Chapter 43
In the farthest reaches of the east, where the island ended in plummeting cliffs and an endless, bright blue sea, Bella watched the bees.
In the haven of Honeybee Point, beneath a layer of overcast clouds and a swaying canopy of palms, there was a house. Small and quaint, with walls of wood bleached bone-white by the sun, it stood on the easternmost point of a tiny peninsula that jutted out like a sword into the sea. The house was modest, so scant that it could boast only five rooms and a narrow, sloping attic, but those rooms had been like manna to her after her long and tiresome journey. She and Edward had slumbered here together without so much as a word apiece, falling swiftly and soundly into a deep, unmovable sleep that could not be disturbed by rushing waves or calling birds. They had huddled down in bed together with barely enough time for a kiss and a whisper, and there they had remained, unknowing and at peace, until the final vestiges of morning had passed away, leaving them yawning in the dull and cloudy afternoon.
They had arrived under the cover of darkness the night before, emerging from the trees in a long procession of horses and servants after a ride so long that Bella's legs had gone numb. It was the way of things, she knew— the Tour always started here, and the first leg of the trip was always the longest. They had ridden through the capital at dawn amidst a chorus of bells and well wishers and from there they had set out, together, to tour their Kingdom.
They had ridden through the fields in a noisy procession. They had stopped in a village for lunch, and again at an out-of-the-way inn for supper. The wagons came behind them— slower and more cumbersome, but loaded with necessities for the trip and gifts for their gracious, humble hosts. The King always brought gifts as a show of gratitude and respect, and when they had arrived in Honeybee Point, almost at the stroke of midnight, they had been welcomed by a brigade of attendants with bows and kind words.
Bella did not recall the men she had greeted. She did not remember who had bowed, or which of their wives had curtsied. She did not recall the names of sons and daughters, giddy in their excitement to see their King and Queen, or the warm lips of children on the back of her hand. She did not recall where the horses had gone, or how they had managed to seat themselves at the long, trestle table in the yard, but it had been a quick meal— just enough to staunch their hunger— before they'd been whisked away by a maid to settle in their room.
They had taken turns changing in the little closet off of the main bedroom. They had slipped into bed together, exhausted and spent, and had slept, so long and so hard that it was near midday by the time they awoke. They had dressed again, still tousled and sleep-warm, and only after they'd eaten a quick breakfast of bread and cheese had they ventured out into the yard together to tour the gardens.
For even under the cover of darkness the night before, Bella had known that she would love those gardens.
In a place as busy as the Maronese capital, there had been no way for Bella to truly understand the appeal of the east. She had heard tales of its loveliness— had heard stories and fancies that told of sweetness and flowers. She had heard of its quiet. She had heard of its kindness. The capital, by contrast, was busy. The capital was loud. The city was a hive in itself, in constant ebb and flow, but despite this Bella had grown to like the bustle of it, the noise. There were always men and horses in the yard. One could always hear the footsteps of maids and grooms on the stairs. There were always sellers hawking their wares on Market Street and there were always children splashing in the river. There were shops and pubs, inns and food stalls. There were jewellers. There were schools. There were homes, and carts, and blacksmiths, and soldiers, all writhing together in one hub of activity and excitement, but never was there quiet, and never was there calm.
This garden was a thing altogether different.
From the moment she'd walked through the dewy grass the night before, Bella had delighted in the peace and the calm she'd found among those flowers and ferns. Even now, in the full light of day, she walked through the yard like a child, entranced by the sight and smell of the flora that was so unlike anything she knew that she couldn't help but linger, pressing her fingers to the leaves, her nose to the petals. There were flowers here like she'd never seen before— great, prehistoric-looking things the size of dinner plates and tiny, minuscule white buds that were smaller than the seed buttons on her dress. There was long grass from which wafted a fresh and blossomy perfume, and the pleasant babble of a freshwater brook just beyond the trees. The garden was teeming with life, with plants growing tall and strong and small critters scurrying through the undergrowth, but amongst it all, with a noise like static, there came the buzzing of the bees. They were everywhere around her— some on her hat, others on the flowers at her waist— and she watched with fascination as they tumbled from blossoms and bulbs to fly in a dizzying dance towards their hives.
"They will not sting," Arman had told her. "Not unless provoked. They like your dress. That's why they swarm."
Esme, with the help of Alice and the new little maids in the Queen's rooms, had packed her traveling trunks with a vibrant array of waists and sleeves. She wore purple today— a deep plummy violet that attracted both bees and sun— and as she felt another soft bump against her skirt, she laughed. The bees were fuzzy and fat— little round orbs of black and yellow fluff— and as this particular bee rooted in the petals at her waist another flew away from her hat, disappointed.
From across the lawn, her husband grinned at her.
Husband. The word sent a thrill down her spine even now, when he was not near. She could not quite make sense of it— it was not a word that she was used to, after all— but the flush of her cheeks and the impish, wry grin he shot her from his place up in front spoke volumes. When he winked, full of roguish mischief, she knew that he was trying to make her blush, and with a stubborn lift of her chin she looked away, turning instead to Arman.
"The world is so quiet here," said Bella and Arman, watching the exchange with amusement, let out a chuckle. "Not at all what I'm used to."
"The countryside has its benefits," he replied and together, they continued on down the garden path. "There is no comparison to the city, of course, but…"
"I think it's lovely."
"There is not so much to do," said Arman, "and not so many things to buy. We are so far from any other roads and settlements that rarely see any visitors, and sellers are scarcer still."
"But your gardens are delightful," said Bella, "and that in itself can almost make up for the lack of anything else."
Arman only laughed.
"Tell that to the young fry," he said dryly and she glanced, rather surreptitiously, to the cluster of girls behind her. "We do our best, but…"
Behind them, in a parade of pink and yellow and green, was a troupe of girls such as Bella had never seen before. She had met them in the yard before Edward had been whisked away, all bright-eyed and curious, and she was grateful that Arman had taken her in hand before they had come for her, dipping into extravagant curtsies to introduce themselves and earn her blessing.
"I could never be bored in such a place as this," replied Bella indulgently. "I love gardens. My mother's was always plentiful."
Though nothing Renee had ever grown could amount to something resembling this.
"The work of generations," said Arman, and Bella did not miss the pride in his mellow voice. "And these are only the flowers. If you walk a little further on, just past the palm grove, you'll find vegetables."
"Indeed?"
"And you'll see the combs later on," he promised. "We'll taste the honey."
Her mouth watered at the very thought.
"The first of many delicacies, I think," said Arman with a grin. "I'm sure the other districts will pull out all their stops as well."
"Will they?"
"Indeed." They stopped together to examine an odd, purplish bulb. "Indeed. It is a great honour to host a King, Your Grace, and an even greater honour still to host a Queen."
Bella ducked her head.
They would travel, she knew, through all the big villages in each Maronese district. Such had been the tradition since time immemorial— for Princes and Kings to make a wedding tour of the land that they would rule— and it always started here, in the far east. Bella had studied a map of the island most diligently in the castle library, memorizing the locations of each district, settlement, and road, and she knew just where they were now, and just where they would go.
