by Aya Ling
“Oh Kat.” She gives me a playful nudge on the shoulder. “It’s easy to understand why the prince likes you. You’re so…different. Refreshing.”
I smile wryly. “That’s only because I’m from a different culture. I’m not a special snowflake.” She raises her eyebrows at this novel expression. “Any girl from my world who was cursed would act the same.”
Despite the fatigue from travelling, I spend a long time staring at the ceiling. I can’t help wondering how Edward is feeling now. If he loved me, he would have attempted to move on. He would have taken my advice and gone to Elle. I cringe at the thought of them together—no matter how gorgeous a couple they make—then curse myself for being selfish. You pushed Edward away, I remind myself. He needs to be with Cinderella so I can return home. I’m asking him to sacrifice his choice of bride. Yet I’m still reluctant to have him turning his attention to anyone.
Poppy looks more like herself the next day. She has dark circles under her eyes, but that’s the result of weariness. She smiles and even jokes at the watery porridge we have for breakfast. When she climbs into the carriage, she snuggles next to Mr. Davenport with a contented sigh. Thank God she has made up her mind now.
“We have a full day of traveling ahead if we want to reach Ruby Red by midnight,” Mr. Davenport says, looking at his pocket watch.
I grimace. That means at least twelve hours in the carriage, not to mention the time we have to stop for changing horses and getting food and water. I wish I had the secondhand tablet Mom got me for my last birthday.
True to character, after I count to the tenth cottage we’ve passed, Poppy speaks up.
“How long have you worked in the palace, Mr. Bertram?” she asks.
“Since I was clinging to my mother’s apron strings,” Bertram says cheerfully.
“Do you know His Highness well? Can you tell us more about him?” Poppy says, with a meaningful glance at me.
“Is this a cue for me to be jealous?” Mr. Davenport says with a chuckle. Poppy swats his arm playfully.
“I’m asking out of mere curiosity, of course. Don’t worry, sir. I won’t feed any stories of him wetting the bed to the broadsheets.”
Bertram chuckles. “Well, all I can say is if I had a sister, I won’t hesitate to let her marry Edward. If she could attract him in the first place, though. Mind you, he’s notoriously hard to please.”
Tell me about it. He’s disregarded Bianca, Claire, and who knows how many other gorgeous women. Even Lady Bradshaw had said that Duke Henry fell easily in and out of love. It’s amazing that Edward didn’t become a playboy. Even more amazing that he wants me.
“So apart from Kat, how many girls have succeeded in gaining his attention?” Poppy asks. I shoot her a glare, but she ignores me. With this unusual opportunity presented, she’s now a hound intent on the scent of a trail.
“You don’t have to say anything if it embarrasses His Highness,” I say, but my tone isn’t firm enough. To be honest, I’m kind of curious as well.
Bertram scratches his head. “Well now, I don’t suppose it’ll do much harm, ‘sides, I guess you have a right to know, now his eye is on you. The first was Isa, the gardener’s daughter—”
“Galen’s?” I blurt.
“Naw, Tim’s. He’s retired now, you won’t be able to find him. Anyway, she’s this quiet little thing, but a walking ensi—ency—”
“Encyclopedia,” Mr. Davenport supplies.
“Right you are, sir,” Bertram gives him a grateful smile. “Isa knows a whole bucket load about plants and gardening. She can rattle off which plant grows in which season, right off the top of her pretty little head. She was like this breath of fresh air in a sea of sophisticated ladies, so I ain’t surprised that Edward took a liking to her.”
“What happened later?” I ask. Surprisingly, I’m not as jealous as I should be of Edward’s first crush. Maybe it’s because she sounds like a normal person with flaws. “Why couldn’t she be with him? Is it because she’s a commoner?”
“Right you are, Lady Kat, but also she didn’t put up a strong enough fight for him. When Tim found out, he got really worried that his daughter would be swallowed up in court life, so he had a long talk with her. She admitted she’d rather have a peaceful life in the country, so once Tim found a suitable candidate, he had her married off. Reckon she has three children now.”
“Oh.” I can’t blame the girl, even though I’ve never met her. I doubt she’d survive being queen. Look at Princess Diana. “But how about Edward? Didn’t he try to convince her?”
