Prisoner of the Crown

by Jeffe Kennedy

  Dead? I gaped at him before I remembered myself, sipping the juice to cover my shock. “All…four of them?”

  “One after the other,” Loke explained with gruesome relish.

  “All in their twenties,” Leo added.

  “Suspiciously,” Loke finished, unnecessarily.

  Had I felt ill before? My head swam, though fear seemed a distant concept. All of this had been too much.

  “We thought you should know,” Harlan maintained, his gaze steady.

  “It won’t happen to Jenna,” Mykal announced with staunch pride. “She’s an imperial princess, and Bloody Rodolf needs an heir. He’s desperate. Everyone says so.”

  Leo and Loke shushed him. Kral glanced up, frowned, but replied to something Inga said, returning his attention to her.

  “You have your family,” Harlan told me, and the other three nodded with enthusiasm. All of them so earnest in their youth.

  I wanted to laugh and weep, both. Hestar had to know about Rodolf. My mother and father both knew, too. I had my family and that same family would wed me to this man whose wives had all perished. The ladies of the seraglio might be insulated from much of the outside world, but we were not deaf and dumb, not fools. The wives and higher ranked concubines lived better lives than most, but even they suffered occasionally from an outburst of lust.

  And the rekjabrel… well, they suffered more than occasionally. The lucky ones went on to be servant girls. The others we never saw again.

  ~ 7 ~

  By the time Inga and I limped back to the seraglio, we parted ways for our own apartments with barely a murmured goodnight, we were so worn out. Foot-soaking and gossiping would have to wait for morning. And then we both slept so long—the quiet of our dim rooms viciously guarded by our nurses—that Helva had worked herself into another frenzy by the time we met, yawning and heavy eyed, for a late breakfast.

  “Finally!” Helva yipped like one of Jilliya’s little dogs. “Tell me everything. Start at the beginning. Everything.”

  She looked far too rested and bright-eyed. And had groomed herself to perfection. Helva’s hair rippled in bronze waves—very like Leo and Loke, I saw now—and she wore a violet klút that brought out the gold flecks in her dark eyes. Compensating, most likely, for missing out on being fitted out like we had been the night before. She certainly outshone us this morning. Like me, Inga wore an old robe, not flattering, but cozy and soft. Neither of us had yet bathed and we both still wore the dregs of makeup from the evening. Kaia had nattered at me, but I’d managed to keep upright only long enough to be divested of all those cursed pearls. I refused to sit still for bathing. By the look of her, Inga had felt the same.

  Rodolf’s diamond, of course, had not come off and never would again. It weighed on my hand like an iron manacle.

  “Tea, then gossip,” Inga declared, earning my eternal gratitude. I wrapped my hands around my own delicate cup and gulped it down, blistering my throat and glad for the burn. I wasn’t completely numb. The servant girl refilled it and I drank that one more slowly, aware that Helva had her gaze firmly fixed on the diamond ring, eyes soft with admiration and envy.

  “Your ring is so beautiful, Jenna,” she crooned, fingers twitching to touch. “Can I see it? When you’re ready of course,” she added, flicking a glance at Inga who’d leveled a stern look on her.

  Tempted to fling it at Helva and tell her to keep it for all I cared, I held out my hand across the small table, still cradling my tea in the other. For years the three of us had sat at this triangular table by the little lagoon for breakfast. Crafted of white porcelain and inlaid with flowers made of precious ivory in subtle shades, a guild of craftsmen had sent it in tribute to us, the three imperial princesses. We loved it and it remained ours alone, the place we lingered over our tea, nibbled cakes, and dreamed of how our husbands would be. I’d never once imagined I’d feel this way the morning after my betrothal. Wretched. Terrified. Trapped.

  It was probably better we hadn’t talked the night before. Without the time to sleep on things, to mull them over as I lay drowsing and half-asleep that morning, I might have said the wrong things. As it was, I still didn’t have the right words—only a bit more caution about saying the wrong ones.