They would visit the combs first, and these luscious gardens and orchards. They would dine with Arman. They would visit the cottages. In two days, they would be on to the Farmer's Village, where Edward had told her there would be feasts and music and dancing. They would visit the fish markets at the Wharf. They would see the mills out on the Rocklands. They would visit each watchtower— North, South, and East— to assess the might of their Royal Army, and they would travel through the grasslands to visit homesteads and count cattle. They would check the rice paddy along the river's edge to see how the new keeper was coming on, and they would move through the wreckage of the fire to assess the damage and the healing. Only then, after they had seen every district and village, would they return home to take up their seats on those great, wooden thrones, where the people of the Capital were waiting.
The very thought made her nervous.
Behind her, trailing back at a respectful distance, Bella saw the crowd of girls inch closer. She did not know them— indeed, even though they had been introduced, Bella could hardly recall a name among them— but she thought she knew the faces and the smiles. There were tall girls, and short ones, skinny girls and plump, all bedecked in the finest gowns and jewels their families could produce. Her court was not here— not her ladies, nor her housekeeper, nor her butler, nor her footmen— and so, just as Edward had told her, each district would offer up its own court in recompense. The men were Edward's responsibility and they walked in a group up ahead, but the women were left to Bella and, as it would seem, to Arman, who had been kind enough to trail behind to keep her company instead of walking up ahead with Edward, where he belonged.
The women, Bella thought, and she let loose a secret, quiet chuckle. As she watched these creatures under the guise of examining a flower, she could not help but notice that they were hardly women at all but instead young girls, giggling and silly. They were all of them teenagers, as giddy as children, and with such a hushed and whispered secrecy about them that Bella found herself quite at a loss.
"They're curious," said Arman when he saw her looking. "They don't quite know what to make of you."
"Then were are equals on that front," Bella said. "In that, at the very least, we are all equals."
At the front of the party, like the leader in a band, there was one particular girl who eyed Bella with especial interest. Bella thought she recognized that face, though from where, she could not say, and as she met that vivacious, green gaze with a soft and easy smile, the girl grinned back. She was a pretty thing, in her late teens, perhaps, with a face as pale as milk and hair of shocking, vivid red. She had it braided and twisted atop her head, the same as all the others, but where it made the little ones look older, it only served to make this girl seem even taller than she already was. The girls behind her said nothing— indeed, they had barely chanced to look at Bella or the girl— but this one met her with such bold, unflinching confidence that Bella felt her stomach writhe with nerves.
Before she could ask Arman who she was, the girl stepped forward.
"Good day, Your Grace."
"Hello."
The girl curtsied.
"Red roses," she said, and Bella watched, bemused, as she plucked one from a bush. There were thorns there, sharp and pointy, and when she held it out for Bella to take, Bella felt a delicate prick of one on the pad of her thumb.
"Thank you…"
"The bees like them," said the girl, and behind her, the others began to whisper. "It's why we keep them. Will you walk with me, Your Grace? I'd be delighted to show you some of our rarer blooms."
"That would be lovely."
Arman, smiling at this small victory, relinquished her arm with a bow. He glanced only briefly at the girl, who gave him such a wide, winning smile that he nodded his approval, and as he backed away, Bella felt a queer, worrisome jolt. She watched him go with apprehension, standing stock-still until he was too far away to hear, and when she turned back to the girl at her side, she was met with a curious, if not slightly perplexed, smile.
"Come," said the girl, and at once Bella began to follow. "Let me show you."
Together in silence, Bella followed after the girl as they moved away from the rough stone path and walked instead in the empty spaces between rows of flowers. Here, the ground was dirt, and she had to take care to lift her skirts away from the mud, but they moved with a purpose and a goal and Bella did not dare complain.
"We have many plants, Your Grace," said the girl. "It is what we are known for."
"I know."
"Are you good with plants?"
"Some."
"I see…" The girl glanced back at her friends. "I see…"
"I had a… cactus." The English made the girl's nose wrinkle. "It was… sharp."
"Sharp?"
"Thorns."
"Like a rose?"
"Not really."
The girl said nothing.
"Like needles," said Bella, "but all over."
"Oh."
"Yes."
"What happened to it?"
"To what?"
"Your… cactus." The word made her giggle. "Where is it now?"
"Oh… dead," said Bella, and this time the girl did frown. "It died."
"I'm sorry."
Bella let out a sigh.
"Do you keep plants?"
"Oh yes… all sorts. I've got roses, and violets, and all kinds of ferns… I love flowers," said the girl. "I always have."
"They're very nice…"
"He's very nice." At once, Bella frowned. The girl had stopped walking now, gazing instead over the tops of the flowers towards the party of men up ahead. Bella could make out no individuals in the group, far away as they were, but the girl was taller than she, and perhaps more astute.
"Very, very nice, Your Grace."
Behind her, the girls began to titter.
"Who?"
The girl laughed.
"Come ladies… isn't he lovely?" Behind them the others began to murmur, some looking nervous, others full of a wretched glee. "A fine specimen, don't you think?"
"Who do you mean?" The girl's face danced with amusement as she glanced down at Bella from the corner of her eye. "I'm afraid I don't understand…"
"Why, the irises of course!" The girl poked a tall, lanky flower with her finger hard enough that it swayed. "Of course, I speak only of the irises, Your Grace."
Behind them, the girls laughed outright.
"Perhaps we should head back to the path…"
"Your Grace?" The girl cut her short and Bella, feeling rather small, closed her mouth.
"Yes?"
"May I ask a question?"
"I suppose…"
The girl grinned and leaned in a little closer.
"What is it like?"
"I'm sorry?"
"What is it like?" the girl asked again. "To be married?"
"Oh…" Bella's surprise showed plainly. "It is…"
"It must be a dream."
That was one word for it.
"His Grace and I…"
"I don't know that I could do it," the girl went on. She watched Bella, now, a little more closely, as if assessing the effect her words might have, and though something in the girl's tone and manner piqued her, Bella kept her face impassive. This child was baiting her, and well she knew it, and when the silence dragged on for just a moment too long, the girl grew suddenly surly. Bella saw it in the flash of those mossy eyes, the stubborn set of that milky jaw, and the flush, however faint, of those smooth, baby-soft cheeks. She smiled at the child, making the girl's nostrils flare, and when the girl spoke again, there was a new, sharp venom in her voice.
"How do you do it?" she asked. "Goodness knows how anyone could."
"What do you mean?"
"How do you keep your distance?" The other girls, still listening in, bristled. "It must be such a great trial to you… and how is it that he's left you here, so soon after your marriage?"
"He hasn't left me anywhere."
"But yet here you are, without him."
Bella bit her tongue.
