by J A Armitage
Who had always treated me as her friend.
I swallowed, straightened my shoulders, and found my seat in the pews. Hedley had promised to save me a spot. He wasn’t here yet, but Hyacinth was, and she grabbed my hand and gave it a strangling squeeze as soon as I arrived. I wondered how much Hedley had told her, then realized he didn’t need to say a thing: Hyacinth had always seen right through me. I bent and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before taking my seat.
If time had sped up yesterday in the forest, now it crept along, slow with dread. Elegant Florian nobles and royals from other kingdoms filtered in as a small harp and violin ensemble played traditional Florian wedding songs. People greeted each other and remarked on the beautiful decor and how happy they were for the beautiful young couple. Silk draperies covered the walls, decorated with arrangements of flowers from my garden. The air smelled sweet, the way Floris always should. And amid it all, the seconds ticked by, each one heavier than the last.
“Your flowers look lovely,” Hyacinth said.
I murmured a thanks. They were beautiful. I wondered which ones the florists had decided to put in Lilian’s bouquet. At least, she would walk down the aisle, holding something I’d grown.
The giant silver clock at the back of the room chimed ten. The room stilled in anticipation of the wedding. At that moment, Hedley slid quietly into his seat next to Hyacinth.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it,” she whispered.
“So was I,” he said in a low voice.
The doors at the back of the room opened, and Duke Remington took his place at the head of the room next to the officiant. The duke was handsome, dressed in a deep blue suit and looking every bit like the kind of elegant, rich, gracious man a woman like Lilian should marry.
The musicians struck up the first few notes of “Poem for a Sylvan Spring,” a traditional Florian ode to the endless renewal of our nation’s forests. It was usually used as a wedding song, with the trees acting as a metaphor for long-lasting love, but it held extra meaning in the middle of the blight. It was a reminder to all of us that frosts could kill and fires could ravage, but the life that sustained us would always prevail.
Flower girls in frothy pink gowns walked down the aisle, scattering rose petals, a precious extravagance in this land without flowers. Lilian’s ladies-in-waiting followed. One of them, Lady Iris, caught my eye as she walked past, and her smile faltered for the briefest moment. Her eyebrows tensed, a silent message of support, and I nodded my thanks.
Hyacinth, watching the flower girls at the front of the room, pulled a handkerchief out from beneath the neckline of her gown and dabbed at her eyes. Hedley pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, too, and held it out across Hyacinth’s lap toward me.
But no, it wasn’t a handkerchief. It was a scrap of paper, small and yellowing and torn on three edges.
I glanced at him in question, but he stared resolutely ahead and shook the paper a little. I took it, and then the swelling first notes of the Tulip March sounded as Lilian appeared at the back of the room with her parents standing on either side just behind her, a symbol that today, the most powerful people in the realm came after their daughter.
We all rose to our feet, and I stood on tiptoe to get a clear look at the bride. Tears flooded my eyes, and goosebumps tingled all the way down my arms. Stars, she was beautiful. Her bare shoulders floated above a gown of cream and palest pink, embroidered with thousands of golden flowers. The draping, off-shoulder sleeves of her gown were so light they seemed to be made of spider silk, and her equally delicate veil floated down her golden hair and trailed the ground behind her. It obscured her face, but only barely; beneath the gossamer, her eyes stared straight ahead, and her lips stayed in a fixed, graceful smile.
The smile wasn’t real. But her beauty was, just like her sense of duty and her unfailing loyalty to her people.
Stars, it had been an honor just to know her.
She moved forward, each step in time to the melodic march. The dancer in her was visible in every elegant motion, and her parents followed behind, both beaming. A lacy veil covered the top of the queen’s head, but beneath it, a wig designed to mimic her famous hair shone like spun gold.
Lilian’s eyes landed on me as she approached my pew. They stayed fixed on my face for what seemed like an eternity but could only have been a few seconds, and then she blinked and returned to staring straight ahead at the duke. I held my breath as she passed.