  Helva cooed over the spectacular diamond, turning it so it caught the soft light from above, sending sparkles of multi-colored fragments, shattering across the porcelain table. We had chandeliers, too, I realized. A version of those in the grand halls of the outer palace, but ours were turned inward. Rather than tiered confections of brilliant crystal, the ones in the seraglio shone light from curved and frosted lenses, emanating warmth and glow. No one ever lit candles in them and, for yet another first time, I wondered where the light came from.

  “It’s gorgeous. Unbelievable. You could buy a kingdom with this gem alone, I bet,” Helva was saying, her hand gripping mine like a constricting snake intent on keeping its prey. “Just think of who’s worn this before you, all the grand queens and empresses!”

  And at least four dead women. I found the strength to pull my hand from hers. Inga observed that with a raised brow. “King Rodolf may not be all we dreamed of for you,” she said, very softly and soothingly, “but a mature man can bring many fine qualities to a marriage. He might make a kind and generous husband. And you’ll have children to love. You’ll live in Arynherk, see more of the world.”

  Helva had started shimmying in impatience for Inga to finish her speech. I felt much the same, but for different reasons. Inga had been having her happy reunion with Kral. She didn’t know what our other brothers had told me.

  “King Rodolf!” Helva burst out, clapping her hands together. “Fantastic! Oh, congratulations, Jenna. Well done!”

  Inga set a cautioning hand on Helva’s arm, but said nothing, a line between her golden brows. Not understanding, as Inga clearly had no more words either, Helva shook her off.

  “What? Why aren’t you two over the moon? He’s the one you wanted! The top of the list. Everyone knew it.”

  True. Even Hulda’s considerable skills of intimidation and intrigue hadn’t kept the speculation quiet. For easily a year, practically since the day after my seventeenth birthday, the favorite topic within the seraglio—and without, as the servants and rekjabrel brought back gossip from the rest of the Imperial Palace—had been who the emperor would favor with my hand in marriage. Even sequestered as we were, every woman and child in the seraglio understood that the imperial princesses would serve to consolidate His Imperial Majesty’s hold on the empire. Who we married would speak loudly and clearly of our father’s favor.

  And yet my mother had never once mentioned his age, his inherent cruelty. That his many wives all died young.

  That I wouldn’t be gaining power, but losing it utterly and completely.

  “What does he look like?” Helva wanted to know, still blissfully oblivious to the undercurrents. “Is he like King Niklas in the tapestry? Stalwart and daring! Does he have dark hair like that—then maybe your babies won’t be all boring blond. Or red! That would be lovely, too. Why aren’t you saying anything? Jenna!”

  “His hair is gray,” I snapped, “what there is of it. I have no idea what it was when he was young.”

  Unkind of me, perhaps, but at least Helva began to catch on. And it stopped her inane babble. “Gray? Then he’s… older. But just mature. Mother got her first gray hair just after her thirtieth birthday—remember? She actually screamed. Her maids thought she’d hurt herself and—”

  “Helva,” Inga broke in, far more gently than I could. In fact, I set down my tea cup, wary of shattering it in my hands. The servant girl refilled it, but I only stared into its depths. As if it would hold any answers for me. “King Rodolf is mostly bald because he’s much older. I imagine he’s of an age with Old Mara.”

  Helva blanched, horrified eyes going to mine for confirmation before she remembered herself
and smoothed her expression. Old Mara had celebrated her seventy-eighth birthday and was the oldest lady in the seraglio. She’d been our great-grandfather’s favorite concubine and, following his death, left to her own devices to age gracefully and sedately in the seraglio. I’d once overheard a group of rekjabrel speculating that Mara had lived so long because she hadn’t been called to serve in over fifty years. They’d said other things I hadn’t understood, about how one night in the entertainment salons felt like it took years off their lives.

  Anticipating such intimacies with Rodolf seemed to be aging me as I sat there. I understood what they might have meant all too well. In two days’ time, I’d be sitting at this table, understanding more than I’d ever wanted to. Inga had taken over describing Rodolf for the avidly curious Helva, demonstrating judicious discretion in her choice of words. Though the servants had stepped away, they’d be listening as avidly as Helva—and the news would soon reach every ear in the seraglio.

