by Artemis Hunt
He turns a tad calculating. “Would you love Alex if you remain a commoner?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Queen and I have discussed this at length.”
Of course. Anything the Queen has a hand in can’t bode well for me.
He leans back in his hard wooden chair.
“If you love Alexander . . . if you truly love Alexander . . . would you then consider being his mistress?”
I’m the count’s daughter all over again. Six hundred years apart, and it’s still happening.
I whisper, a hard lump in my throat, “Who would you have him marry then?”
“Lady Tatiana, of course.” He raises his bushy white eyebrows. “The Duke and I have spoken at length as well – ”
Oh my God, they have orchestrated this. All of them together! Alex was right. It’s a conspiracy.
“ – and we are in agreement that Lady Tatiana would not be averse to Alexander having you as a mistress.”
I wonder if Tatiana really agreed to that or she had her arm twisted. All this evokes a dreadful sinking sensation in my stomach.
I say in a shaky voice, “Alex would never do this. Never.”
“Alexander will come to his senses, as his father has before him.” The Archbishop smiles benignly. “I’ve seen them all grow up. There is too much at stake for them not to. The Kings of Moldavia always had mistresses.”
He acknowledges my panic-stricken face.
“Yes, even Alexander’s father. And the Queen totally condones it, because she knows that she is the one he truly loves in the end, for better or for worse. You would be very cared for as Alexander’s mistress. As a mistress to a King. You would have a mansion as your home, with maids to cater to your every whim. You would have horses and paddocks. A Swiss bank account. You may even have his children. They would not inherit the throne, but they would still be his children nonetheless.”
Why is everyone making me offers? Am I someone to be bribed out of the equation? Why not just poison me and get it over with? It would be easier.
Still, they are offering me a way out. A way out of all this unpleasantness. Where everyone would be happy. Except for Alex and myself.
But they are now willing to concede us that. We can be together.
Just not married together.
10
The Archbishop’s words weigh soberly in my mind like anchors dragging me down. I don’t want to talk about it to Alex, though I suspect the Archbishop . . . and the Queen . . . already have clued him in on the possibility to take me as a mistress. In short, Alex can have his cake and eat it too. It merely doesn’t have to be a wedding cake.
I slither into bed with Alex, dressed in just a mauve slip. We are still sleeping in the East Wing. The TV is on. The news anchorman shows the results of a CNN poll.
“An overwhelming ninety-six percent have voted that they fully support King Alexander Vassar and Elizabeth Turner’s marriage, despite the Archbishop of Moldavia’s wishes on the contrary.”
Alex is sober as the news clip changes to a scene of demonstrations taking place outside the churches – not only in Moldavia but throughout Europe. Even in the Vatican.
“It’s become a much bigger issue,” he murmurs. “It isn’t right. The people are confusing the issue with religion. It’s not a religious issue.”
“I know. What are we to do?”
He sighs. “I don’t know, Liz. I don’t know. My father wouldn’t have wanted this to happen.”
His eyes are glued to the TV screen, and his expression is pained.
A pang snakes to my chest.
He says, “People are throwing in all their pent-up frustrations about religious order and the clergy and using this as an excuse. Sooner or later I’ll have to say something, calm people down. These protests can escalate into violence, so it’ll have to preferably be sooner.”
There’s a faraway look in his eyes. He seems to have aged five years over the past few days.
My insides clench. I put a hand on his shoulder.
Instead of embracing me, he gets up from bed.
“I have to go do a few things,” he says, not looking at me.
“Tonight? But it’s late.”
“I know. But I’ll still have to do them. Don’t wait up for me.”
Something is wrong. I sense it in my bones, my flesh, the painfully contracting sac of my heart. But it is not in my place to stop him or even ask him about what he has to do. From the straight, firm lines of his mouth and the grim determination on his face, it will be something he has to do on his own.
He has to do right by his people.
Oh God.
I can only wait in our bed as he dresses and strides purposefully out of the door.
I don’t see a way out here. Either way, people are going to get hurt badly.
From his subtle withdrawal, I think it’s going to be me.
*
The next morning, I wake up alone in our bed. My face is sticky with dried tears. I have been crying all night despite telling myself to be brave.
Alex has not come back. His side of the bed has not been slept in.
Alarmed, I dress and go down to the breakfast patio. I can easily place a cellphone call to him, but I don’t want to appear the anxious fiancée. He’s got enough on his place without having to worry about my insecurities.
Is it so bad being Alex’s mistress? At least I get to see him every week, if not every day. At least I’m allowed to bear his children.
But is it the life I want?
All I do know is that I love Alex more than life itself. But is being second best enough for me down the line?
Jasper and Madame Fournier are at the breakfast table. Their eyes are bloodshot and their shoulders droop with fatigue. Alex is nowhere to be seen.
“Good morning, Ms. Turner.”
“Good morning, Jasper. Is Alex around?”
“He is having an audience with his mother, the Queen, and his sisters.”
Oh. It must be important at such an early hour.
Madame Fournier says, “Are you all right, Elizabeth? You look distressed.”