Hedley reached across Hyacinth and nudged me. She swatted his hand away and nudged me herself. I tore my eyes from Lilian and glanced down at the paper in my hand.
It was a newspaper clipping, the words printed in a style that suggested this paper had come from another kingdom far away. The text was too small to read without bringing the article closer to my face, but the photograph was large.
Duke Remington of Thornton smiled up at me from the crinkled photo, wearing a pale suit. A woman with dark hair and a dazzling smile held his arm.
No, not just a woman.
A bride.
I stared. The paper swam before my eyes. At the front of the room, Lilian took her place opposite the duke, and her parents sat in the front row next to his.
My mouth opened, then closed again without a sound. Tingles ran up and down my body, and the room seemed to spin under my feet.
I clutched Hyacinth’s hand for support, and she beckoned me to lean down.
“We had to check that he was still married before we told you,” she whispered into my ear. “Couldn’t get your hopes up.”
I gaped at her. I knew the words she was saying, but they refused to coalesce into something resembling meaning.
Even so, something like joy was about to burst inside me.
“I don’t…” My mouth still wouldn’t work. I stammered and gripped the paper so tightly it crinkled under my fingers.
At the front of the room, the officiant invited everyone to sit. The pews creaked as we all settled back in our seats, but their sound was drowned out by the heartbeat thumping in my ears. The officiant began a reading of a love poem from a great Thornton writer. Lilian stood absolutely still, her posture perfect but stiff.
“I needed to find out whether he was divorced,” Hedley said, leaning in so that he could speak without being overheard.
A man standing in front of us glanced backward as if trying to decide whether to hush us. Hedley fell silent, then leaned back in to me. “He’s not.”
“Not married or not divorced?” I mouthed.
“Not divorced,” Hedley said.
The implications of this filled my head. They were obvious, but I couldn’t quite make sense of them.
Hyacinth patted my hand. “I called in a favor yesterday,” she murmured. “Had a friend who works for the Remingtons contrive an emergency out in Thornton so you and Lilian could have the day together. Turned out not to be necessary.”
“He’s married?” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. I repeated it, my lips lingering over the words as if that would make them more real. “He’s married.”
“A few years ago in Arcadia,” Hedley said.
“The marriage went bad quickly, and they’ve been living apart since only a few months in, but she won’t grant him a divorce,” Hyacinth added. “Seems he’s just been pretending she doesn’t exist.”
“Do his parents know?”
“Of course, they do,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They’re just as morally bankrupt as him.”
“But he’s married?”
The man in front of us turned around and shushed us with a scowl. We fell silent. My heartbeat made my whole rib cage jump.
Miracles didn’t happen. Not in the real world. Not like this.
At the front of the room, the officiant droned on about love and commitment and fidelity. Lilian smiled fixedly at the duke, and he gazed down at her. Anyone who didn’t know him could have mistaken the expression for one of love.
I clutched t
he paper. The bride and groom in the photograph beamed up at me.
I stared back.
The king and queen’s heads were just visible from here. The queen’s hair flowed down the back of her chair, no doubt cascading onto the ground. The wig they’d acquired must be impressive if she was willing to let it be seen by the people directly behind her.
I shook my head, trying to clear it of irrelevant thoughts. The queen’s wig had nothing to do with this moment--with this absurd, wild, unbelievable situation.
Hedley beamed at me. An answering grin spread itself across my face.
“This marriage is a sacred oath,” the officiant declared. “Today, you make promises not only between each other but between yourselves and your nation, to lead with examples of love and kindness, always treating one another with the respect you wish to see throughout the kingdom.”
He scanned the audience. Somewhere amid a cluster of pastel hats, someone blew her nose. He looked down at the large book in his hands.
“To that end, if anyone here knows any reason, legal or moral, why these two may not be joined together in marriage, let them speak now.”
