by Carolyn Zane
The enormous dining hall was as silent as the first day of snow.
No one uttered a word, though it was obvious everyone was wondering about the nature of the dowager queen’s command performance. Her stoic expression gave no hint of what was to come, and forbade any queries.
At seventy-five, she was thin as a whip, and it was rumored that she was proud of her skeletal figure and showed it off with expensively tailored garments, nipped in at the waist and snug over the hip. She disdained even a healthy amount of meat on the bones, declaring that it smacked of no self-control. And if there was anything that Simone hated, it was being out of control. Not even the hair on her head dared to defy its perfect coif, dyed dark to belie her age, and snipped short to save time and nonsense. Her eyes were twin chips of ice that rarely sparkled unless it was in irritation.
Lise sat alone, looking decidedly greenish about the gills in these early stages of her pregnancy. Sebastian wondered where Wilhelm was keeping himself, but wasn’t surprised at his absence. Trouble had been brewing in paradise since shortly after they’d taken their vows. In a land as small as St. Michel, nothing was sacred, and the private lives and marriages of the royals were frequently discussed over the backyard fence. Or, in Sebastian’s mother’s case, the cocktail table at the country club where she and “the girls” pretended to play tennis every afternoon.
Ariane sat fidgeting across from her older sister, seemingly eager to dispense with the day’s protocol and get on with her own rather guarded agenda.
King Philippe’s stepchildren, Georges, twenty-six, and Juliet, twenty-two, and Philippe’s fourth daughter, twelve-year-old Jacqueline, by their mother and his second wife, Hélène, all came in together and silently found their seats.
The last to enter was Queen Celeste, her belly burgeoning with the six-month pregnancy that King Philippe had died too soon to celebrate. With a performance worthy of the stage, Celeste, clutching the table attendant’s arms, lowered herself into her seat, scooted hither and thither as she fussed with her derriere’s perfect arrangement, and then sighed heavily and drummed her fingertips to make everyone aware that she was quite put out at having to sit in such an uncomfortable chair.
After an interminable silence meant to bestow proper ceremony upon the proceedings, Simone at last spoke.
“Thank you all for taking time out of your busy schedule to humor an old lady.” A small smile twitched in the corner of her thin lips, and her blue eyes flashed with mystery. “As you all know, many of the legalities concerning my son’s death are in the process of being concluded.”
Everyone gave a stiff nod, but dared not murmur aloud lest they incur her well-known wrath.
“It is my feeling,” she continued, “that sufficient time has passed for grieving. Now, we need to attend to some important issues that should have been addressed years ago. These are personal matters, concerning my son’s marriages, and the particulars discussed here will be kept in this room. Is that understood?”
Again, all heads bobbed, and eyes shifted, but no one spoke.
Celeste frowned.
Sebastian fumbled under the tablecloth for Marie-Claire’s hand, grasped it and pulled it into his lap. Though her smile was tight, gratitude filled her eyes and she squeezed back. This would be hard on her. She’d only been back for a day and they were about to delve into the private details of Philippe’s too-short life.
After giving her throat a lengthy clearing, Queen Simone removed her glasses and seemed to stare off into the distant past.
“As you know, my Philippe was married more than once. But…what you may not know,” she paused and refocused on Philippe’s three oldest daughters, “is that he was married once before he married your mother, Johanna Van Rhys.”
Ariane and Lise gasped and exchanged shocked glances with Marie-Claire. Sebastian felt Marie-Claire clasp their tightly laced fingers with her free hand as she braced herself for the rest of the story.
“When Philippe was but a boy of eighteen and crown prince, he fell in love with a very beautiful seventeen-year-old American girl named Katie Graham. She had come to St. Michel from her home in Texas with her father, Henry, who was here on business. He’d taken Katie out of school because her mother had recently passed away and he didn’t want to leave her alone for the three months it would take him to complete his corporation’s business. However, though he’d hoped to keep her from feeling abandoned, it seems he was not entirely successful.
