by Cara Coe
“Get out!” she yelled at the red headed maiden in all her teenage anger. “Get out and shove your apologies into your-”
“Your Highness!” Sister Patrice scolded her as she appeared just in time to stop the tantrum from heading to an unladylike reference.
The maiden was gone by morning.
The second attempt at companionship left Amelie feeling exposed and vulnerable. The young girl with brown ringlets and jagged scar on her chin said nothing, just looked at the princess with an intense, probing stare. Finally, after two days of thick silence, Amelie decided the quiet was no longer a blessing but a curse in disguise.
“How did you get that scar?” Amelie demanded over a breakfast of warm broth and cider.
“My older brother threw a vase as I was entering the room. He didn’t mean it.”
Amelie’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth. “He hurt you?” she hissed.
The girl’s eyes grew wider, startled at the sudden anger. “Not on purpose, your Highness. He had too much to drink and I walked in at the wrong time.”
“How old is he?”
“Excuse me, your Highness?”
“How old is he?” Amelie’s voice went shrill as she pounded the table.
“Eighteen, your Highness.” Her voice was a whisper.
Amelie deflated, sagging in her chair. Her eyes took on a glassy quality as they brimmed with tears. Eighteen. One year older than Philip. One year older than the brother she lost three months ago. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand as the brimming flooded over, streaking her golden cheeks with salty dampness.
“Please leave,” Amelie croaked hoarsely. She had meant for the maiden to leave for the evening while she collected herself. But the young girl never did return and Amelie once again spent her days in mournful solitude – clinging to it like a best friend. Even Claudia’s short visits couldn’t stir Amelie. Her sister was gripped with her own despair at losing their older brother. Nothing broke those endless days of self-loathing and grief. Nothing until Millie.
Amelie shook off the last of her nightmare and patted Millie’s hand. Millie ducked her head slightly, holding her gaze in question and Amelie nodded.
“Yes, I’m fine. Go back to your bed.”
“Okay,” she said with finality. “Good, because it’s my turn to sweep out the church and Sister Patrice likes that chore done before the sun hits the convent walls.”
Amelie smiled at her friend with warmth and gratitude. It wasn’t until Millie came that she began to heal. Though somewhat crookedly, she thought with an affectionate smile. What she was today wasn’t perfect, but it was the best version she could muster while weighted down with this magical curse.
* * *
Millie and Amelie were helping Sister Minerva prepare dinner in the galley kitchen when Sister Yona came to tell the princess of a visitor. Amelie received few visitors. They were limited to the king, her sister, Sir Duncan, on rare occasions the queen, and the captain of security, Captain Lucas.
“Which one?” Amelie asked Sister Yona, using her apron to dust the flour off her hands.
“Captain Lucas.”
Due to the hour and the unscheduled nature of his arrival it either meant an urgent message from her sister or an assignment. Amelie feared the second. Pressing assignments usually meant more precarious situations and heavily using her powers. Usually when she readied for a mission, Sir Duncan would make a leisurely journey to the convent and spend the better part of a week detailing her mission and prepping her for needed knowledge of the region. Many times she could cross into kingdoms and complete the task without encountering anyone of consequence.
Millie sucked in a breath and Amelie tried to hide a small smile. There was affection in Millie’s eyes for this soldier, Amelie had noticed lately. She turned to Millie. “It must be urgent. I’ll go see what the message is. Clean yourself up and ready our packs?” Millie nodded, wiping quickly at a damp towel and making a face as she swatted her golden hair letting loose flour particles that Amelie had teasingly hit her with earlier, to Sister Minerva’s annoyance.
Amelie turned back to Sister Yona. “Please, light the incense. Show him to the parlor.”
Amelie smoothed the front of her apron. Captain Roland Lucas was head of the King’s personal guard and a dear friend to her. He was brought into the convent to teach her defensive skills as the complexity of her assignments presented greater dangers. Though he was not immune to her effects, she clearly felt his resistance to her. They kept their sparring practices short as he needed frequent breaks to clear his mind of her fog.