I sit down. “No, I’m not all right.”
I take a deep breath and tell her everything. Both of them. They listen attentively, and when I have finished, they exchange knowing glances.
“What?” I say. “What are you not telling me?”
Madame Fournier says, “The King will be making a public announcement soon. Last night, a Molotov cocktail was flung at the Ecclesiastical Castle.”
My pulse thuds at my throat. It is exactly as Alex has predicted. Some quarters are itching for an excuse to fight the church.
“Alexander feels responsible. We spent all of last night crafting his public speech. He will address the world at noon.”
At noon!
“He told me nothing of this speech,” I say faintly, “only that he has to calm the masses down.”
“He is doing exactly that.”
“He didn’t wake me. I could’ve . . . helped.” Even as I say that, I realize how lame it sounds. How can I possibly help to craft a King’s speech?
“He specifically asked for you not to be disturbed,” Madame Fournier says pointedly.
Of course. I would only mess up things. Crestfallen, I stare at my empty plate.
I have become a hindrance to Alex. No wonder he is distancing himself from me. I don’t blame him. Perhaps I should not have said ‘yes’ to his proposal. I should have stuck to the plan I made with Tatiana, left for Chicago, and everyone would be much happier. Even Alex, in the long run.
I am so woebegone that Madame Fournier reaches out to touch me lightly on the shoulder.
“Don’t fret so much, Elizabeth, about things out of your control. Just have faith in Alex to do the right thing.”
“Yes, I do.”
Even Jasper looks sympathetic. They do know something they’re not telling me.
How awful can it be?
11
At noon, we crowd around the TV in the parlor to hear Alex’s speech. He is at the station, ready to go on a special news segment that will be broadcasted live to the world.
“Where’s the Queen?” I ask Jasper and Madame Fournier. It seems strange that in times of such crisis, I am left with two of them instead of Alex’s family. Very telling, I know.
“The Queen is in her suite. But Marie is at the station with Alex.”
Oh. So he has decided to ask his sister to tag along instead of me. I don’t blame him. She’s a princess of Moldavia after all and she, like, has a political I.Q of 262. She would be a much better co-presenter for him.
Alex faces the cameras. He’s impossibly handsome, heartbreakingly so. They have combed his hair and made his dark circles disappear. His forehead is smooth and unlined once again.
He begins:
“I come to you, today, people of Moldavia, as a citizen. A few hours ago, I discharged my last duty as King.”
My hand flies to my mouth.
No, Alex, no.
“I will be succeeded by my sister, Marie Vassar, Princess and second born of Moldavia. My first words must be to declare allegiance to her.”
Why, Alex, why?
“The reasons which have compelled me to renounce the throne are for the greater good of the people of Moldavia. I do not wish to be the cause of a separation of the state and church in the hearts of the people. I do not wish to be a King who would revoke a law centuries old just because it inconveniences him today.
“For what are we without laws? It was a law that was put in place for a very good reason. It was a law that protected Moldavia’s sovereignty in its time. It was a law that allows us to walk freely today and count ourselves as one of the richest nations in the world.”
Tears run down my cheeks and stain my lips with their salt. I do not attempt to brush them off.
“But in accepting the letter of the law and acceding to the decision of His Grace, the Archbishop of Moldavia, I will find it impossible to perform my duties as King without the woman I love by my side. The decision I have made is mine and mine alone, and it is a decision for the greater good of my fellow countrymen.”
A hand snakes around my shoulders. Madame Fournier, her eyes glistening, has chosen this moment to crumble her ice queen façade and comfort me in my hour of need.
“The decision has been made less difficult for me by the sure knowledge that my sister, Marie Vassar, will succeed me. Marie has graduated with top honors from Yale in economics, and with her brilliance and ambition, she will undoubtedly steer this country to further magnificence.”
He pauses, clearly overwrought. Marie steps up from the side, her eyes shining with tears. She takes her brother’s arm.
Alex continues, his voice shaking slightly, “Let us welcome into this twenty-first century the first female ruler of Moldavia. Long live the Queen. God bless you, my fellow citizens.”
The video feed winks out.
The room is silent as the anchorwoman cuts in with a “Now, that was a stunner of a speech.”
Yes. I know.
I bow my head and sob my heart out for Alex and everything he has lost for me. I sob and sob, unable to stop even to draw breath. My head hurts with a splitting headache and I can feel my soul splintering in two.
Madame Fournier puts her arms around me.
“He didn’t want us to let you know what he was doing. He was afraid you would try to stop him or do something as foolish as you did like leaving him for his own good,” she says.
I would have done it too. I can’t bear how much Alex has given up for me. It isn’t fair to him. It isn’t fair!
They let me cry and cry until I’m dry all over, and then they leave, sensing that I’m not going to stop crying anytime soon within the day. The light outside the windows shift and change, denoting the passing of the sun. I stay there in the parlor, stoned – not moving, not even blinking until the door quietly opens.
Alex slips into the room.
He immediately kneels before my inert body, still in the chair. My face is puffy and my eyes as red as the indentations of my fingernails on my palms. I am now tearless and soulless.
