She smiled. “Yes, the statues are one of the many reasons I love the maze.”
“Will you tell me about them?” I asked her, in much the same fashion she had asked me.
It took a moment for her eyes to focus on me, then she said in a quiet voice, “Not tonight, but soon.” She paused, then sat up straight and looked me full in the face. “Was he good for you? Did you learn something about yourself?”
I regarded her with curiosity, wondering what had prompted this turn of subject, then answered honestly. “Yes.” My eyes filled with silent tears as I thought, He made me see myself.
“Then I cannot reprimand you,” she said, that same look of remembrance in her eyes.
“It wasn’t just that,” I said, more to myself than my mother. “He taught me about myself, but he also taught me so much more. He taught me about the world outside. That maze was my haven, and now the thought of entering it—” I broke off, unable to finish.
“Have you been out at all since he left?”
“I can’t go without him. It doesn’t feel right.”
She gave me a quizzical stare and then asked, “Have you thought about riding?”
“Riding?” I asked in astonishment. She knew how I felt about horses.
My mother’s mouth pulled up at one corner. “Yes, riding. I think it’s high time you learned to handle a horse.”
***
I hoped this inclination of my mother’s would soon pass, but such was not my luck. The very next day when I went to my lesson, I was informed that I would spend one hour after lessons in the stables. When the time came, I walked very slowly to the stables. A myriad of scenarios ran through my head, all of which involved me being thrown and trampled by a horse and meeting my doom.
I arrived at the stables and was met by a courteous manservant who gave me a slight bow.
“Good morning, Highness. My name is Weston. I’ve been expecting you.”
“Well then, I suppose it’s a good thing I showed up,” I replied, trying to figure out what to do with my hands as I stood awkwardly in the stable doorway.
“You have some reservations?” he asked with a kind smile.
“Several.”
“I assure you, Princess, you have nothing to worry about. And I’m afraid it is Her Majesty’s express wish that you learn to ride, so you really don’t have much of a choice.” He said this in jest, with a smile in his eyes that set me at ease–at least somewhat.
“Well then, I suppose we should get to it.”
“Of course, Princess, if you would allow me one moment.”
“Yes, of course.”
As Weston bowed away, I began taking in my surroundings. The stables were quite magnificent in their own right, and though the horses terrified me, I could also see their beauty.
When Weston returned, we had a quick disagreement about which saddle I would use. He had brought a ladies’ saddle, which looked so precarious and awkward that I insisted he put me in a normal saddle, one where I might have a fighting chance at staying upright. He eventually acquiesced, and we continued with my first lesson.
My hand shook as I reached out to stroke the mare I was doomed to ride. I jumped when she made a sudden movement and heard Weston cough behind me, no doubt trying to squelch his laughter. When he finally persuaded me into the saddle, I sat tense, breathing methodically through my nose as I tried to be calm. The horse shifted and my chest seized up as I clutched the reins. The size and strength of the horse beneath me was overwhelming. While one part of me hated that feeling, another part enjoyed that I was feeling something other than that black hollowness. I forced myself to keep breathing, determined to keep trying, and made it to the end of the hour. By that time I was able to relax at least a little.
I stepped away from the horse as my lesson ended and turned to Weston.
“Will I be seeing you back here tomorrow, Princess?”
I knew my mother wanted this for me, but my decision to continue had little to do with her wishes. I needed something in my life other than books and sadness. “Yes,” I replied simply and dipped into a quick curtsy as he bowed me out of the stables.
The next day I returned to the stables willingly, almost eagerly. The tension and apprehension were still there, but I had to find a way to fill the hole inside of me, and this seemed as good an idea as any.
***
Four months later found me on a horse whenever I could manage it. It was the best remedy I had—the best way of working through my heartache. Once I had gotten over my initial fear, riding came naturally to me. I believe my instructors started wishing I had retained a bit of hesitance. When Weston realized just how much time my training would require, he turned me over to another groom named Emmett. I felt perfectly comfortable on a horse, and this made any instructor uncomfortable. Regardless of my competence, I was still escorted by Emmett whenever I went riding because they did not think me quite capable enough to be on my own, and because they saw me as reckless. And I was, but I was also very good on a horse.
There was one afternoon I had a particular need to be alone. I tried to convince Emmett that I was competent enough to ride on my own.
“I’m sorry, Highness, but I cannot let you ride off by yourself. You are still quite new at this. I have to stay with you.” I had a feeling this had more to do with my father than anything.
I sucked in my anger. “Fine, but I’m not waiting,” I replied before kicking my horse into a mad gallop.
Emmett’s frustration grew to new levels over the next weeks. I found great satisfaction in trying to outride him. I never quite managed it, but it was fun to try, and it made him crazy.
After a month of that, I pulled myself into the saddle one morning and saw no one else preparing another mount. Emmett just looked at me, clearly uneasy while Weston answered my look of surprise. “Her Majesty has asked that you be allowed to ride out on your own for no more than an hour.”
