Tucking the file behind his back, Ben left his room and headed to the library where he’d first read the account in the Loxian memoir. Maybe he’d missed something because he didn’t fully understand the situation.
The library was on the first floor, just to the left of the palace’s main entrance. Moonlight came in through the glass dome of the entryway, and it made the white marble glow.
The library was empty. Guests were absent because the Bellevues were supposed to be in Chester’s Wake.
The main room was dim, lit only by an evening security light. Father and Mother prided themselves on the advanced knowledge available to the citizens of Lox compared to their neighboring countries. The Loxians had recovered and saved much of the art and educational tools lost from centuries ago. Mother said that was the reason the Loxians enjoyed more peace than the others.
Ben left the light off as he strode to the back room, to the place where he’d been studying history and political technique. Knowledge was power, Father always said. He pulled the small diary from the shelf where he’d left it and settled into his usual red armchair. “Lights.”
The room was bathed in soft gaslight.
He pulled the file from behind his back, laid it out on the small table at his side, and then flipped through the diary until he came to the notes about the imprisoned doctor.
December 13, 391 P.W.
Whilst visiting our neighbors in Chester’s Wake, Queen Hamilton went into birthing labor with her second child. It was early labor, as the queen was several weeks before her time. A doctor of Dawson’s Edge happened to be visiting, to his great misfortune. He was able to attend the queen until her own doctor could arrive. However, the queen delivered long before a second doctor made his appearance. The doctor, superstitious Dawsonian that he was, caused such a fuss over the baby that he was thrown into the dungeon! It made for quite an entertaining evening.
The entry stopped there, and Ben grabbed the file he’d taken from the dungeon. The handwritten notes were brief and to the point.
The memoir stated again that Dr. Presnell was a superstitious Dawsonian. So what connection did a Chester’s Wake baby have with a Dawsonian superstition? Dawsonian women didn’t keep their hair cut short. Roland Dawson had quite a few ladies in his entourage, and they’d had long hair.
So, why would Queen Hamilton’s child need short hair? A curse, perhaps? The Dawsonians employed conjurers. Maybe Dr. Presnell was one of them, despite being a respected physician who travelled between kingdoms. But why should Dr. Presnell care what happened to the Hamilton’s baby?
He scanned the memoir, checking to see if the author had made any other references to the event. When he found none, he replaced the book before turning off the lights and returning to his room. He relocked his stolen file in his desk drawer and slammed the key onto the solid wood top. He knew nothing more now than when he’d started.
On his bedside table a square white note had been propped against his clock. In Hansen’s fine handwriting it said;
Queen Frieda requests you meet her in her office first thing in the morning.
Another appointment. What tragedies did she and Father have to show Ben next? He didn’t need more lessons on the importance of keeping the people safe. He understood, and he would not risk the lives of his people. Nor would Roanna wish him to. It was a pledge Mother and Father obviously did not trust.
17
Ben sat in the waiting area of the state rooms.
Mother’s secretary had arrived a few minutes before, but Mother hadn’t made it to her office yet.
“Can I get you anything, Your Highness?” the secretary asked.
He should ask for her name. After all, he’d likely be working in these offices very soon. The time for studying was almost at an end. Instead, he said, “No, thank you.”
She smiled and went back to work, and he beat his pinkie finger on the smooth leather armrest. Where was Mother? She was rarely late, and especially not to a meeting she had called.
“Your Highness, the queen will see you now.”
Finally. Ben bolted from his seat. “Mother,” he said as he entered the office and closed the heavy wooden door. He sat across from her.
“Benjamin.” Mother sat at her desk. She pushed a button on her Messenger screen and looked at Ben. “Hansen will begin packing your suitcases immediately. You will travel to Dawson’s Edge for an upcoming ball.”
Ben frowned. “Why?”
“King Dawson has determined the best way for you to meet a noble bride is by holding a ball where you can mingle with their people. See if anyone strikes your fancy.”
