perhaps remembering the loss of his own colony-city and his own soldiers just a few weeks ago. Lord Guillaume startled Violette when he turned to her, his eyes sad. “I am sorry, Lady Violette, but this would apply to you as well.”
She gasped. “Me?”
Princess Aliénor’s eyes widened, her face flushing with anger. “Violette is a sweet, dutiful girl who has been in my service almost a year now. She has had nothing to do with the Tiochene army, except to nearly be killed by them.”
Lord Guillaume held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Yes, but she undeniably has Tiochene blood. Forgive me, Lady Violette. But your dark skin. Your hair.”
Violette felt hot all over, her cheeks burning, her mouth dry. “I was born in Jerdun. Raised in Jerdun. My father was a nobleman of Jerdun and my mother his honorable lady-wife.”
“Yes, but your mother was a Tiochene, wasn’t she?” he asked.
“Yes—yes. But I don’t have any magic. What are the lords of the city scared I can do?”
Lord Guillaume laid a hand against his breastbone. “I’m sorry. I think it is a foolish law.” He reached out to Violette, and she numbly took his hand. His fingers were rough, his skin warm. He gave her hand a squeeze then released her as he turned again to Princess Aliénor. “I don’t think the market will be safe for her right now, unfortunately. More and more refugees are pouring in. Jerdic men. Lyondi. They’ve been driven from their homes, lost everything to these damned Tiochene raiders. It wouldn’t be safe for Lady Violette to go about in the city now.”
No more trips to the market. No more rendezvous with Ned to exchange letters. She narrowed her eyes but could only see the back of Lord Guillaume’s head now. No way to tell if he was lying about this curfew.
Was her isolation really for her safety,
or was it simply a ploy to make it harder for Princess Aliénor to exchange letters with King Thomas?
The men who’d been following Violette and Ned today had been Lord Guillaume’s grooms, and the grooms had been following Violette on her market outings for weeks now. That was why the letter ploy and Violette’s fake love affair with Ned had begun—Princess Aliénor knew her cousin Guillaume had her house watched out of some overprotective instinct. Or perhaps out of a desire to keep his Jerdic cousin from binding herself to a Lyondi man? Violette couldn’t entirely blame Lord Guillaume for that. Violette hadn’t liked King Thomas much to begin with either.
She fretted at the folds of her skirt, her mending project forgotten. But Lord Guillaume said the new curfew was citywide. Even a powerful refugee like Lord Guillaume wouldn’t have the power to get such a law enacted, and she had noticed more brawls on the street lately. If the situation was so close to boiling over, did she want to be out and about in the city when it did?
“But come!” Lord Guillaume briskly clapped his hands and smiled at the two of them. “No more gloomy faces. Remember I said I had good news?”
Princess Aliénor smiled a little and crossed back to her own chair, sitting down and visibly composing herself, though she did spare Violette a worried frown. “You did. Tell me, cousin. What is your good news?”
“In addition to his ill-conceived new edict, the master of this city has also decided to host a large ball for all the high-ranking Northerners in the city. It is in honor of some local holiday to celebrate the coming of spring.”
Violette barely managed to keep back a bitter laugh. So, the master of the city would set a curfew on his subjects, but he had no problem adopting a Tiochene holiday in order to make merry when the mood suited him?
Lord Guillaume was still speaking, his voice bubbling with excitement. “It will be a grand event, and I hope you will allow me to escort you and your ladies there, Cousin Aliénor.”
Violette sighed. “If it is after sunset, then under the new law I can’t attend at all.”