“Henry was occupied most days and had business dinners some nights, so Katie had plenty of time to explore St. Michel all by herself. And one day, while she was out doing so, she met Philippe. It was immediate and deep love from the beginning and no amount of common sense imparted by King Antoine or myself could keep either of them away from the other.”
Sebastian glanced at Marie-Claire and knew exactly how Philippe had felt.
“And so,” Queen Simone continued, staring now out the window and over the lush, rolling hills beyond the palace walls, “without our knowledge of just how far things had progressed, they ran off to France and were married in a secret, civil ceremony. Needless to say, when Antoine and I found out, we where horrified. Katie’s father was a middle-management employee, thus, Katie had no money and no social standing.”
Marie-Claire bit her lower lip and, as her eyes slid closed, Sebastian could tell it was all she could do not to scream. Social status meant nothing to Marie-Claire and that was one of the things Sebastian loved best about her. Especially since he’d grown up in a household where aristocracy was everything.
Queen Simone perched her glasses at the tip of her nose, and slowly searched each face with her piercing gaze before she continued. “The magnitude of this misfortune only increased when we learned that the children had married because they were expecting a baby.”
The entire room drew in a collective breath and held it.
Marie-Claire’s jaw dropped. Ariane grinned in amazement. Looking decidedly ill, Lise covered her face with her hands. Philippe’s second wife’s children, Georges and Juliet, remained silent, as Philippe was not their real father, and this news did not particularly affect them. And Philippe’s youngest girl, Jacqueline, was but twelve and the ramifications were over her head.
Celeste seemed to have forgotten her discomfort and stared at Simone with rapt attention. Jaw jutting, eyes glittering, she cradled her own unborn babe with protective arms.
Queen Simone fiddled with the soft fringe at the edge of her shawl and sighed noisily through her nose as the memories came flooding back. “Because St. Michel had been threatened with annexation by Rhineland we needed some clout and had hoped that Philippe would make a politically advantageous marriage. In fact, our very freedom depended on it. We had no choice, Antoine and I. We did what we thought best.”
By this time, everyone was hanging on her every word. All eyes watched as the dowager queen pressed her thumbnails together, and searched for the proper words to best explain her actions of over thirty years ago.
“We…Philippe’s father, Antoine, and I…we decided that it would be in the best interest of the children to tell them that…” Queen Simone’s words grew halting with long-forgotten emotion. Hands shaking, she pressed the fringe of her shawl to her quivering lips and waited until she felt able to continue.
The tension in the room was so high, Sebastian believed it could power the chandelier. The wine stewards must have sensed this too and moved in with loaded magnums to fill the wine goblets.
Forcing herself to stay on track, no matter how painful, Queen Simone continued.
“Antoine and I told the children that their marriage was not legal because Katie was underage, and had not received her father’s permission. Katie’s father, Henry, did not know enough about French law to dispute our claim, and neither did the kids. We were afraid that if they tried to get an annulment, since they would both be required to sign, that one or both of them might refuse, so we did not press for that.
“Furt
her, this would have revealed that the marriage was legal and would have given both Katie and her father the opportunity to take advantage of the situation. Then heaven only knows what would have happened. My husband, King Antoine, told Henry that if he told anyone about this scandalous affair that we would pressure his corporation—where poor Henry had been working for twenty years—to fire him. We knew that his company had a huge vested interest in doing business with St. Michel and other European countries related to St. Michel and that we had Henry over the proverbial barrel.”
Simone leaned back in her chair, seeming to shrink and age considerably as she did so. Outside, a cloud eclipsed the sun and the room darkened perceptibly.
“So, we gave Henry a substantial amount of money to remain silent. Henry, who was very conservative, was not anxious to broadcast his daughter’s ‘shame’ anyway, so he took the deal and the money. As far as we know, they went back to Texas. We have never heard from them again.”
Simone tented her gnarled fingers before her lips for a moment, pondering what she would say next.