I grinned in triumph and trotted off.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Time
THIS DAY MARKED six months. Six months ago, Gavin had kissed me and then been dragged from my life. I had not seen him or heard anything about him since.
I could have. If I had asked Gretchen, I’m sure she could have told me something about him. But I didn’t ask and she didn’t offer. The temptation to ask for some scrap of information, for some clue as to what kind of life he led, was constant, but I knew that if I asked once, I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from asking over and over again. And I knew that it would hurt, and keep hurting.
I’m not proud of it, but enduring my life was all I could do. I went through the motions and avoided every question my sisters put to me about the gardener. I took satisfaction in music, drawing, books, and my newly acquired horse, Fancy. I also continued to talk with my mother and feel invisible in the presence of my father.
But today, I skipped my lessons. For the first time since his departure, I fought past my trepidation and went into Gavin’s garden room at dawn, leaning against the flowering tree as I watched the sky lighten above me. I had noticed a difference in the maze as soon as I walked in. It was still well kept, but not in the same way. Gavin had spent every day working in the maze, so his absence was obvious.
In truth, I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to feel this feeling and be this person. I didn’t want to give in to my hurt and my missing him. I wanted to be strong. But I didn’t feel strong. I wondered how losing him had stripped me of my courage. After all, I had had plenty before I met him. I had stepped outside myself; I had ignored the rules and made a friend out of a common gardener. Where was my courage now? Where was the curiosity and determination I had used to pull him into my life?
I missed those parts of myself. And it frightened me that I couldn’t seem to find them. It was as though in falling for Gavin, I had given those parts of myself to him, and he had taken them with him.
But I needed them. I needed those parts of myself that made me Ella. I wa
nted to feel strong—to be strong.
But on this day, I just sat there, hoping that tomorrow I’d be able to find myself.
***
The next week I decided to do something—anything—to reclaim myself. Gavin had been my link to a people I had been curious about throughout my entire adolescence. He had made me feel a part of them, even if I did not know them. And now I had only Gretchen. So it was through her that I started learning the names of the servants in my household. It was the only little rebellion I dared indulge in. I studied their faces and remembered their names, not wanting to see them as “the servants,” but as individuals. It was all I could do.
As another month passed, I started to notice the slackening of the hold my father had on me, so I decided to take it a step further. I started using the names of the servants as much as possible when addressing them. I looked them in the eye when asking for something and thanked them for it later. At first their response was hesitant, but eventually, instead of greeting me in an obligatory monotone, their voices held real feeling, and a smile lit their eyes. It was a small thing, but even that bit of connection was a comfort. It reminded me of the world outside these walls, and helped to ease the loneliness I felt at being separated from those who had made me feel so alive.
I found satisfaction in my success, but that small happiness was invariably interrupted by Jeshua. He came every six months without fail, and trying to convince him of my indifference while keeping up the pretense of ignorance was exhausting.
The celebration for my seventeenth birthday was a much smaller affair than the year before, but there was still a ball, so I was once again forced into Jeshua’s arms.
I managed to avoid him for the entire first half of the evening, but he inevitably snuck up behind me, his hand on my waist, breathing on my neck as he bent to speak in my ear.
“Happy Birthday, Ariella.”
I flinched as the tip of his nose grazed my ear. “Thank you, Prince Jeshua.”
“I’ve been trying to win a dance with you all night, but you’ve moved from partner to partner too swiftly.”
The only reason I wasn’t dancing now was because the musicians were not playing.
“Perhaps you could make it up to me by giving me the next three dances.”
My stomach turned. “Actually, all that dancing has left me parched. I was just going in search of some refreshment.”
“An excellent idea.” He tucked my hand into the crook of his arm and set off toward the tables lining one wall.
Walking with him was better than dancing, but drinking only took so long, and he pulled me onto the dance floor. I distracted myself by thinking of the village dances while trying to maintain a comfortable distance from him.
By the end of the third dance, there was barely any space between us and my arms hurt from trying to keep him away.
I remained vigilant throughout the rest of the night and avoided any further dancing with him, falling into bed completely exhausted.
The next morning, I was sitting in the breakfast room, my sisters having already finished, when Jeshua joined me, taking the seat to my left. I swallowed as nervous dread filled my stomach.
“Good morning, Ariella.”
“Good morning, Prince Jeshua,” I answered while dodging the hand that reached toward my hair. He pulled his hand back but leaned toward me, resting his arm on the back of my chair. “Are you enjoying your stay?” It took all of my self control not to run from the room.
He just smiled. “I always enjoy my time in your home.”
I nodded, trying to ignore his fingers as they pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. My father walked in at that moment and I was able to slip away as soon as he caught Jeshua’s attention. I needed to find one of my sisters so that I would not be caught by myself again.