"It is tradition," she said diplomatically, "to for men and women to keep their own company…"
"Ha!" The girl tossed her head, glancing over Bella's head as the men doubled back. "Tradition! If I had a husband like that…"
At the front of the party, taking up the lead as they slowly turned to see where the women had gotten to, Bella recognized the familiar, ruddy head of her husband as he walked. So too, it seemed, did the girl, for she eyed her King again with a peculiar interest that was not entirely wholesome. Bella was at once outraged and stricken with a strange desire to laugh, but when the girl spoke again, that urge died away almost as soon as it had formed.
"I'd not let him get so far from me," she said, and with a sneer, she watched him disappear again. "I'd not let him get so far as a foot. Who knows what trouble he might find, lurking here among the weeds?"
"His Grace is his own man," said Bella finally, choosing her words as carefully as she could. "I trust him to make his own decisions."
"Oh yes, My Queen. His own man indeed."
The words were tense and waspish.
"We should move on—"
"Did you know that Mama has been trying to find me a husband for months?" the girl demanded. "She's been hard-pressed to find one that's suitable."
"How old are you?"
"We had hoped to find one at court."
This made Bella freeze. The girl did not miss it— did not miss how Bella's face went slack and her cheeks pink. This new awkwardness seemed to satisfy the girl, for there arose a new glint in those pretty green eyes— a glint that Bella neither liked nor trusted. This girl was bold and brazen and well she knew it, for at Bella's sudden awkwardness, she seemed almost vindicated. It was rather like the high school locker room all over again and Bella felt momentarily cowed, but in an instant she remembered where she was, and more importantly, who she was.
"A husband at court?" she asked, turning herself away.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Will you be visiting?"
"I already have."
It struck Bella then, as she watched that proud and haughty face, just where she'd seen this girl before. The recollection was vivid, if not a little scattered, but at once she saw that face, only one among many, in the throngs of girls who had made their way into the throne room some months prior. She recalled the number of them, Edward's voice as he whispered in her ear…
There will be no tantrums, I assure you.
The realization must have dawned on her face as the recollection came back all at once. She remembered this face. She remembered her place among the trio. She remembered the curls, and the ruffles, and the laughter, and all at once she held herself a little taller, felt herself a little stronger.
"All of my ladies are girls," said Bella by way of explanation, and at this, the girl grimaced. "All of them younger than you."
"So I've heard."
The crowd behind began to whisper again.
"I am sorry, if you were hurt by my choice."
"It is of no consequence," snipped the girl, and she smiled a sweet, courtier's smile— all fabrication and pretense, with nothing of warmth or merriment. "No consequence at all… I'm sure Mama will find me someone quite suitable right here at home."
"There is time yet…"
"I am already seventeen."
"Still a child, then," said Bella and this made the girl scowl. "You have plenty of time."
"My sister was married the year before last. She was only sixteen."
Bella rolled this over in her head a minute. "Only sixteen?"
"She's eighteen now, and my nephew is just darling."
Bella shook her head.
"I'm twenty four," said Bella, and this made the girl scoff. "You've got time yet…"
"Mama says I must make a home of my own."
"I see…"
"I'm not a child anymore."
Not a child…
"Where I'm from, seventeen is still very much a child."
The girl whipped around, insulted.
"I am a woman grown," she replied. "I just said my sister was married at sixteen. That makes me almost an old maid."
Bella couldn't help her laughter.
"Well when I was seventeen, I was in school."
The girl stared at her.
"To learn."
"I know what school is."
"Did you go?" Bella asked. "When you were younger?"
The girl looked shocked.
"Everyone goes to school," she said," but that was ages ago."
"How long?"
"I don't know."
"What did you learn?"
"Letters and sums," said the girl. "Etiquette."
"Etiquette?"
"How to sit in skirts," she said. "How to… walk."
At this, she glanced down at her own light feet, contrasted sharply to Bella's shuffling ones.
"I see…"
"How to eat at a table, which forks to use and when, how to hem a seam, how to boil a fish…"
Bella narrowed her eyes.
"Did you learn those things?" asked the girl. "At your school?"
"Not quite," Bella said. "Letters and sums, most definitely, but the rest…"
The girl's smile was rather smug.
"Not so much."
"I thought not."
Bella grit her teeth
"In any case…" The girl turned away, now, glancing back towards the path. Behind them, the rest of the group stood in stunned, uncomfortable silence. "Perhaps we should go back."
"Yes…" Bella eyed the rest of the walking party, now almost too far to make out, and felt such a longing for her regular company that she began to walk away. "Yes, let's."
"Come, ladies," said the girl, and at once there was a great flutter of skirts and shoes. "Come. We shall return to the path, where we ought to have been all along."
And in a great, fluttering mass, the crowd moved on ahead, leaving Bella, bewildered and furious, to take up the rear.
The walk back to the path was far quicker than the walk away had been, and with her skirts held high to keep away from the dirt, Bella trailed after the troupe of whispering girls through the muddy, beaten path. The flowers swayed around them— Bella could see how some stalks bent beneath careless feet, or how others lost their petals from a swishing skirt. Some of the whispering girls turned back to see her, staring with mingled pity and alarm as she trucked along behind, and when they made it to the path, fidgeting and awkward, no one knew quite where to look.
"Ahead, then?" asked the redheaded girl with a lifted eyebrow and a curl to her lip. Bella, still standing at the rear, said nothing. "Perhaps we can still catch the men…"
"Halli!"
At once, all the girls wheeled around.
In all her time in the Council Chambers among the men and laws of the land, Bella had never before seen Arman behave as anything other than cordial. He was the kindest of the councillors, save perhaps Lorenzo, and by far the gentlest. He did not shout nor did he argue, and he was always ready with a smile and a kind word, but as she watched him now, his face suddenly dark with stormy suspicion, she felt a chill down the back of her neck.
The girl, whose eyes had widened at the sight of him, dipped into a low, red-faced curtsey.
"Uncle."
Bella frowned. Arman, stiff and suspicious, looked her over carefully.
"Why have you left the path?"
"I was showing Her Grace the flowers…"
"Why, then, is Her Grace at the rear of the party?"
Halli said nothing.
"I hope," The word was all warning and very little kindness, "that you have been hospitable?"
"Of course, Uncle."
Arman continued to survey her.
"Take the girls on ahead," he said when Halli would offer no further explanation. "Take them on to meet the men. I will walk with Her Grace until we catch up."
"But Uncle…"
"Go, Halli, and take your little chicks with you. Her Grace and I must speak, and it would not do for you to hear."
And all at once, Bella herself felt rather small.
"Of course…" The girls, in tandem, dipped into low, respectful curtsies, and Bella, not sure how to respond, simply nodded. One by one they trailed away, Halli scampering off at the head while the others— some petrified, others merely guilty— followed close behind. When the last girl had gone, peeking nervously over her shoulder to where Bella still stood, Bella waved, and the girl whipped back around with such startling swiftness that Bella let her hand fall back down with a deep and heavy sigh.
Arman tucked hand in the crook of his arm.
"Come, Your Grace," he said, and at once, they began to move. They walked slowly, meandering lazily down the path for some minutes before Arman broke their silence, hedging and soft.
"I hope Halli was not rude," he said, and though she shook her head, her face betrayed the lie. "She is apt to be… sulky."