  I gazed between my sisters at the little lagoon, the still waters mirror smooth and untouched. It had been ours, also, for years, left for the exclusive use of the imperial princesses, giving us the illusion of privacy, with the draping ferns bordering it and the row of palm trees that screened the rest of the seraglio. Allowing us to pretend we lived in a garden rather than a sequestered room within a fortress of a palace. Our gilded cage.

  Both of which reminded me of Princessa Adaladja and my invitation.

  “Gracious!” I exclaimed, utterly chagrined, even panicked. “I forgot I invited Princessa Adaladja for lunch here.”

  “You did?” Inga looked beyond surprised, and Helva squealed in delight, clapping her hands.

  “A guest! A real princessa!”

  “You’re an imperial princess,” Inga reminded her.

  “I know, but I’ve never met another princess. Besides you two. And she’s from outside. I’m so excited. I should change clothes!”

  “You look lovely,” Inga said in a dry tone, giving me a betrayed look. “Whereas I look like I rolled out of bed. Which I did. If I may say it, so do you, Princess Jenna. When will the Princessa be here?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never invited anyone to the seraglio before. You know that.”

  “I do, so I’m surprised you did. Which was she?”

  “The dark-haired woman in the ruby red gown—the one that stood out all around her.”

  “Ah, I didn’t get to meet her. So, how did you invite her?” Inga prodded. “Hulda taught you the protocol, I’m sure. Helva and I will need to know this, too.”

  An excellent question. She, as always, was absolutely right. We were growing up and taking our places in the empire as imperial princesses. I might be going off to another, even worse cage, but Inga and Helva would have some time yet to entertain the other noble ladies of the realm.

  Still, I could simply fail to follow up. Surely an informal invitation uttered in casual conversation counted for little. And I’d carelessly offered in the glut of being overwhelmed, before I’d found out … everything else. Not carelessly. I’d been sincere, because I liked the princessa and wanted to talk with her more. Because Helva deserved a treat.

  Helva who watched me with hopeful eyes and a diligently closed mouth, though she was clearly bursting to plead with me. They both read it in me, that I might decide to renege. Given my crushing emotional state, no one would blame me.

  But that would be giving in. Besides, I had no intention of risking my mother’s ire by expressing my true feelings about the engagement. Not where I could be overheard by anyone lurking in the ferns. I had no doubt of how she’d enforce my obedience.

  So I summoned Hede.

  * * * *

  It turned out to be remarkably easy. I was, after all, an imperial princess. My powers might be limited to the seraglio, but within that small lagoon, I held rank arguably second only to my mother’s. If I wished to, I could make things difficult even for Saira and Jilliya.

  Hede simply bowed and agreed to pass the message that Princessa Adaladja should be escorted to the seraglio to meet the three imperial princesses for lunch in two hours’ time. A late lunch, but we seldom stuck to any particular schedule in the seraglio anyway, with the servants always poised to deliver whatever we wanted, whenever we asked.

  This time, however, I went to some trouble to order our best delicacies. The princessa might think we lived in a cage, like her sorrowful bird, but she would see we at least lacked for no luxury.

  Inga had already hastened off to bathe and dress properly. Helva went off to peruse her vast collection of klúts, and perhaps have her nurse re-do her hair, though we both reiterated that she didn’t need to.

  Truly, I didn’t blame her for being excited. Only yesterday, I might have felt the same.

  Today I felt desperate for distraction. Tonight I would dance the ducerse for the court. Something I’d once looked forward to—demonstrating my hard-earned grace and proficiency—and now dreaded second only to my wedding.

  And wedding night.

  Don’t think about it.

  * * * *

  We received the princessa in the luncheon salon where my mother entertained her visitors. She had tutored me in this, that the formality of the curtained dining space gave outsiders a more secure feeling of being received as they would at any palace, where they had designated rooms and tables for such events. She might not have expected me to act so soon, but I felt confident she’d approve—or at least, would not castigate me—as long as I followed the letter of her customs.

  Amusingly enough, the salon we used was the one that Hestar and I had long ago commandeered to be our throne room. I’d call it ironic but the seraglio wasn’t so large that we had many spaces like it. And it wasn’t as if I hadn’t been in that salon countless times over the ensuing years.