“He did, but as I said, she was too meek and afraid to accept him. It ain’t easy being the future queen, I tell you. After she left, he moped around several days, but there was nothing he could do, even if he is the prince. A daughter always has to obey her father—”
Poppy sends me a guilty grin.
“—and she wasn’t spirited enough to stand up for herself. ‘Sides, I always thought it was more like an infatuation. Even if they married, there’d be no spark, they’d be treating each other merely with utter respect and propriety.” Bertram takes a swig from his water bottle. “Then came Lady Gwendolyn. She was a looker—one of the most beautiful women I’ve seen at court, and I’ve seen quite a few. But she’s more than that—she’s got brains. Could quote poetry and do sums and write fancy letters. Edward was impressed with her in the beginning, and everyone thought she’d make a brilliant queen, but turned out she was too hasty. Once Edward gave her a birthday gift, it went to her head. She started acting like she was the future queen, putting on airs and strutting round like she owned the ground.”
Poppy mouths to me: Bianca. I nod—this Lady Gwendolyn sounds more like Bianca’s sister than I do.
“When Edward caught her slapping a servant for spilling tea on her dress, that was the end of it. She acted horribly—threw a fit, went on her knees, wept buckets of tears, but he stood firm. He wouldn’t tolerate a person who treated the servants like dirt.”
“Very benign of him,” Mr. Davenport comments.
“It was his tutors, sir,” Bertram shrugs. “The king was adamant he learn from the best in school, instead of fostering him in a duke’s court. The tutors were to treat the prince like he was any commoner. If he dropped a pen or book, he had to pick it up himself. He shared his room with three others and even still makes his own bed. The queen wouldn’t have her son spoiled. His Grace, Duke Henry, attended lessons with him, and got interested in medicine.”
“So that’s why Henry became a doctor,” I murmur. This also explains why Edward easily supports my cause for the poor.
“Anyway, Isa and Lady Gwen were the only two girls His Highness was interested in. The queen got worried, but it ain’t easy for him to find someone when he hates socializing at court. But then you came along.” He nods at me, and I blush hotly. I should stop him talking, but words fail to come.
“First time he saw you, he was leth—lethar—”
“Lethargic?” Mr. Davenport supplies.
“Dash it, so that’s how you pronounce it. So I was saying, he was lethargic from attending a three-hour-long banquet. But when he saw you, a well-dressed lady, holding a servant’s arm like you were friends, I swear he came to life. And when you jammed your foot in the doorway, he snorted. And that’s when I said to myself, ‘That’s the one.’”
“Just a moment,” Poppy says. “How is it that the court rarely gossips about the prince’s love life?”
Bertram smirks. “His Highness has his ways to keep his affairs private, he got a lifetime’s experience. Now, if he were a lady’s man, they might dig up dirt on him, but the truth is he only had two girls before Lady Kat. Real rare for a man of twenty, and him a prince too.” Bertram slips me a knowing smirk. “‘Sides, Lady Kat called him a fool when they first met, so he wouldn’t want that getting talked about. But now she’s agreed to go to the ball with him, so it won’t be long till the wedding. Nothing will please me more than seeing His Highness finding the righ
t woman. And so I’d do anything to protect Lady Kat, even if Edward didn’t already order me to.”
Silence falls between us. I squirm with discomfort; I look out of the window, not daring to meet Poppy’s eyes.
The more I know about Edward, the more I hate myself for letting him fall in love with me.
THIRTY-FIVE
By the time we reach Ruby Red, we’re all exhausted, including Bertram—and that’s saying something. Feet cramped, chilled to the bone, hardly able to walk. There was this time I took a Greyhound bus from Oakleigh to Chicago for a one-day trip. I was on the bus for nine hours that day, and even though we made a few stops on the way, I was squirming in my seat and looking at my watch every second. This is even worse. The carriage, despite being padded with cushions, is a lot less steady and the country roads certainly are bumpier compared to the modern world’s smooth, cement-paved highways.
We stagger into the first inn we find. This time Mr. Davenport doesn’t bother to mask our identities.