During their short stretches of time together, they talked. Politely at first, then more intimately as he told her of his childhood and she conveyed her adventures on the road. Some of these stories caused concern to touch his eyes and the practices grew more intense as though he was trying to will his skill with the sword into her faster.
“Captain,” she breathed as she entered the parlor. She gave a small curtsey to his deep bow.
“Princess. You have been summoned by the crown to complete a mission.”
Amelie dropped her eyes and sighed deeply. “I was afraid of that. I’ve been back less than a fortnight.”
Captain Lucas stood tall, lips pursed. He was dressed in his uniform of red with a black sash and dark pressed pants. His height gave him a regal form. His face was youthful, betraying his age. His was just shy of twenty-six years, one of the youngest captains of the personal guard. His skill and loyalty quickly pushed him up the ranks and he now stood in this position after the former guard, his uncle, died at the end of an enemy’s sword. An assassin that had found his way into the castle’s passages. This made Amelie’s missions more frequent and with all her contempt more deadly.
“Where am I going this time?”
“I do not know the particulars. I am to escort you to the palace tonight. From there, you will leave for your destination.”
Her friend was too formal. Captain Lucas stood rigid, his eyes burned into the parlor wall. Amelie took a step forward towards his practiced stance, and then hesitated. The saltwood incense circled its sea breeze smell around the room but the extra protection did not seem to ease the captain.
“Have you been drinking?”
The captain’s gaze shifted to her face momentarily. “Brandy with the new recruits. I was not supposed to be on duty. This errand arose suddenly.”
“Will you be all right if I-“
His look remained determinedly steady. “I will remain constant,” he said in a low, promising voice.
Amelie crossed the room and took both his hands in hers. “How is my sister?”
A smile crossed his face. “She is well. I left her this evening after dinner.”
“She knows of my arrival?”
“She’s knows you’re coming, Princess. She has already set up your room in the eastern tower.”
Amelie grinned merrily as this silver lining. Her days passing time in the convent or running missions for the crown meant little time was spent with her sibling.
“Millie is packing our things as we speak, Captain. We will meet you at the carriage within the hour.”
Chapter 6
Amelie
Her room was cold. She sat stiffly in the antechamber as King Byron entered. He flicked a single hand at his guard. “Leave us.”
Captain Lucas hesitated only a moment to level a solemn gaze at Amelie. She read it clearly. A single outburst from her would elicit his immediate response. She nodded slightly at his assurance and he pulled the heavy oak door shut behind him.
The king was aging well. The flecks of silver in his auburn hair and the crinkle in his hands spoke of his true age, nearly twice the years Amelie possessed. But his clear eyes and sharp looks made him several years younger in a passing glance. He looked at her hungrily now, years of exposure to her fog taking him more quickly in each encounter they had.
“You look well, Amelie,” he mused crossing the room and s
etting himself on the chair opposite to her position.
“What is my mission, your Majesty?” Amelie had no interest in exchanging pleasantries and extending this visit any longer than it needed to be.
“A noble in Draeden. Lord Lennox. He is having a ball three nights from now and it is imperative you attend. He was to meet with the rider you disposed of on your last mission, so you’ll have to improvise as a new contact. Sir Duncan will debrief you on the contents of the message you intercepted. There was enough there that you should make a believable substitute to the treacherous lord.”
“Allegedly treacherous,” Amelie amended quietly.
King Byron paused, leaned back a little in his chair and smiled warmly. “Ah, yes. The ever optimistic princess.”
“If you doled out the definitive punishments I have, if you’ve watched the life seep from the man you just cut, then you would not pass judgments so casually, your Majesty.”
“A fair and wise statement,” he agreed, standing and circling his chair. He hesitated a moment at the door before turning back to her.
Please go, Amelie pleaded inwardly, stiffening at his hesitation. The war within him between heading back to his own chamber and giving into his desire was palatable in the air.