  Perhaps seeing Hestar again the night before made those memories weigh as heavy on my mind as Rodolf’s bloody diamond on my hand. How we’d played at being emperor and empress. How in my childish naivete, I’d believed we’d somehow rule together. Back then we’d been equals in the seraglio—just a little boy and a little girl, both too juvenile to be defined as anything else by the world.

  Then he’d gone out the doors and become this powerfully big and important person, while I’d remained behind, the stunted twin robbed of her vitality by the stronger one. Had our positions been reversed, would I have condemned him, this sibling I hadn’t seen in a decade, to such a fate? I couldn’t imagine doing such a thing to Inga or Helva, certainly. Nor to any of my brothers, for that matter.

  Except maybe to Hestar, in revenge or punishment. He who stood by, making jokes while Rodolf spoke of … I couldn’t think about it.

  Still, I thought, watching my reflection as one of my girls brushed out my hair, drying it to a shimmering gleam, if I’d been born a male, I might think differently. Turning my face from side to side, I imagined my jaw harder and wider. The high cheekbones delicately dusted with rose to accentuate the angles of my face would have that hint of gold stubble like Kral’s, and be heavier, my nose less fine. Though my eyes would be the same deep blue, they’d be less fringed, the brows not plucked into elegant lines. My skin wouldn’t be pearly white, but kissed by the hot sun of outside.

  And I’d have no heart. I’d laugh about tracking animals that dragged themselves bleeding through the forest, their guts hanging out. I’d drink and grow loud and obnoxious with it.

  I’d view women as weak, pretty things to be draped around my neck, then tossed aside when they broke.

  I left my hair hanging long and loose, only a single strand of pearls threaded in to hold it off my forehead. Princessa Adaladja had met Her Imperial Highness Princess Jenna the night before. Today I wanted her to know me as Jenna, another woman.

  What was I thinking—that we might be friends? Perhaps, though I knew full well that where I was going, I would have n
o friends. I wouldn’t even have sisters. If the women of the seraglio at Arynherk were anything at all like the ones at the Imperial Palace, I’d be feared and envied, but no one would be pleased to have me there, disrupting their carefully balanced power structure.

  You’ll have children to love, Inga had said, ever optimistic. That could be. But if I had sons, they’d be taken from me, and if I had girls … I’d sooner drown them than send them to the fate that awaited me. I paused as I passed the little lagoon, partly ours because it lay so close to my apartments, where Inga and Helva always came to me. Deep enough to drown myself in, if I had the courage, and planned it so no one found me in time to stop me. A rekjabrel had done that, tied her klút so it had deep pockets of material and then filled it with everything heavy she could find.

  How long had she fought the urge to slip out of the klút and strike up for air before unconsciousness took that temptation away? Longer than I could, most likely. I’d never possessed much courage that way.

  Mother had a knack for bleeding away unattractive defiance.

  Helva, of course, was already in the dining salon, meticulously rearranging the place settings to perfect the spacing. She had changed her klút. And her hair. It must have taken most of the intervening two hours for her girls to weave the gold ribbon into her hundreds of tiny braids, twisted into a crown studded with topazes that matched her klút of shimmering bronze silk. Her face fell into tragic proportions as she caught sight of me.

  “You didn’t dress up!” she wailed.

  “I told you not to. I had a surfeit of being so polished I couldn’t move last night, and I’ll have to dress in my dancer’s costume tonight. I wanted to be comfortable for a while longer.”

  Besides, that polished and glamourized version of myself had begun to feel like a fraud. That’s who they would marry to Rodolf, who I would perforce become. As long as I could, I’d be myself.

  Inga arrived, her hair also loose, setting Helva into a frenzy of despair over whether she had time to take hers down, too. The sight of Hede leading the princessa around the big lagoon put a stop to that. I took Helva by the shoulders. “This is how you wanted to present yourself, so be that person. Don’t question that. Be yourself. You’re an imperial princess—the honor is all hers, a gift to have luncheon with you.”