“We wish to marry.” He pulls Poppy to him. “Can you tell us the nearest place we can hold the ceremony?”
The innkeeper doesn’t even blink. “The ground you’re standing on.” He has a thick accent that is distinct from the one they speak in the capital. Fortunately he speaks slowly enough that I can make out what he’s saying.
“Here?” Poppy says doubtfully, looking around. It’s a small room; there isn’t even space for an altar.
“We keep a special room for the purpose,” the innkeeper says in a manner-of-fact tone. “If you want the ceremony performed, you’ll need three things ready.” He ticks off with his fingers. “Ring, witness, service fee. And you’ll need to file a marriage license after the ceremony is performed, or it still isn’t legal.”
“Everything is ready.” Mr. Davenport produces the rings. The silver appears genuine enough, the patterns simple yet elegant. I’m glad he has the good taste not to get something gaudy. “And these two are our witnesses.”
The innkeeper casts a brief glance over us. “Both of you from the capital?”
“From the palace.” Bertram puffs up with pride.
“Yes,” I say. After all, the law only states that the witnesses cannot be from Ruby Red.
“All right.” The innkeeper claps his hands. “Aoife! We’ve a marriage to perform!”
A plump middle-aged woman comes bustling out and plants her hands on her hips. “Who’s the bride?” she asks. I point at Poppy.
“You got a dress for the ceremony, dearie?” she says in a business-like tone that matches her husband’s.
“Y…yes. In my trunk.”
“Good. Come with me, we have to get you ready. You look like you’ve traveled non-stop. I’ll draw a hot bath for both of you.”
“And us too,” I quickly say.
It happens pretty efficiently. The innkeeper, Dougal, and his wife Aoife, along with a few hired assistants, draw up the baths and feed us some bread and soup. Once we’re ready, Aoife leads us to this room downstairs—a much larger room with a fireplace and armchairs.
“Sit down,” she tells me and Bertram. She hands me a basket filled with worn silken flowers. “Toss them on the couple after it’s performed. Now I must attend to the bride.”
Mr. Davenport enters with Dougal. The groom has changed into a black velvet suit, a bit wrinkled in places, but still formal enough for the occasion. He also looks a bit nervous as he straightens his coat. A rare expression for a man who was unfazed by Bertram.
Dougal has something that looks like yellow silk poking from his pocket. He leads Mr. Davenport to the middle of the room, in front of the fireplace. Dougal faces us, but tells Mr. Davenport to stand sideways.
I straighten in my chair. I’ve been to a wedding before, but that was in a church with lots of people attending. This one, although performed in a much smaller place, doesn’t seem less proper. Even if it’s supposed to be eloping.
Presently the door creaks open. Aoife comes in first, beaming. Poppy follows with her eyes on the floor, but when she reaches Mr. Davenport, she raises her head and gives him a smile.
She’s beautiful. She’s wearing her buttercup yellow dress, the same one she wore on presentation day. She doesn’t have any ornaments apart from a pearl necklace, nor is her hair styled elaborately, but she’s just lovely, with a touch of maidenly shyness in her expression, her cheeks as pink as the roses she’s carrying. I’ve no idea how Aoife produced the roses in the short span of time, but then, she is the expert in runaway weddings.
Mr. Davenport’s eyes go wide for a second, then his gaze softens. I guess he hasn’t had a chance to behold Poppy in her presentation dress before. A muscle moves in his throat; he takes Poppy’s hand and holds it firmly.
Dougal coughs. “Well then, we can now begin. Friends, we are gathered here today to witness the holy joining of one Mr. Jonathan Davenport and one Miss Poppy Montgomery…” he goes on and on, in a speech that actually sounds quite similar to the one I heard at my aunt’s wedding.
“And now, if no objections are raised, you are now wedded—”
The door bursts open and several men stream inside. It’s just like a movie, when the antagonist interrupts the ceremony before the couple says “I do.”
Poppy turns and her face goes bleached white.
“Ungrateful girl!” growls a man dressed in a dark green coat. “Poppy, you disgrace yourself! Come home with me right away or I’ll have you forcibly removed.”