Silence descended, a fragile moment that had never been broken in hundreds of years of royal weddings.
I took a deep breath.
And then I shot to my feet.
“I object.”
A thousand eyes turned on me. Cries of horror filled the air, and Lilian and the duke spun to face me. Remington’s face clouded with rage, and Lilian’s wide blue eyes bored into me through her gossamer veil.
I raised the newspaper clipping high into the air. “Duke Garritt Remington of Thornton already has a wife.” My voice boomed through the room. “A wife who is currently living.”
The officiant faltered.
“Well,” he said mildly.
He looked around the room, and his attention caught briefly on the king and queen, who seemed as startled as anyone else.
“Well,” he repeated. His book snapped shut. “I suppose we’d better take a pause, then.”
King Alder stood and strode to the front of the room. He exchanged a few tense words with the duke, then turned to Lilian. She shook her head, eyes still wide. Throughout the room, people seemed torn, unsure whether to stare at the gardener in his ill-fitting suit or the princess whose wedding had just been destroyed.
The king turned back to face us all. His eyes met mine for a brief second, and I hurriedly sat back down.
“This is a claim that clearly requires investigation,” he said, in that collected tone that reminded me that he led a country. “We’ll suspend the ceremony for an hour while we speak with the gentleman who raised this objection. You are all invited to retire to the ballroom; in the meantime, to enjoy tea and cakes.”
Down the row from me, the Head of Housekeeping muttered an expletive and slipped out of her pew. The Head Cook followed right after her.
The king looked to me again, and this time he held my gaze.
“Those who have reason to participate in this conversation should meet immediately in the antechamber behind me.”
The small, windowless room was already full by the time I arrived. Plenty of floral brocade chairs lined the walls and surrounded the fireplace, but so far, only Queen Rapunzel had taken a seat.
I was the only one here who’d been sitting near the back of the room, and the only one besides the palace’s Officer of Law who wasn’t related to the bride or groom. My stomach churned with nerves.
The lawyer, Mr. Ficus, appraised me, his cool gray eyes neutral. King Alder stood beside the empty fireplace with his hand on the mantel, and Queen Rapunzel sat beside him on a cushioned chair, her face etched with lines of worry. She searched my face as if hoping to find answers there.
“I’ll be the first one to speak and say that this is ridiculous,” Duke Remington said.
Lilian frowned up at him. Her gown took up an astounding amount of floor space, and she shoved part of her train aside and stepped toward him.
“Is it true?” she demanded.
“Of course not,” Duchess Annemie said. She looked to her husband for support, but Duke Markus stayed silent. The duchess pulled a fan from the reticule on her wrist and began flapping it wildly at herself. “Garritt, married? That’s preposterous. This gardener has no right to disrupt a royal wedding like this. His relationship with the princess has always seemed inappropriate to me, but this? If anyone needed evidence--”
“Annemie, hush,” Duke Markus snapped.
Mr. Ficus rested his hands behind his back and observed us all with an impassive expression. “I suggest we learn more about the claim. Mr. Gilding, is it?”
“Mr. Gilding is a dirty gardener and can’t be trusted with royal affairs any more than I’d trust my chambermaid to throw a Thornton ball,” Duchess Annemie said.
Lilian shoved her veil from her face and opened her mouth, but before she could speak, King Alder cleared his throat, The duchess pursed her lips but fell silent.
“Mr. Gilding is a loyal and valued member of our staff,” the king said firmly. He glanced at Mr. Ficus, then nodded at me. “Deon?”
Lilian sank into a chair beside her mother. Her gown ballooned around her and slowly deflated, the massive train still covering the floor in front of her. Queen Rapunzel took her daughter’s hand.
I stepped forward, careful to avoid the embroidered fabric on the floor.
“I acquired this via the Central Archives in Urbis,” I said. “It’s a newspaper clipping from Aboria.”
The duke blanched and clenched his teeth. Murder gleamed in his eyes.