"She was just disappointed, I think."
"Halli is always disappointed by something. I'm sorry if she caused offence."
"I do not think she meant to."
But Arman, seeing through her, could only laugh.
"I think we both know that Halli will do and say exactly as she pleases. If she was rude, you can be sure that she meant it."
Bella looked away.
"Was she rude?"
"A little."
"I thought as much." Arman squeezed her arm. "I am sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"It's not yours either."
Bella quirked a brow.
"Halli is…"
Bella waited.
"She is jealous, Your Grace. Jealous of a great many things."
"I see…"
"She wants it," he went on. "That is why she behaves badly. She wants it."
"What exactly does she want?"
"What you have," said Arman. "What you've attained. She would never say it— certainly not to your face, and most definitely not on your wedding tour— but as much as a Queen is admired, so too is she envied. Envy can drive even the best of us to unkindness, sometimes even cruelty, and Halli has never been known for her sweetness."
"She was…"
"I'm sure I know exactly how she was. She can be spiteful when she's crossed, and I don't doubt that she felt she was crossed. She was disappointed when she was not chosen for your court, but I think she is even more disappointed that she was not chosen for your title."
And at this, Bella let out a snort.
"She is almost ten years his junior."
"A small inconvenience, in her eyes."
"Edward does not know her."
"Nor is he likely to," agreed Arman. "That's never stopped her before."
"Before?"
"Halli, like so many of us, wants exactly what she cannot have. She will never be Queen and after her poor behaviour today, she is unlikely to ever hold a place at court. She has been spoiled, which has made her sulky, jealous, and cruel. She wants what you have, but she has no idea the trials she'd suffer. She sees only the jewels and the gowns. She has no idea what it means to be a leader."
"I know."
Arman frowned at her.
"Do you?" he asked and she felt her cheeks flame. "Do you really?"
Bella did not answer. In truth, there was nothing more to say, because though the question had been posed, its meaning plain, its answer was plainer still. She did not know. She did not know what it was to be a Queen. She did not know what it meant to be a leader, or to be the object of reverence and envy…
"You will, soon enough," said Arman in an undertone. "You will learn, and then you will know."
"Know what?"
"That yours is a position I wouldn't covet, not for all the gold in the world," he said. "Just the same as his." Ahead of them, blissfully oblivious to the sobriety of conversation behind him, Edward walked on with the men, and even from here Bella could hear the boisterous, riotous laughter. "It is a task that few have done well. It is a task that few can do well, when all is said and done. The girls want what you have— they always have done, and I expect they always will— but they are only children yet, with a child's wonder and naivety."
"They're not so young…"
"Only a little younger than you, I'd say," teased Arman. His fingers on her arm, so steady and so sure, squeezed affectionately. "But you'll learn."
"I must learn."
"And so you will. All of this is part of that learning."
"All of what?"
"This," he said, gesturing around him with a careless wave of his hand. "This tour. These people."
"I don't know these people."
"No."
"I don't know how to be what they want."
Arman laughed.
"You already are what they want," he said, and when they stopped, Bella paid careful attention. "Don't underestimate the power of your own self."
"I have almost no power. Especially not here, so far from home…"
"You have all the power in the world, Your Grace, and only a fool would see it otherwise. If nothing else, you are pretty," said Arman, "and that in itself is reason enough for them to love you. The people love a pretty Queen almost as much as they do a handsome King."
Bella blinked at him.
"They want your youth," said Arman. "They want your beauty. That's all the people ever really want— a strong King to keep them safe, and a happy, smiling Queen to keep the peace."
"I'm not really the smiling type…"
"You'll learn," said Arman again. "Just as all the Queens have before you. Yours will be a steeper learning curve, I'm afraid, but alas…"
"Steeper?"
"Aye." They began to move again, meandering slowly down the path. "Not in living memory has a Queen been annointed that was not first a Princess."
Bella frowned at him.
"Our King is very young for his position," said Arman. "His father was too, though that seems trivial now. Most Queens marry when their Kings are yet Princes. Under ordinary circumstances, you would have married Edward during his father's reign. You might have already produced an heir by the time your husband ascended. Edward himself was born in the reign of his own grandfather— I'm sure that if you asked him, there are some memories from his youth that linger still."
"He never said…"
"It is the norm throughout the Kingdom," said Arman dismissively. "It is Edward's situation that is strange… tragic, really. He is almost as inexperienced as you."
"He grew up watching great men lead," said Bella and at once, Arman's lips pursed. "He grew up listening to stories and learning the land…"
"Aye, he did," said Arman. "But learning alone does not make one fit to lead."
Bella said nothing.
"Edward does the best he can, with the best he can," he went on. "We served his father— all of us except Rohailo— and while he is young and he is new, he does the best he can."
"I know."
"And so you, too, will learn to do the same," said Arman. "There will be failures, no doubt, and victories too, but before long you will learn and then you will know how to lead."
"I ought to know now."
"Aye, and you would have, had circumstances permitted."
"But I don't. Not yet."
"No," he agreed. "No, but…"
"And what if I'm frightened?" Bella demanded. "What if I'm absolutely terrified that I'm going to screw it up?"
"Then don't ever let them see it."
This advice, so quickly spoken, made her pause.
"What?"
"Never," said Arman again and there was a fierceness, a hardness that belied none of the softness that Bella knew best. "Not even if you're shaking in your boots. You are a leader now, My Queen, and the people will look to you for strength."
"What if I can't give it?"
"Then they will find it somewhere else," he said, "and if that happens, we may not like where it takes us."
There was another spirited peal of laughter from up ahead where the girls were quickly gaining speed, though Bella did not crack so much as a smile.
"Show them strength," said Arman as they began to walk a little faster. "Show them power. That is how you will lead. That is how you will command respect."
"And what if I'm not strong?"
Arman chuckled.
"All monarchs are thespians at heart," he said, and with a final squeeze he released her, dipping into a low, respectful bow as they reached the rest of the party. "And those who aren't soon find that it is easier to weep alone than it is to fall before the masses."
In the darkness of the twilight, as the rain came down to patter on darkened windows and panes, Bella sat across from her husband in the firelit bedchamber, her feet curled up beneath her as she nursed her mug of tea. The house was quiet now that dinner had ended, with plates and cups returned to the small kitchen house at the rear of the yard. Above them, in their rows of beds in that narrow, sloping attic, there was no noise from the sleeping servants. The fire was high and warm, her nightclothes dry and soft.
Before her, entranced by a scroll that had been delivered at sunset, Edward sat reclined, one arm above his head while the other tilted that paper towards the light. The room was dark but for that brilliant, orange glow, and Bella took it upon herself to watch him as he read. His feet were bare— he had shed his socks and boots at the door— and his shirt had come untucked, and though she knew for a fact that he had shaved just yesterday, there was a already a new line of stubble that made shadows on his face. Bella longed to reach for it, to run her fingers over the prickly curve of his jaw, and so she clenched her mug a little tighter, blowing softly on the surface to cool it.
The noise made Edward glance over.