Dougal raises a quizzical eyebrow. “You are the bride’s father?”
“Sir Montgomery to you, you uncultured rustic,” Montgomery snarls. Dougal bristles, but before he can say anything, Mr. Davenport steps forward, with the expression of one ready to combat darkness.
“Excuse me sir, but you are on the grounds of Ruby Red. The law here clearly states that you cannot abduct a person by bodily force without her consent, even if she is a blood relation.”
Montgomery looks ready to kill. “Abduction! You dare speak to me of abduction, you arrogant pup? You seduced my daughter and convinced her to run away!”
“It is mutual attraction between us.” Mr. Davenport tightens his grip on Poppy’s arm, and this seems to give her strength.
“Papa, Jonathan is the best man I’ve ever known—after you, of course. I love him. I want to marry him.”
I give her a thumbs-up. As I’m sitting quite near, Montgomery notices me.
“And who’re you? You look like a respectable lady. Are you aware that you’re engaging in an event that will bring shame on your family?”
“Watch what you’re saying, sir.” Bertram stands up. He flips up his coat to reveal the royal heraldry stitched on his shirt. “I am in the service of His Royal Highness Edward, crown prince of Athelia. This girl is the prince’s future bride, and so you’re speaking to Athelia’s future queen.”
Sir Montgomery’s jaw falls. So does mine.
“Do you take me for a fool? This plain-looking, law-defying woman…the prince wants to marry HER?”
I really should deny Bertram’s claim, especially after I’ve refused Edward, but for Poppy’s sake, instead I toss my head and try to look regal, like Bianca.
Bertram grins. “I’m willing to swear an oath if you’d like, sir.” He draws his sword, and the rubies on the hilt glitter in the light of the fire. Montgomery stares at the sword, then back at Bertram’s shirt. His brow furrows; one of his men whispers to him and nods.
“Excuse me,” Mr. Davenport says. “But is it not proof enough that since the prince has sent his personal guard to accompany us, this marriage has the prince’s sanction? Or are you implying that you defy the royal family?”
Wait…I thought the prince didn’t have any real power anymore? But seeing Sir Montgomery hesitate, apparently Edward still has enough influence.
“Well?” Dougal says impatiently. “Do you still object to this marriage?”
Montgomery stares at Mr. Davenport for a long moment, then looks at his daughter
.
“You must return home,” he finally says.
“Papa!” Poppy looks frantic. “But I—”
“In a week,” Montgomery continues, his tone gruff. “We must have a proper wedding at our house. Your mother will never forgive you if she isn’t present when you are married.”
“Oh!” Poppy launches herself on her father and hugs him. “Thank you, Papa, thank you!”
“Enough yowling,” Montgomery says, though he pats her gently. “Davenport? Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll stand by her, be faithful to her, and cherish her. Or I’ll hunt you down with the largest rifle I possess, and mind you, I have the reputation of being the best shooter in my county.”
Mr. Davenport doesn’t even flinch. “You have my word.”
“Make sure you both return to the county within a week.”
Poppy tugs on her father’s sleeve. “Papa, aren’t you going to stay? At least for a drink?”
Montgomery shakes his head. “Got to head back and start the preparations. God knows how much fuss your mother will insist on making.”
The door shuts behind him. I let out a sigh of relief. Poppy’s dad isn’t as evil as I imagined, thankfully.
“Well,” Dougal says briskly, as though angry fathers turning up is a perfectly normal disruption. “This ribbon signifies you are now wedded and bonded.” He extracts the yellow silk from his pocket and ties it around their wrists. “Do not take it off until next morning. There, you may now kiss your bride.”
Mr. Davenport smiles, leans down, and pecks her lips. To my surprise, Poppy throws her arms round his neck and pulls him down for a deeper kiss. Bertram whistles.
Aoife claps her hands. “Excellent! Now the ceremony is done, what say you to a bite of wedding supper?”
Poppy is rosy and smiling the next morning. I guess her first time went well. She had gone scarlet when Aoife pulled her aside and told her “this marriage ain’t legal until it’s consummated.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Davenport.” I give her a wink. “How are you feeling? All sunshine and roses?”