Strikes his fancy? So, Father and Mother had decided to move forward with King Dawson’s plan. Dread seeped through him, but the faces of the widows from yesterday passed through his memory. He would do his part in keeping peace between their kingdoms. He bowed slightly. “Very well, Mother.”
Mother nodded, but her eyes showed her surprise at the easy response. “This will be a good thing. You’ll see. I only warn you to take caution.”
He leaned back in his chair, frowning. “Are you superstitious now, too, Mother?”
“No, just suspicious,” she replied. “I do not always trust the Dawsonians. I warn you to take care, lest you be fooled.”
He nodded. “Thank you for the reminder. I will keep diligent and hope to meet at least one woman worthy of Lox.”
Mother smiled. “Of course you will. I am always proud of you.”
He would need to see Father before he left. He was likely in his own office, which wasn’t on the same floor. Father oversaw his own groups around the kingdom, mostly military matters. He preferred to work with his own staff and at his own pace.
Ben quickened his steps, though he wasn’t sure why. He was in no hurry to be paraded in front of the women in Dawson’s Edge.
Father met him on his way to his office. “Your mother has spoken to you, I take it. I will keep in touch with you. You leave tonight.”
“I understand, Father,” Ben said.
“Excellent.” Father gave a curt nod.
The behavior was more tense than Ben usually witnessed from Father, but Ben didn’t focus on it. He walked back to his room as his thoughts formed into ideas. If he was in Dawson’s Edge, it could give him a chance to see if Dr. Presnell was alive. If he had been prestigious enough to travel between palaces in Dawson’s Edge and Chester’s Wake, surely, he would be remembered by a few people who could point Ben in the right direction.
Hansen was in the throes of packing Ben’s suitcases when he returned. “Will I be travelling with you, Your Highness?” he asked.
Mother hadn’t specified, but if Ben was to attend a ball he would appreciate Hansen’s help. “Would you mind terribly?”
“No, Your Highness. I would be honored.”
Ben smiled his thanks and then moved to his desk to figure out what documentation he might need. He eyed the Messenger, considering sending Gregory a note about the ball, but something kept him back. If he needed to let Roanna go, he should start now. A nagging voice told him he was fooling himself. He would never fully release her. But he could refrain from sending her notes and messages. It was important for him to be virtuous and upstanding, especially as the future king. He could not set a bad example.
Still, he slipped Dr. Presnell’s file into his luggage.
Once he’d given Hansen all of his other paperwork, he left the room to seek out the chapel. He had much to think about.
18
Roanna
The flight to Edge River was uneventful. She, Father, and Mother had squished into a small airship because there were no air stations near the river territory, which meant they needed a vessel that could land easily on a grassy knoll.
Apparently, there was very little civilization in the region. Only the military base, which teamed with troops dressed in blue and silver: Chester’s Wake soldiers and guards.
Across the expanse of the river was a different base,
belonging to Dawson’s Edge. Roland Dawson was likely there now, with King Bartholomew Dawson and perhaps Queen Katherine as well.
Roanna had never met them, had barely seen pictures of them when summit meetings were featured in news reports. Would she need to impress them somehow? Her stomach twisted, but she pushed past the discomfort.
Five days had passed since Ben was taken home; three days had passed since Roland Dawson returned to Dawson’s Edge. Now, they were meeting at the river so Father and King Bartholomew—in the witness of King Neville and Queen Frieda, who smiled at her sympathetically—could sign their peace treaty as well as a marriage agreement.
Roanna gripped the sides of her ankle length, cream-colored day dress. Bette had pushed her to dress up more, but with Roanna’s insistence she had settled on something less formal. Now Roanna wiped her sweaty palms on the softly ruffled folds of material, wishing she were somewhere—anywhere—else.
Mother took her hand and offered a smile. “It will be fine, Roanna. Don’t be afraid. All women have nerves when it comes time to marry; but we all make it through.”