"You're very quiet," he said, and at once, she bit her lip. "Did you have a nice time today? I'm sorry we didn't see much of each other."
"Hm." She turned the mug over in her hands, taking a tentative, careful sip. "The flowers are lovely."
"Yes…" His eyes roved over the parchment again, this time with a little frown. "Yes, they are…"
"What does it say?"
"All anyone ever says on a wedding tour," he said dryly, and with a grin he handed the parchment to her. Bella reached across the gap to take it. "Well wishes and a request."
"A request?"
Edward jerked his chin at the page.
To Their Graces the King and Queen, from Milo of Honeybee Point,
I write to you on behalf of my family to wish you a most sincere congratulations on your recent nuptials. Although we were not able to make the trip to the capital to witness it in person, we have been regaled by tales of its splendour from those who were fortunate enough to make the journey.
It is my understanding that with a new Queen, our great land will once again be privy to the finery of a full and replete court. As I'm sure the King knows, my family has been blessed with five daughters, all but one unmarried. My next eligible daughter has just turned seventeen, and we write to ask that she might be entertained as a visitor at court to aid her in her search for a suitable match. Our prospects on the Point are dwindling, as with each passing year our population declines. Our most honourable councillor, Arman, tells me that there are many eligible bachelors in our great capital city and it is my dearest wish to see my darling girls settled.
Yours in faith,
Milo
Bella read it over twice.
"Who is he to Arman?" asked Bella, handing the letter back to him as she brought her tea back up to her lips. "I do not know the name."
"We met him last night," said Edward, "He is an expert in fabric and dyes— one of the best on the island. I walked with him today, through the gardens."
"You walked with many men."
Edward only laughed.
"He is Arman's brother in law," said Edward. "Married to his sister."
Bella froze, her brow furrowed.
"I see…"
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
At this, Edward sat up.
"Tell me," he said, and to her embarrassment he grew quite serious. "Tell me, Bella… what's amiss?"
"Nothing is amiss…"
"Your face says otherwise."
Bella cursed herself.
"Nothing to signify," she said. "Just a little… hiccup."
"What sort of a hiccup?"
Bella put her tea down on the table.
"I think I met the daughter he mentioned today," she said. "Do you know her name?"
"No," Edward shrugged. "I've never met her…"
"Did he tell you anything about her?"
"Only a little."
"She was… different."
"Different in a good way?"
"Not exactly."
At this, his face darkened.
"Was she rude, Bella?" he demanded. "If she was, she had no right…"
"She's a child, Edward."
"A child who is old enough to bear a child."
"That means nothing."
"It means everything. She should not have upset you… especially not on your wedding tour."
"I rejected her."
"What?"
"She came to the capital," Bella said. "When I was choosing my ladies. Obviously, she did not make the cut."
"Ah."
"Arman was quite curt with her."
"Good."
"We spoke afterwards."
"You and the girl?"
"Arman and I," Bella said. "He was… advising."
"I ought to tell him he's not on the clock," said Edward with a low, dry laugh, "but I'm glad he took the time. What did he tell you?"
And at this, Bella fell short. Edward, missing nothing, sat up a little straighter in his seat, and the righteous irritation at the stranger's rudeness morphed first into worry, and then into deep, gnawing concern.
At once, Bella shook her head.
"Don't look so dreary…"
"Then tell me what he said," Edward replied. "I have a vivid imagination, Bella, and it does not always serve my own best interests."
"He told me what is expected."
"Expected of whom?"
"Of myself," said Bella, and at this, Edward seemed to tense. "He told me what I'm supposed to do."
"Did he, now?"
"Yes."
"And what exactly did he tell you?"
And so Bella, with halting awkwardness, relayed the whole story back to him just as Arman had told it. She told him of her doubts, and she told him of Arman's sage and troubling advice, and though she saw emotion on his face like paint on a canvas, he did not say a word to interrupt. Edward listened to it all, from the beginning to the end, and only once she'd stopped, her lip between her teeth, did he speak again.
"Come here, Bella," he said softly and he opened his arms to her. She went willingly, letting him draw her first into an embrace, and then onto his lap as he tucked her head beneath his chin, pressing a quick, soft kiss to the crown of her head.
"Arman is a sensible man, Bella, but he knows nothing of the pressures of ruling."
"He knows more than me."
"No, he doesn't."
Bella fell silent.
"How could he, really? He knows what hesees at the castle, but he's never felt it."
"Neither have I."
"Yes, you have."
Bella glanced up, skeptical.
"I've been a Queen for all of two days."
"That's two days more than him."
Bella shook her head.
"I don't know how to talk to people, Edward," she said, and at this, she felt his hand run down her back. "I don't know how to make them like me."
"You talk to me all the time and you made me like you."
"I know you."
"You'll know the people, too, before long," he said. "It takes time to get it right."
"We don't have the luxury of time."
At this, he laughed.
"We've got all the time in the world, love," he said. "Empires are not built in a day… give yourself some credit."
"I am Queen today, Edward," she said. "I can't just start tomorrow. The people won't wait, and I want to get it right."
"A queen is as a queen does," he said smartly and Bella fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Queenship does not define you, and nor should it."
"No?"
"No," he said, "but in time, you will define it."
Bella mulled this over.
"I just want to be good at it."
"And so you are," he said. "You are good, Bella, whether you see it or not, and no matter what Arman says, or what advice he gives, you will only get better."
"He says not to show weakness."
Edward snorted.
"Weakness is only human," he said, "and we are nothing if not that."
"Do they still think me divine?"
"I have no idea," he breathed. "Not a clue. But weakness, in this sense, is not failure, Bella."
"Isn't it?"
"No. It is not wrong to want to do well."
"This all feels rather dreary," she sighed. "I'm sorry."
"Don't."
Bella frowned.
"Don't what?"
"Don't apologize. Not for your feelings."
"They're not well-suited to a wedding tour."
"Perhaps not, but nevertheless, they're yours."
She ducked her head.
"This is a role that does not come easy," he went on. "Not even if you've been preparing for it your whole life, as I have been. From the moment of my birth my destiny was set, but that did not make it any easier when the time came to take up my father's mantle."
"I know…"
"We won't get everything right," he continued. "It is impossible to expect that we will. There will be blunders— perhaps big ones— but we will make them together."
"We weren't together, today."
He turned a speculative eye on her.
"No," he agreed. "No, we weren't."
"The girl noticed it."
Edward snorted.
"I'm sure she did."
"I wish you had been there…"
And this time, he grinned.
"Tomorrow, I will be," he said, and Bella breathed a sigh. "Tomorrow, and for all the days ahead, I will be. If you want me, that is."
"I'll always want you."
"Then so be it."
"It's not traditional."
"Traditions can be remade," he said, and with this, he leaned forward for a soft, tender kiss. It was like melting, when his lips touched hers, and when he pulled her up a little higher and drew her in a little closer, she brought her arms around his neck.
"I love you," she said, and when he stood, she went with him. "I love you, Edward…"
"Always, Bella," he said, and together, they moved towards their bed. "My beautiful, lovely Bella."