Marie-Claire glanced up at Sebastian, her cheeks pale, and eyes bright with myriad emotions that would no doubt be surfacing for days to come. He gave her hand a little squeeze and she leaned into him, drawing strength and comfort from their touch, much the way she had in the days after her father had passed away.
“All right.” Queen Simone pushed herself up in her seat and hauled her rounded shoulders back into bony points. “The down side of all this—”
Marie-Claire stared up at Sebastian and mouthed the words “down side?” Apprehension filled her eyes, and Sebastian adjusted his position so that their arms and thighs touched, hoping the contact would calm her.
“—is that we were never sure that the marriage had been annulled. If, as we suspect, Katie and Philippe’s marriage was never absolved, then Philippe’s marriage to the Dutch princess Johanna Van Rhys was invalid, as well as his subsequent marriages.”
She let that sink in a moment before announcing, “Which, of course, would make Phillipe’s four daughters and unborn child illegitimate. The icing on this rather botched cake would be that we never did learn the sex of Katie’s baby. If this baby was a boy…and if he is still alive…he would now be St. Michel’s crown prince.”
Chapter Four
“The reason I even bring this up now,” Queen Simone explained to her dumbstruck family, “is that St. Michel’s government is a monarchy based on primogeniture, which, as you all know, means that the throne passes through the male line. If there is no male heir to the throne, there is a very real threat that St. Michel will be…will be…” she faltered, swallowed and began again, “…will be absorbed by our neighbors in Rhineland, of which it was part until the seventeenth century.”
Expression pensive, Simone hunched forward.
“In Rhineland, there is a faction that has been plotting to take over St. Michel. It’s all economics. As you are all aware, we have the St. Michel River inside our border by a good kilometer. It’s the only way to the North Sea from here. And…from Rhineland. They’ve grown weary of paying us for its usage. With the king’s death, they have begun to make serious plans to gain control not only of the river, but of our government as well.”
Slowly, Simone rubbed her gnarled knuckles with her thumbs.
“These people present a grave threat to the freedoms we enjoy as a small nation. So far, they have only issued idle threats, but make no mistake. These people are dangerous. There is little conscience to stop them from taking what they want, and so it is up to us to create a united, organized front, with an heir firmly in place before this goes any further.”
Celeste stopped drumming her fingertips. No one moved. Silence fell like a coastal fog before dawn.
Horrified, Marie-Claire glanced up at Sebastian and could see the truth of her grandmother’s words reflected in his eyes. She felt numb from head to foot. How could she, just six short months ago, have been leading such a carefree life? Before Papa died, her only concerns were catching Sebastian’s eye and shopping in Paris.
Now, her whole world seemed to be shifting on its axis. The security of her homeland was being threatened, she had an older sibling she’d never met, and to top it all off, she was most likely illegitimate.
The sun was still hidden and now, ominous thunderclouds were rolling in, echoing the dark nature of what was happening here at the table today. Marie-Claire squirmed in her seat, feeling suddenly claustrophobic and desperate to get away. To run somewhere, anywhere with Sebastian and to cry and rage against life’s little injustices.
And those not so little.
“We know,” Queen Simone’s wavering falsetto again captured all eyes, “that this faction in Rhineland has heard the news of our missing heir, but are not yet worried about this, assuming that either the heir will not be found, or she will be a girl, given Philippe’s history.”
Celeste could not stand being ignored another moment. With a sudden explosion of fury, she battled her way out of her chair. Arms akimbo, face flaming, veins popping, she barreled, belly-first, toward the dowager queen.
“My baby is next in line for the throne! My baby is a male! My baby is legitimate! How dare you all discount my baby, who is Philippe’s last gift to us all, and go off searching for some fairytale heir who was most likely never even born!”