***
It had been one year, and I started to reclaim myself. Perhaps not all of myself, but I stopped simply enduring life and again participated in it. I became more familiar with the servants. I even tried to mend my relationship with my sisters. I continued to ride—recklessly much of the time, especially when I was by myself. I convinced my mother to join me on some of my outings, and during those rides, I learned her story. Until Gavin had told me about the statues, I had never had reason to suspect that my mother’s life had been anything out of the ordinary. When we developed the habit of riding together, I found the nerve to ask her about it.
“I wasn’t like you,” she told me as we walked our horses side by side. “I didn’t try to be anything but what was expected of me…until after I was married.” Her eyes cut over to me. “And you can imagine how well that went over. Your father and I knew each other fairly well, at least on the surface. But when I was brought to this place to start my life with him as a queen, I realized I had expectations that were not going to be met. I thought being a queen would give me freedom and authority. I thought I would be given responsibilities. I was a queen, for heaven’s sake; surely that meant something.” I could hear the old frustration in her tone but I could also see that at present, she was content. Something had changed over the years.
“So it wasn’t what you expected?” I asked.
“No. I had freedom, but not in the way I wanted. I could have anything I desired, but I could not give advice or input on anything but clothing and decor—and even those things were left mostly to the experts. So instead of stretching the boundaries when I was young and still at home, like you are, I started pushing and shoving soon after I got married.”
“What did you do? Were you rebellious?” I asked conspiratorially.
Mother laughed. “Not in the way you’re thinking. I put on an excellent show. I was a new queen after all, and it was important for me to earn the respect of the people. So my little rebellions were always within the parameters of my position. I just tended to think more outside the norm than they would have preferred.”
“Like the statues?”
She inclined her head. “Exactly. I was encouraged to choose statues for the garden. I could have any that I wanted. To everyone else, this meant I should speak with the usual artists and commission some statues very similar to all the rest in the gardens. But I couldn’t stand those statues. They were meaningless; they had no feeling. It seemed as though the subjects themselves had been statues instead of real people. I never even met the usual artist. I went looking for a very different kind of statue, found an artist willing to make them, and commissioned four statues. But when they were brought to the gardens, your father was mortified. He couldn’t believe I would bring common statues onto palace grounds. We had quite a rousing fight about it.” I could see her suppressing a grin and wondered what my parents had been like when they were newly married. “Eventually we struck a compromise, though I still think it was weighted in your father’s favor. I could keep the statues but they would be put out of the way, so that only those with an adventurous spirit would be able to find them.”
“I’m glad.”
Mother glanced over at me and tried to hide a smile, then asked, “Why?”
“Because most people wouldn’t understand. And those out of the way rooms...one of them became mine—” I sighed, trying to push Gavin from my mind.
I directed my thoughts back to my mother and father—to their relationship and to my relationship with them. “Mother?”
“Yes?”
“Why won’t Father speak to me anymore?”
“He speaks to you, Ella.”
“No,” I stated. “He gives me information or orders. But he no longer speaks to me, and certainly not with me.” I shook my head, realizing how much this had started to bother me. “What did I do wrong?”
“Ella,” she said as though it were a silly question.
“It’s not a ridiculous question. I know you all think it’s obvious, that my conduct was somehow a horrid breach in protocol, but I just don’t see it.” There was sympathy in her eyes, but I knew she didn’t understand. “He was a friend,” I said
, pleading for understanding, “a very dear friend—and I don’t have many of those. I don’t have any at all.”
The horses plodded along, accompanying our silence until my mother answered. “He’s afraid for you.”
“Afraid of what? That I might discover there is no difference between me and anyone else? That we are no better?”
“He’s afraid you’ll lose focus.”
“Lose focus of what? I’m not focused on anything!”
“Your father wants to see you all well settled. Mia will be married next week, and we expect Jensa will settle within the year. But neither of them will be able to take the crown. One of you will be the next queen. Surely that is something to focus on. We must think practically.”
I gave an incredulous sigh, then turned to meet her gaze. “Father wants to see us all well settled?” I confirmed and she nodded. “Happily settled?” I clarified and she nodded again. “Mother, Father would be more than happy to promise any one of us to any royal who came along claiming an interest.”
Her eyes were sad. “Oh, darling, you know that’s not true.”
“Jensa is marrying to make Father happy, you know. She doesn’t love Prince Goran. But it makes good sense and Father encourages it.” She made a noise of disbelief, but I continued. “Think about it, Mother. Think about the way they look at each other.”
She sighed as though tired of this thread of conversation and looked at the horizon for a moment before turning back to me with serious eyes. “Ariella, there are worse things than marrying for practical reasons.”
I was taken aback by the defensiveness in her voice. “Did you marry for practical reasons?”
She met my eyes, almost defiant. “Yes, and now I love your father and we have a good life.” That may have been true, but I still reeled at the idea that my parents had not loved each other when they married.
I tried to regain my argument. “So, he never decided to ignore you like he has me?”
“Your father is not ignoring you,” she said gently, trying to convince me.
“Yes, he is.” Some of the hurt leaked into my voice. “He doesn’t act like my father anymore. He acts as though I’m just another subject.”
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