In the days that followed Edward made good on his promise to his wife. When they woke, rising with the sun in the yellow light of dawn, they rose together. They dressed together. When they emerged from their solitude, they did it together, and at once, though surprise ran through their little makeshift court like a ripple on water, they went out hand-in-hand. They disbanded the little court that Arman had assembled for them, sending all and sundry on their way, and by the time they began to walk out to see the cliffs, and the combs, and the fields, they had only those loyal servants who chose to walk ahead and a small, perplexed group of nobles who trailed behind like a herd of sheep following their shepherd.
Together, they walked, heads bent in conference for every greeting, jest, and outing. They laughed together. They played together. They ate their meals together and spent their evenings side by side, heads bent over tea and cakes by the warming glow of a fire. They spoke together, and dreamed together, and finally, when the world went dark, they went to bed together, and all of this they did gladly, with such a lightness of heart that Bella found herself quite transformed.
Because together, she knew, is where they belonged, and together was where they thrived. Together is where they ought to have been all along, and together is where they had vowed to stay until their wedding tour was ended and the real world of work and duty sent them on their separate ways.
When they rose in Honeybee Point on the morning of the third day, they packed up their things and moved on to the Farmer's Village. Here, they were treated to a riotous party full of ale and wine— a party that lasted almost two whole days, morning and night. A great fire was lit at the center of the village, much like there had been at the King's New Year, only this time, there was no pomp or finery. Bella hadn't known much about the Village, other than that it was the main producer of food on the island, and as she watched the laughter and the noise, she knew at once that here, at least, there would be no trouble.
They fed her wine and they fed her sweets, word having made its way back here that their new queen preferred the former over ale, and was very partial to the latter. The wine was the familiar bubbly concoction that was a speciality in Honeybee Point, and as their first day turned into their first night in the Village, Bella had found herself growing steadily and recklessly drunk. The music was vibrant, its rhythm quick, and after she had taken first one cup, and then several more of the sweet, toothsome wine, she found herself out with the crowds in the center of the square, twirling clumsily as Edward tried to teach her the proper steps.
"Just follow me," he had whispered and she had only laughed, her worries washed away. "Just follow my lead, Bella, and we shall try not to fall."
She had danced twice with her husband, and then again with Mirka, the Councillor from the Village. She had turned the wrong way three times and trodded on him more than once, but he was gracious, and Bella was too far gone to leave any room for embarrassment in her mind. She had danced with the villagers next— first this man, and then another, and then finally, without knowing quite how it had happened, she had found herself in the midst of a crowd of bouncing women, fumbling clumsily to mimic the steps to a dance she did not know.
When the party had ended, they had moved on again.
They had moved slowly this time, Edward taking care to show her the odd, gloomy beauty that made up the wetlands of the north. The land was flat and marshy, riddled everywhere with ditches, streams and rivers, and where the mossy grass ended, the rocks began. Kora was timid here, not liking the sounds of her hooves on the stone and she shied away at first, but with a little coaxing and a fine example from Edward's unflappable Magnus, she soon followed suit.
"The ocean currents pull to the north," Edward explained as they came upon the Fisherman's Wharf— a rather sprawling settlement atop the stony, rambling terrain at the very edge of the island. Bella had never seen the like of it— homes, rising seemingly at random between rivulets and streams, were perched precariously on the edges of great, stone slabs. There were two towers at the edge of the rocks furthest from them— lighthouses, she would soon learn, to guide the fishing boats back to port— and a fleet of boats bobbing gently in the streams and sea. The air was full of the smell of salt— she could almost feel it as it came into her lungs with every breath— and as she turned her head to face the wind, she thought she caught a whiff of fish.
"That's why the shore is so rocky and steep," Edward said. "The water eats away at this coast. Things wash up on the beaches in the south, but they wash away from the rocks up here."
Nelsor was there with his family to greet them at the town center. Bella met his sons— all tall, strapping men— and his singular daughter with her husband and children. They walked by the main river— the largest of many that flowed out to sea— and Nelsor showed them the market, from whence all the fish in the Capital came.
Even Bella, who was not fond of seafood, was fascinated by the great, sprawling market.
Not even in her wildest dreams could Bella have imagined just what it was like to walk down the stone alleys at high noon when the fishermen brought in their daily catch and the stalls began to open. They ran the market every day, except when there were storms brewing, and as she watched the set up and listened to the chatter, Bella could see how deeply these people were connected and just how intimate the north really was. There were generations of sellers here— elderly grandfathers, still making journeys out to sea in old, rickety boats, and their grandsons just two doors down with old-fashioned stalls that were propped up with sticks and young families underfoot. Where they could, the sellers would set up shop just outside their front doors. Barrels and buckets full of ocean fare were interspersed with other goods for sale— so many choices that Bella couldn't name them all even if she tried.
Edward, as he walked beside her, paid what seemed like a king's ransom for different kinds of fish. Bella did not complain— it was their duty, she knew, to repay a district's kindness with generosity— and though Bella had a purse of her own full to the brim with coins, she could not bear to spend it on food that she would not eat. Edward's haul would keep their party well-fed for a week at least, and what they didn't eat tonight they could preserve in salt for the journey home. The castle kitchens often kept salted fish, as Bella knew well— it had been one of the first meats she'd been allowed to eat during her original confinement in the Queen's rooms, and though she appreciated the sense of it and the lack of waste, she knew that if another piece of it crossed her lips again before she died, it would still be too soon.
They walked until the late hours, meandering slowly through the streets to talk, and purchase, and wave. The people here were shy, Bella noticed, and that suited her just fine, for as Edward chatted and joked with sellers and shoppers Bella was quite content to listen and keep her peace. There were no women here to shadow her, no band of silly, giggling girls to tail after them, and so when the afternoon grew long and the stalls began to close up for the evening, Bella was contented and more than a little tired.
"We will dine in the inn tonight, Your Grace," Nelsor said when she yawned, his walking stick tapping on the cold, wet stone beneath their feet. "They'll be expecting us quite soon…"
But Bella, smiling politely in response, found herself distracted.
Deep in the shadows, at the very end of the alley, there was a boy. Bella could not tell his age— indeed, she could hardly tell anything about him at all for all the dirt on him— but as she watched him, he watched her, too. He looked bored, Bella saw, and rather unenthused, and she saw the realization as it dawned on him just who he was looking at. First, he saw her curiosity, the way she looked him over from the top of his head to the end of each filthy toe, and then he saw her interest— the way her gaze flitted down to his wares. When she turned towards him he stiffened, glancing surreptitiously over his shoulder, and when she whispered a soft, quick excuse to Edward, she saw his eyes go wide.
The boy stared at her in mortified terror.
Before him, spread out on an old, worn cloth of grey cotton, there was a collection of what she originally thought were jewels. Some small, others almost as big as her palm, Bella watched those glittering gems as she came closer, bending her head to examine them beneath the boy's shaking hands. Upon this closer inspection she realized that they were not gems at all but rather bits and pieces of sea glass, and when she reached out to touch one, the boy seemed to hold his breath. They were polished to a high shine, catching the light to make rainbows in the dirt, and when her finger stroked the one nearest to the edge of the cloth— a fine, turquoise piece the size of her fingernail— the boy began to speak.