Roanna offered Mother a tight smile. Mother had gone through the same betrothal ritual. She came from within Lox. She had brought money with her, as her family had been one of Lox’s wealthiest, though not royalty. She hadn’t known Father, save a handful of prior meetings. But Father was kind, honest, and loving.
Ambassador Dawson had shown himself none of those things. He had also shown himself jealous and unsympathetic in the few days they’d spent together after their engagement. And her strange shivers had only increased since then.
Father stepped toward her. “It is time.” He held his hand out to her, a large smile on his face. “Come.”
She took his hand as she swallowed nerves. They were led by guards out the back of the base along the river bank toward a large pavilion, made of trellises but equipped with gentle fans to keep a cool breeze blowing. White roses had been brought in and wound through the trellises.
King and Queen Dawson approached as Roanna and her family entered the pavilion. Roland trailed behind them, a smile on his face. King Dawson was taller than she had imagined, and Queen Katherine was nearly as tall. They both carried themselves with surety. Queen Katherine’s hair was a deep auburn, and her skin was pale. Roanna didn’t know her origin.
The king, on the other hand, had tanned skin like his brother. His hair was dark and hung to his shoulders.
“King Bart,” Father said, holding his arm out to the Dawsonian.
King Bartholomew gripped arms with Father and patted him on the back with his free hand. “It is good to see you, neighbor. It has been too long.”
Mother and Queen Katherine hugged, always smiling.
Roanna hung back. Surely, she wouldn’t be expected to approach Roland, but when a chance presented, she curtsied silently to the king and queen.
“So, this is the beauty Roland has told me about.” King Dawson held out a hand to her.
Roanna stepped forward and curtsied again before taking his hand. “Your Highness.”
“I am pleased to join our families in marriage at last.” He gripped her hand and a warm sensation spread through her. She sensed no animosity from him, only open kindness, not a mere feeling, more like a definitive knowledge, something her senses told her to be true as surely as her ears told her of the rushing river water. A strange sensation.
King Dawson pulled her into a brief hug, and then she curtsied to and hugged Queen Katherine.
Roanna quickly moved behind Father and Mother so the small shivers that had started would draw no notice. She looked to her hands; they weren’t shaking. Yet.
What could it mean? But more importantly, how could she hide it? They would think her odd. Uncooperative and withdrawn.
Gripping her hands in her lap, she took a seat at the rear of the pavilion as Father and Mother sat with King and Queen Dawson, and Queen Frieda and King Neville. Roland met her eye, and she silently cursed herself for looking his way.
He smiled widely, his excitement obvious.
She indulged him with a small smile, but inside, she shook. She should have made a way to tell Ben about her hair. He needed to know that whatever the Dawsonian doctor had warned Mother about was coming true.
Pain throbbed behind her eyes, and she pressed them closed, taking deep breaths and willing the pain to pass. It did not pass, but grew worse, aching until she pushed the palms of her hands against her eyes to relieve the pressure.
“My lady, are you all right?” A guard beside her bent toward her.
“It will pass, thank you.”
He backed away, but the pain persisted.
Peace at last. We will finally have the opportunity to expand our kingdom. Soon, we will have the resources to crush this cursed rebellion. King Dawson’s voice resonated through the pain.
Roanna stilled. She glanced around, looking for anyone else’s reactions to the words. But everyone went about their business as if the words had not been uttered. She hadn’t exactly heard them, though they were in King Dawson’s voice. But he could not have spoken them. Right this moment he spoke to Father, and Father would surely question talk of a rebellion.
Make sure to get the marriage agreement in writing, brother. She has a lover, and I don’t wish to be jilted. Roland’s voice echoed when he hadn’t moved his lips.
Roanna’s breaths came in short bursts. Ambassador Roland had not spoken aloud. But then, how was she hearing them? Feeling them? Sensing them? Her shivering continued until she couldn’t control it any more. She gripped her hands tighter.