“Liz?” he says in a low voice. He does not seem saddened in the least. Years have disappeared from his face and his eyes are bright and clear.
“Why, Alex, why?” I whisper.
“Because I love you more than anything in this world, and nothing is going to stop me from marrying you and raising a family with you. I don’t want the throne, Liz. I never did. It’s something I have never craved. Marie would make a much, much better ruler, trust me. I did it for us, for Moldavia, for my family and everyone else – so that everyone can have what they want.”
“The greater good,” I say dully.
“Yes, the greater good.” He clasps my face and runs the pad of his thumb down my dried cheeks. “Oh, Liz, Liz . . . you’re so beautiful.”
“I look awful.”
“No. You’re the most beautiful thing in the world to me. And finally now we are free. Free of responsibility, of sorts . . . free to do anything we wish. We can go around the world, do anything we want. Don’t you see? This is the best thing I could have ever done for us.”
My mind is still reeling from the shock of this afternoon’s events, but yes . . . I’m slowly beginning to see it too. Alex can be what he was when I first met him – a prince. Only now, he’s removed from the burden of responsibility. Yes, he will have responsibilities, but his life is not dictated to the whims of the palace so much anymore.
He grins. “So what do you say? Shall we set the date?”
EPILOGUE
It’s eight months later.
The day of my wedding dawns fair and bright. I wake up at five to begin my makeup and hair. Monsieur Danton teases my tresses into a mass of flowing waves that will gleam in the sun. Stella Catalan, now world famous as a Moldavian fashion export, has designed my wedding gown.
Even I cannot believe how gorgeous I look. The bodice is my dress is done up in ivory motifs of the azalea, which is the national flower of Moldavia, and seeded with pearls and little diamonds. The ivory gown is a puffed-up inverted flower, so elaborate that you should see me float in it. I’m a shimmering cloud.
For my wedding gift, the Queen has given me (yes, Queen Marie!) a diamond and emerald necklace so huge that my neck is practically embedded by its weight. It’s apparently a family heirloom. Her mother has augmented it with matching diamond and emerald earrings and a diamond bracelet. The royals are showering me with jewelry. Probably felt guilty for navigating me out of a Queendom. The safe in my room is a veritable treasure chest.
I have a tiara . . . and a silk train. You should see that train! It has to be carried by twelve pagegirls.
I am having a very public royal wedding. Moldavia and the world need its spectacle. They want to see me and Alex have our happy ending.
It’s time for me to be ferried to the church. I am going in a carriage pulled by horses. Yes! Just like Cinderella! I hope it doesn’t turn into a pumpkin halfway. That would totally ruin my dress.
The people line up the streets to see me. Since my Dad can’t be found, there’s no one to give me away, but that’s all right too. My Mom is here, and I’ve invited Mr. Mangorean and a few people from the hotel. (Not Cassandra Pelicano.) I’ve even invited Deanna, my old roommate. I’ve decided to forgive her.
When she flew in, we hugged each other fiercely with tears in our eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered over and over.
“It’s all right. You’re here and that’s all that matters.”
The people are cheering and waving at me as I pass. I wave back, smiling. I’m on live TV coverage. Even though I’m not Queen, this is an event big enough to rival Marie’s coronation.
I arrive at the cathedral. I climb out of the coach, tucking my train around me carefully. Guess who is my bridesmaid? Yes, it’s the new Queen herself! What a kick I’m having
– a Queen as my bridesmaid on my wedding day.
Alex is waiting for me at the pulpit. So is the Archbishop, who will marry us as a sign of his acceptance. They both beam down at me as I enter. The guests stand on my account. I am truly a princess today.
Oh yeah, my new title. Princess Elizabeth.
I think I can get used to it.
Alex is so handsome in his black suit that I swoon. His hair is combed neatly and he has a mischievous look in his eyes. Since his abdication, we have not looked back. He has thrown himself into his work and humanitarian deeds, as befitting a prince of the realm. I have organized charities and devoted myself to causes. We set about healing the royal family and mending ties with Nuernberg.
As a sign of those mended ties, Tatiana and her father are at the wedding. They are seated in the first row beside the Queen Mother.
Alex does not take his eyes off me as I ascend the steps to the pulpit.
I love you more than anything in this world, they say.
And I love you more than anything and anyone, I silently say back.
The Archbishop commences the ceremony, and his words are half-drowned by the rushing of blood in my ears. I’m alive and with the man I love. We’re together despite all odds. He puts the ring on my finger – it’s a diamond so huge that it eclipses every single bauble I have ever seen. And he kisses me. Oh, how he kisses me. It’s sweet and filled with so much love and hope for our future than I can melt into his kiss forever.
Later, we will honeymoon in Indonesia. We will make love on the sands and drink from coconut husks and live like the beautiful, beautiful natives.
But for now, we are blessed as man and wife in the house of God. And happiness like I have never known it swarms my entire being and lifts me to the light of the stained windows.
WORKS BY ARTEMIS HUNT
EROTIC ROMANCES
The ‘Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male’ series