"Your Grace…"
Bella shot him a winning smile.
"I like your glass," she said, and when he blushed, she laughed. "It's quite lovely."
"Thank you…"
"How much?"
The boy balked.
"I…"
"I would like twelve," she said and at once, the boy's head snapped up. "One for each of my ladies back home in the Capital. They are all young, you see, and they love pretty things. What do you say? Would a coin apiece suffice?"
Deep in her purse, Bella fished out a dozen gold coins. The child stared at her, his eyes as wide as saucers as she tipped all of them into the small, tin cup by his feet, and when she said nothing else, he stammered out a reply.
"That is too much," he said. "A silver apiece, My Lady, not a gold."
But Bella, feeling the weight of her purse still heavy and full, simply shook her head. Other than what she had contributed the child's cup was empty, and it did her no harm, in the end, to give a little extra.
"Sell me only your prettiest finds, then, for I see you have no change," she replied, and the boy looked down at his haul, bewildered. "I'm partial to this blue one, and there's a very handsome orange piece just there, at the back…"
One by one she watched as the child assessed each piece of glass, putting those he deemed superior into a small, cotton bag from his coat. The bag was not large— it would fit in her pocket, even when it was full to bursting— and by the time he handed it over with shaking, filthy fingers, it was a neat, round ball. She took it from him with thanks and he stammered out a quick, trembling farewell, and when she began to walk away, reclaiming her spot by Edward's side, she saw the child snatch the tin cup from the ground and stare into it, bringing one gold coin up to his face.
"That child has probably never seen such a fortune in his life," Edward said when she returned, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. His eyes danced with amusement as he watched the boy scamper off with his earnings. "Lord only knows what he'll say to his mother."
"He has no mother," said Nelsor from behind and at once, Edward turned around. "Nor has he a father… killed in a storm, poor souls, and left that poor, wily mite on his own."
At this, Bella saw Edward frown.
"Is he…?"
"He is cared for," said Nelsor, "as a resident of our Home, but he might very well find it in him to leave, now, with such a haul as that."
"I didn't mean to upset anything," said Bella and she saw, with mild embarrassment, that the rest of the sellers on the street had turned to stare. At once, Bella felt the eyes boring into her, watched as wives began to whisper and husbands raised an eyebrow. She had purchased nothing from the rest of them and at once she was almost painfully aware of this fact, but before she could say or do anything to apologize, Edward squeezed her hand in his.
"It is your purse to do with as you please," said Edward. "You don't owe anyone anything. We've done our bit, Bella, and spent more coin on fish than is reasonable, so don't feel bad for showing a child a little kindness."
"You did him a great kindness, Your Grace," said Nelsor and with that, the curious heads turned away again. "It is the dream of many a-child to free themselves from the confines of the care home and perhaps now, he'll find a family to foster him."
"Why now?" Bella asked, confused. "Because he made a decent sale?"
"Families don't want to foster children who can't earn a wage," said Nelsor. "There are enough mouths to feed in these parts without adding anyone else. We are not cruel, Your Grace, nor do we stand for suffering, but more often than not, children are left in the care of the Home unless they can prove themselves an asset. No one, not even my own family, could afford to feed a child who couldn't give anything back."
And with this, Bella felt a righteous, roaring pity deep within her heart.
Back at the inn, freshly bathed and brushed, Bella sat alone in the fireside armchair, her hair loose down her back and her eyes drifting peacefully closed in the quiet, cozy warmth. In the quiet of the evening, sated and full from her plentiful dinner just an hour before, Bella was alone in the comfort of her room, clothed in nothing but her night dress and a robe, her hair still damp from her fireside bath.
Baths, on the road, were a luxury in which Bella was eager to indulge whenever they stopped in a settlement or town. She loved the warmth of them, and the loose, sleepy feeling they left her with when she was through, and though it was a hassle to warm the water and carry it up, Bella thought it was well worth the trouble. The inn where they stayed had a retinue of servants all their own and they had brought in a tub for her— smaller than the one she had in the Capital, but more than large enough to scrub herself to a clean, healthy pink. Though it had not been strictly necessary, Bella had used the water to scrub her hair, too. The lavender soap in her bag was divine— she had always loved the smell of it— and it had soothed her into a peaceful, happy calm. By the time the water had cooled and her body had begun to shiver, she had emerged from the tub and wrapped herself in a thin, overlarge bath sheet, perching herself before the fire to brush out her hair.
Edward, she knew, would be sorry to have missed it. He always admired her hair, both for its colour and its length, and he loved to watch her brush it dry so he could run his fingers through from root to tip. He would have kissed her, and smiled, and then sat with her on the floor to soak up the warmth, and they would have cuddled down together on the long, low sofa before retiring to the plush, warm bed.
But alas, wedding tour or not, it was a King's duty to inspect his lands when something was amiss. Bella had been too tired to accompany him when Nelsor had asked for his attention, and so while she had come up to their rooms, yawning and sleepy, Edward had gone off to inspect some storm damage on a row of fishing huts along the coast. It would be an early night, Bella knew, even without the excitement of the market, for tomorrow they had a morning of engagements here at the Wharf before they would embark on another long afternoon of travel.
Tomorrow, after they left the Wharf, they would move to the Rocklands to tour the mill and the tiny seaside village that its workers called home. There would be another feast— more fish, no doubt— and perhaps some music in the halls. Edward had told her about the flautists on the Rocks— those men whose talents lay outside the realm of fishery and agriculture— and about the music they wrote for their intricate reed flutes, which could be found no where else in the entirety of the kingdom. There was a merry jig to learn that was unique to the Rocklands— one about which Edward freely admitted he knew nothing— and they would spend the night in a cabin by the seaside, listening to the sounds of waves and gulls. The people were kind there, Edward had told her, if not a little poor, and she would meet the families of the three girls she had appointed, all of whom had sent her praising, thankful letters after she'd chosen their girls for her retinue of ladies.
Bella, her body heavy and soft, let her eyes fall closed in the growing darkness. The warmth of the bath had made her sleepy and the glow of the fire was just right for dreams, and so as she thought on the morrow and the tours yet to come, she found herself drifting.
When the knock came, it shattered the silence like a gong. It jolted her, as if someone had shaken her awake, and although she did not quite know just what had woken her in the moments after she'd opened her eyes, she was certain that something had. The world was black outside now— not at all the serene, darkening blue it had been when she'd first sat down— and though she glanced quickly around the room for any sign of Edward, she found none. The candle, which she'd lit just before the fire had died down, had burned down to a low, waxy stub, and when the knock sounded out again she took it, bringing it up carefully to find her way to the door.
"Who is it?"
There was no answer.
"Hello?" Carefully, and feeling wary in the dark, she pulled the ribbons of her robe a little tighter. The knock sounded again. "Who is it?"