A moment later the same guard reappeared with a small but stylish denim jacket. “You’re cold, Princess,” he said.
She smiled up at him gratefully.
Besides this strange phenomenon of her shivers, she had Roland Dawson’s words to worry about. She has a lover, and I don’t wish to be jilted.
A lover? Ben was not her lover. Still, the words had not been given kindly, but with a sound of warning. Perhaps she was being silly. Or going crazy. Or imagining things.
Torturous minutes passed as the kings and queens spoke and signed documents. Roanna could not get Roland’s words out of her mind. Thoughts of Ben brought on a new pang, a new worry. Would Roland retaliate against Ben if he even suspected their friendship remained? The warning in the words she felt from him was clear.
The aching in her head relaxed little by little, replaced by the ache in her heart.
19
“We will hold a celebration!” King Dawson held a goblet in the air as if making a toast. The peace treaty had been signed, as had the marriage agreement. The Loxian Queen and King had departed, and now only the Hamiltons and Dawsons remained. A festive atmosphere permeated the pavilion.
“A party?” Queen Katherine suggested. She was beautiful, and like King Dawson, Roanna sensed nothing but kindness from her. “We could throw a ball!”
Roland sat on the edge of the table and smiled at her. “What about an engagement party?”
Roanna turned toward Mother and Father. Maybe they would refuse or postpone.
But Father smiled and nodded. “A fine idea. Where shall we have it?”
Queen Katherine beamed. “At our palace. I insist!”
“Yes,” Mother said to Father. “Leave it to us. We will plan it all.” She gripped Roanna’s hand and gave her a big, excited smile.
Roanna forced herself to return it, but she doubted she pulled it off very well.
“Come along,” Mother said. “Let’s leave the men to speak, and we will make plans.”
Roanna gladly left the company of Roland Dawson, who kept staring at her as if she should be happy. She pressed her eyes closed and took a deep breath. He did expect her to be happy, and rightfully so. He was going to marry her.
If she was to pull this off—protect her family, her kingdom, and Ben—she would have to do a better job at coming to terms with her life.
Mother and Queen Katherine led her
to a small sitting area across the pavilion. Queen Katherine took her hand and gave her a smile. “I have always wanted a daughter, and while you will be my sister-in-law rather than my daughter-in-law, it is my hope that we can be great friends.”
Again, warmth spread through Roanna. While she did not want Roland, she felt a kindred spirit in the queen. She squeezed Queen Katherine’s hand. “Thank you, Your Highness. I hope so, too.”
They talked about the engagement party they would throw. It would be held at the palace in Dawson’s Edge, one week in the future. All the royalty and nobility around the continent would be invited. They would have elaborate foods, a live instrument band, and dancing.
The details overwhelmed her until the shivering started all over.
“Roanna, what’s wrong?” Mother asked.
She forced another smile. “I’m not feeling well. This is a lot to take in.”
Queen Katherine’s eyes softened. “Oh, you poor dear. You must leave the rest to us.”
Relief washed over Roanna. She sat back and tried to relax, but her mind would not rest. Chancing him spotting her, Roanna looked Roland’s way. She couldn’t forget how he had spoken to King Dawson, without ever opening his lips. Or had he simply been thinking it without King Dawson being able to hear? And there was always another option, that he hadn’t done any thinking at all. Roanna had imagined the whole thing.
Roland spoke jovially with Father and King Dawson. Someone said something amusing, and Roland threw back his head and laughed.
Roanna turned away before he could catch her looking, lest he think she held happy feelings toward him. Instead, she looked to King Dawson. If she truly had read his thoughts—or perhaps, sensed them—he was battling a rebellion. But where? In Dawson’s Edge?
A thought came upon her, slowly at first but then all at once. Did royals have the genetic testing for the Termination process? What if she herself had an anomaly? How else would she explain the strange things happening to her?
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