“You are beautiful as always,” he breathed, his eyes dipping below her neck. He moved forward and she rose quickly to give herself a greater advantage in defense.
“My sister will be here shortly, your Majesty. She will stay the night with me and I ride out early tomorrow morning. If your message to me is complete, I pray you will let me get the rest I need.”
He reached her and placed a hand behind her head. He brought his face close to her hair and inhaled deeply. His mouth did not touch her, but followed the lines of her neck, a breath away from her skin. Amelie stood stiffly, tense, waiting. These brushes of contact had grown more intense of late, but she felt if she drew away it may provoke him to act on his urges. Instead, she balanced her reaction, looking for the brink to strike at trouble and not a moment before.
“You do not know what you do to me.”
“You are married to my mother.” Amelie struggled to even her voice. Her fingers rolled into clenched fists. “You will do well to remember that. Your majesty.”
He drew back and gazed at her, his finger stroking her cheek. “You serve me well, Amelie.”
“I serve my kingdom.” If he caught the significance in her statement, he didn’t show it or didn’t care. He let his hand drop and gave a small smile.
“I’ll have Captain Lucas give you the provisions you need. If you sense any trouble, disengage yourself and report to the palace directly. I wish there to be no violence on this matter as we’re dealing with a much more public figure.”
Chapter 7
Amelie
The Draeden Lord’s manor was littered with expensive noble suits and glittering ladies’ dresses. The guests were animated as this was the first ball of the season in this part of the kingdom. All were indistinguishable from one another behind the flurry of masks that moved about the room. Amelie adjusted her own gold and blue peacock eye mask so that she could make better use of her limited peripheral. Her skin itched slightly from the saltwood ash Millie rubbed on her arms and chest outside in a crest of trees to the side of the manor. Mixed with the glittering paste scraped from the sparkling lining of lake snails, the effect looked like a purposeful shimmer that accentuated her attire. The saltwood ash paired with her continuous effort to subdue her magic would buy her more time to extract information from the Lord. The mindful effort would result in a slight headache later tonight but she found that preferable to pulsing her influence and attracting too much attention with the sudden influx of her unnatural charms.
“The Lord has been surrounded since our arrival,” Millie bemoaned from behind her own silver and lavender calling bird’s mask. The girls had chosen popular styles in order to hasten their blending in, but Millie’s long golden curls and porcelain cheeks were still drawing many eyes. Subtle whispers among the guests made Amelie tense. She knew guests were observing each other, evaluating the richness of the attendance and speculating on discovered newcomers. She had not wanted to be the last guest in, a conspicuous arrival. She aimed for close to last so that they could slip in with a large crowd to avoid the customary welcome the hosts employed at the front door, but she had mistimed her entry. Lord Lennox was still indisposed at his welcome post and it would be some time before Amelie could commence with her mission. Amelie was uncomfortable being in Draeden territory once again, but she decided to make the most of the occasion.
“Dance, Millie,” Amelie said, turning to her friend and breaking into a grin. “It’s no Forest Ball, but it will do. If we don’t start mingling, we’ll stick out more than we already do.”
“Don’t neglect the ‘we’ part of those instructions,” Millie warned. “You will have to socialize as well.”
“I am concentrating most of my energy on suppressing the magic,” Amelie murmured. “I am sure to step on a partner’s foot if I had to juggle that with my clumsy dancing.” Amelie smiled and relented at Millie’s disapproving frown. “I will dance. My touching them will make it harder. I’ll do the best I can.”
“I will intervene if I see any gentlemen getting attached,” Millie promised solemnly and Amelie gave her friend’s hand a squeeze before the two women parted in opposite directions to circle the room.