The king took the newspaper clipping. He was a carefully trained diplomat, and his face gave nothing away as he scrutinized the photograph and read the article fragment underneath. Silently, he handed the paper to Lilian, who read it with Queen Rapunzel peering over her shoulder.
Lilian was not as reserved as her father. A dozen emotions passed across her face; shock, and anger, and disbelief. When she was finished, she handed the paper to Mr. Ficus without looking at him.
I had expected to see joy on her features, or at least relief, but she seemed overwhelmed. She couldn’t look at me.
“Is this real?” she asked, in a voice that was utterly emotionless.
Mr. Ficus examined the paper.
“This is from the Central Archives, you say?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“And you have no reason to believe His Grace is lawfully divorced?”
“No, sir, I believe him to be still married.”
“That will be easy enough to confirm if it’s true.” He turned to Duke Remington. “What say you, sir?”
The duke reddened. “This is an insult.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Ficus said, still the picture of calm. “But is it true?”
The duke’s color deepened.
“A search of Aboria’s marriage records will turn up everything we need to know,” Mr. Ficus said. “However, if we have to go that far to make an official pronouncement on the wedding, you could easily be charged with intent to defraud both the royal family and the kingdom of Floris. We could charge you with that either way, of course, but a confession at this point would do a good deal to keep you out of prison.”
“Prison?” Duchess Annemie drew herself up and puffed out her chest like an indignant bird. “How dare you, sir? You are speaking to the Duke of Thornton.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mr. Ficus said pleasantly. “And I represent the Crown of Floris.”
She sputtered and clutched at her husband’s arm. Duke Markus jerked it away.
“I said this was a bad idea,” he muttered.
“You’re married,” Lilian said.
All eyes turned to her, and she stared at the duke for a long, bewildered moment. She stood, shoving the bulk of her gown behind her. She advanced on him, and he, in what might have been his first-ever moment of good sense, stumbled backward. “You’re married,” she said, bare arms trembling with rage. “You l
ying piece of pond scum.”
“My so-called wife is a tart and a strumpet,” he snapped.
Duchess Annemie froze, and Mr. Ficus pressed his lips together and slipped the newspaper clipping into his jacket pocket.
“She was hardly the right girl for a man like me,” Remington spat. “It was a foolish dalliance, and I regretted it the moment it happened. It’s not my fault the bull-headed woman won’t grant me a divorce.”
“You admit it, then,” Lilian said.
“Of course, I admit it,” he said. “And if you dare try to throw me in prison for it, I’ll--”
“You’ll what?” She stared him down, lightning and fury in her eyes. “Tell me, Garritt, what? You’ll take over the throne? You’ll harass my maidservants and throw my Head Gardener out of the palace? You’ll stride around like you own the place and marry me just to gain a little more power in your wretched, miserable life?” She drew herself up to her full height, and even though she was a full foot shorter than her former fiancé, she seemed to tower over him. “No amount of money is worth that, and I’m ashamed I ever thought otherwise.”
He sputtered, almost purple now, and a muscle in his jaw clenched. His hand tightened into a fist, and his arm jerked as if it took everything he had not to strike her.
Lilian held her ground. She took a tiny step toward him.
“Get out of my palace.”
He froze for a long, terrifying moment.
And then he spun on his heel, elbowing her in the process, and threw open the antechamber door. He marched out, and the door slammed behind him.
We stood in stunned silence for a long moment while Lilian stared at the closed door, breathing heavily.
“That sounded like enough of a confession to me,” Mr. Ficus said briskly.
Duchess Annemie burst into tears and rushed after her son. Duke Markus stood as if torn, then, with a sigh that sounded like it weighed a million pounds, trudged out after her.
“Lilian, darling?” the queen said, voice quiet and full of caution. “Would you care to explain what just happened?”
“I would love to,” Lilian said. She swallowed, and finally--finally--she looked over at me. “But first, I would very much like to take a walk with Deon.”