Ever unflappable, Simone dismissed Celeste’s outrage. “You won’t have so much as an ultrasound, so how can we know if you are having a boy? This is your first baby. You have a fifty-fifty chance. I won’t bet this kingdom on those dismal odds. Besides, how can we be sure that the baby you are carrying is even Philippe’s? Philippe has been gone for as many months as you are pregnant. I find this last-second production of an heir suspiciously convenient.”
Shaking like the tail of a coiled rattler, Celeste gripped the back of an empty chair as murder glittered in her eyes. “You will regret that insinuation, old lady.”
“Perhaps you should go lie down, Celeste,” Simone suggested placidly. “You’re not looking so well.”
Celeste hovered for a moment then thrust away the chair she clutched. A cold smile crept across her lips, but not into her eyes. “For the sake of the true heir to St. Michel’s throne, I will rest now.”
And with that, she turned and swept out of the room.
Queen Simone signaled for the dining-room attendants to begin serving the first course. While they bustled about, she lifted her goblet and everyone joined her in tossing back a deep drink of wine.
As she prepared to make her next announcement, she blotted her thin lips on a fine linen napkin and swallowed a delicate burp.
“I feel it is time for us to bring in an investigator from the St. Michel Security Force, and the prime minister has recently secured a good man by the name of Luc Dumont to find Philippe and Katie’s child and to determine if this child is indeed a male.” She let this news digest a bit then asked, “Any questions?”
Still shell-shocked from the bomb she’d just dropped, everyone simply stared, unseeing, deep in thought about how all this news would affect each of their lives.
Though the clouds that hovered over the western horizon were black and heavy with unshed rain, the air was unusually humid. The minute Marie-Claire and Sebastian stepped outside the palace and left the comfort of the climate-controlled rooms, Marie-Claire began to wilt. Thank God for Sebastian’s strong arm. And, though the two glasses of wine on her still-empty stomach were somewhat fortifying, she was devastated all over again. She thought she’d spent the previous six months crying out the last of her tears, but here they were, hovering at the edge of her lower lashes again.
Sebastian pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her palm as they walked, and, unable to speak for fear she’d start crying and be powerless to stop, she swallowed and blinked and kept pace with him.
Together they strolled through the blossoming gardens in a comfortable silence. And though they had no particular destination in mind, they
moved with purpose, past Le cheval du roi fountain, through the fabulous glass-walled greenhouses, around various gazebos and on down the gravel path that led beyond the rolling lawn toward the small valley that sheltered the stables from bad weather.
Sebastian moved with an easy masculinity that still thoroughly captivated Marie-Claire. He always seemed so calm. So sure of himself. Able to ride out even the wildest storm without a trace of damage. She glanced down at her hand, enveloped in his stronger, larger one and was bolstered at the sight.
The shadows were lengthening across the lawn and birds twittered from the acres of forest that edged the numerous manicured garden areas. Off on a neighboring farm, cattle lowed as they headed inside for their evening milking.
Just strolling along together was incredibly calming, and Marie-Claire realized that, for the first time in a long while, she felt safe. It was almost as if, with Sebastian by her side, she could face any obstacle life might toss her way. The knots in her stomach loosened some, and the burning lump in her throat began to subside. As if he understood, Sebastian kissed her temple and Marie-Claire was consumed with love for him.
The stables that loomed just ahead had been her favorite place of escape as a child. To her, they meant freedom. She’d learned to ride at an early age and before entering her teens had won a number of prestigious equestrian competitions. She felt as at home on the back of a horse as she did in a rocking chair and so it was natural that she’d unconsciously steer Sebastian to this destination, when she was hurting.
Together they entered the now-silent main stable. Though daylight poured through the doors and windows, the lights were burning in the broad hallway. Out in the paddock, trainers worked a number of horses, leaving Marie-Claire and Sebastian alone for the time being.
The pungent aroma of horse sweat, fresh manure and sweet hay, mingled with the musty scent of old wood and slowly drifting dust motes. Eyes closed, Marie-Claire filled her lungs and believed she could smell the medieval history radiating from the ancient walls and floor.