The collection of masks was impressive. The men wore simple blacks or browns, complimenting their suits. The women however made it a sport of who could wear the biggest, boldest, most elaborate mask. Jewels shined, fabric shimmered, feathers wisped about the room. The eyewear competed with the dresses for attention. Amelie was glad for her understated peacock. That, with the simple plaits falling down on either side of her head and shiny green high collared dress meant memory of her would fade as soon as an onlooker’s gaze flicked to something else in the room.
She strolled past the spread of sweets, picking up a raspberry tart to stall time and she surveyed her options. She wanted to join a larger group of men and women huddled in clusters around the room. The number would lessen the amount of questions directed at herself and would increase the chances of an invitation to dance. Even with the effort of controlling her magic, she much preferred to pass the time performing dance steps punctuated with polite comments rather than weaving around more probing conversations on the sidelines.
She sidled up to three men and two women discussing the impending nuptials of Prince Kernan, the older of the two princes of Draeden.
“She’s a lady from eastern Draeden. Her family owns half the seaport and the lands besides,” said an older woman with wobbly chins as she swished the stray hairs off her forehead with a silver and maroon fan to match her mask. “A pretty girl and a wise match for the prince.”
“What’s wisdom got to do with love?” sighed Amelie into her raspberry dessert, forgetting herself. Realizing she’d spoken aloud, Amelie stuffed the remainder in her mouth and glanced around the room as her new companions study her.
“And what do you know of it?” the other woman spoke up. She was much younger than the fan lady with blonde ringlets and a bright rouge to her cheeks. Even with her diamond-encrusted black mask and heavy powders on her face, she was no match for Millie’s beauty.
“Aye, the royals know how to make a match dear,” Fan Lady agreed. “And love is low on the list. Love is a luxury. One hopes for such a spark, or even a slow realization, but it’s not a necessity.” Her voice was not as tart as her company but it dripped with a condensation that ruffled Amelie. How little these women knew to cast such judgments! One was still obviously fishing for a husband and the other looked like her prime had circled her bosom and left before she could loose her legs. To toss aside love which such carelessness! When Amelie had to set her own chance at love aside bitterly and think nothing more of it.
“Without love, a marriage deal struck is no more than a monetary barg
ain in which the woman loses almost every time.” Amelie couldn’t stop herself. This is why she preferred the slink in and out method instead of suffering these haughty balls with these haughty nobles and their self-appointed righteousness. The desserts were rather tasty, though. She wished for another to remove the sour tang this conversation was leaving in her mouth.
“I hardly think you can find a seaport lady turned royal a disadvantageous situation.”
“Oh, but I can. In her own lands, she has the love of her family, an opportunity to learn an occupation, a chance at inheritance. In Draeden’s backwards law, daughters can inherit, but not wives. Not the woman who stood by her man and put in the time, effort, and strength in her years cultivating the family business. In the castle, this seaport lady turned royalty will be stripped of her independence, placed on the arm of the prince, and expected to bear children and smile at congregations, nothing more. Love is the only thing that stands between a life of misery and a life of bliss for her.”
One of the gentlemen, a young noble with a thick mustache and light brown curls awry gave a wide smile and extended a hand. “Hale Crawford is the name, and this is Lady Pinch-” the fan lady nodded deeply “-Lady Beckett-” the younger lady scowled “-Lord Trupdone and Lord Fingrid.” Each of the other two men bowed at the waist as their name was presented. Amelie took Lord Crawford’s hand and bowed in return, not offering her name. The absence was noted and Lady Pinch moved her fan more quickly as she exchanged eyes with Lady Beckett. “So you have a disdain for our royal court, then?” Lord Crawford asked, clearing his throat to break the silence.
Amelie remembered her company and that she, too, was supposed to be Draeden. She smiled warmly and hoped the expression crawled up her cheeks and reached her eyes deep within her mask.
“Oh, not at all, Lord Crawford. I think King Armiss and the princes are fair and just rulers for the most part. The absence of love is difficult on both parties in the marriage. As I said before, it is the woman who comes out on the wrong end of the arrangement. She hasn’t a chance.”