"Me."
The voice was strange— high, reedy and altogether unfamiliar— and it made a sudden wariness grow in her breast. Bella reached for the door, her fingers hesitating for only a moment before she pulled it open, and then she was peering, blind and stupid, into the darkness of the hallway.
On the other side of the wood, hidden in the blackness some feet down the hall, Bella saw the movement of a figure just beyond her line of sight. She held her candle out to see, letting the glow bathe the hall in a dim, flickering light, and she slowly blinked away the darkness to find instead whoever had made the noise. At first she saw nothing— nothing but the darkness, and the wood of the walls and floor— but as she swept her arm up, taking a careful step out into the hall, her light fell suddenly on a face that made her jump. The creature was staring at her, its face thin and pale, and when she brought the candle even closer, she saw the wide, frightened eyes blink.
"Who are you?" Bella asked, astonished. The girl— for Bella could see, now, that it was in fact a girl— simply shook her head. Down the hall, standing sentry at his post, Bella could only just make out the shape of the guard, and though she could not see his face to see if he was watching, she wondered just how this waif of a child had been let into the hall. Scrawny and skinny as a rat, she was barely tall enough for her head to reach Bella's shoulder, and when Bella let the candlelight bathe her face, and then her arms, Bella saw that while the child was small, she was not as young as might be suspected. She was dirty, her hands muddy and scraped, and though she looked almost spectral with her wide, sunken eyes, she remained rooted to the spot, blinking.
"What's your name?"
The girl said nothing. Her left hand, curled into a fist, clenched a little tighter.
"What's that in you've got?" she asked, and from that clenched fist, the girl produced a tiny, parchment scroll in her dirty fingers.
"Is that for me?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"From a gentleman," said the child, and she thrust her fist out at Bella with startling speed. Bella caught the paper before it could hit the floor and the girl, breathing heavily, took a quick step back. Bella barely had time to speak a word before the girl had backed away altogether, melting into the blackness of the hallway in an instant, and only when Bella heard her footsteps disappear did she return to her bedroom, barring the door.
With a shiver, Bella stood by the smouldering brazier and poked the coals until they flared. The parchment scroll was tight and she unrolled it with careful fingers, making sure she didn't tear the page. The writing was neat, but cramped, and squished onto a page the size of her palm, and so she lit a new candle and settled at the table, bringing the paper as close to the flame as she dared.
The first line made her pause, and her heart began to race.
To the Tyrant King Edward, from the Lords of the Western Holdfast:
You have stolen what is ours. Kidnapper, thief, fiend, and tyrant, hear me well: you have taken what is mine. You have stolen what is mine, and I will come to take it back.
Our army is ready. Our weapons are forged. We will come for you and when we do, we will bring fire and steel to every doorstep in your land. Already, we have burned, and already, we have pillaged, and already, though you know it not, we have commenced our infiltration. We know your movements. We know your plans. You will taste the blood before the end and when you do, you will know that it is your own hubris that has brought destruction down upon your house.
We will take them back, bastard. We will take them back.
What you have taken from us will be reclaimed three times over— of that, I promise you. Your false Queen for our rightful one. Your little princes for our stolen ones. We will take back what is ours and once we have, we will lay claim to what is yours. Your city will fall. Our triumph will rise.
Let it be done, King. Let it all be done.
Bella read it again, her heart hammering wildly.
When her hands began to shake, she read it again for a third time.
Her pulse, racing wickedly like horses on the run, thrummed in her chest. She could feel it in her throat. She could taste it on her tongue. She heard it in her ears and she felt it in her soul, and she read those words over and over again— you will taste the blood. Fear— real, almost tangible terror like she had never felt before— welled up in her like a geyser, erupting so forcefully that she felt her chest tighten and her knees tremble so badly that she had to sit down, folding over at the waist. Her fingers, clenched around the parchment, were stiff as boards. Her breath came in rapid, shallow bursts. Her eyes welled up and her teeth began to chatter, and though the lump in her throat felt big enough to choke her, she let out a small, muffled cry.
When Edward returned, this is how he found her— trembling in the dark, with only coals in the brazier still aglow to light the room. Bella heard his approach— his heavy boots on the wooden floor, the clink of his sword in the scabbard at his waist— and when he pulled the door, finding it locked, he paused, and Bella heard the rattle of a key as it entered into the lock. When he opened the door she held her breath, glancing up only briefly as he made his way inside, and he paused, peering into the blackness before his gaze settled on her.
"There's been news, Bella," he said, and at once, her head snapped up. He could not see her properly— could not see the terror on her face, or the wetness on her cheeks— and so as he kicked off his boots, there was no haste. "Hema sends word of flooding along the riverbank. The Westerners have blocked it again, like they do every year…"
Bella's ears were roaring and her knees were trembling. Edward's words, lost in a sea of her own panic, were muffled, and when she heard only the end of his speech, it gave her another, sickening jolt.
…bodies on the cliffs."
"What?"
"I said they've found bodies on the cliffs," said Edward again, and this time, he sat down. "Hanged men, Hema says, and all of them called traitors…"
"Who calls them so?"
"Not me," said Edward at once, and when he leaned in close, he was warm and steady. "The West have never been kind to their own…"
He trailed off, eying her with curious confusion.
"Are you alright, love?"
Bella said nothing.
"You're shaking."
"Sorry…"
"What's wrong, Bella?" he asked, and when he took her hand he kissed it. "Your hands are freezing…" His thumb began to stroke across her knuckles.
"There's been a note."
His hand stilled.
"What note?"
Carefully, and with great trepidation, Bella unfolded the fist that held the parchment, and she handed it over to him with a thick swallow. He took it carefully, his eyes never leaving her face, and when he did not open it, she frowned.
"You need to read it."
"Are you alright, Bella?"
"Yes." The lie was thin. "Read it, please."
"You're crying…" With a careless toss of his hand, the parchment fell to the cushion between them. Bella snatched it up before could reach her face, pulling her hand away when he went to draw her near, and she pressed it back on him with insistence, her eyes welling up again.
"Read it, Edward."
He didn't say another word. Rising to his feet with his eye still trained worriedly on her tearstained face, he reached instead for a candle on the desk that he lit with the coals in the hearth. It blazed to light, bigger and brighter than Bella's had been, and when he settled it on a saucer at the table, he brought the parchment to his face. Bella watched him as he read it— first the insult, and then the anger, and as his eyes moved lower, narrowing with each passing word, there was a sudden apprehension, an uncertainty. He did not look at her again— not even when he'd finished reading it two times over— and when he'd committed it to memory he tossed it into the darkness by the bed where it hit the floor beneath the dresser.
When he spoke again, his voice was rough.
"Who brought it, Bella?"
"I don't know…"
Edward stared at her.
"Did they speak?"
"A little."
"Did they give a name?"
"She wouldn't."
"She?"
"A girl," Bella said. "A small girl…"
Edward was out the door at once.
Sitting in the darkness, with that terrible, trembling fear in her bones, Bella waited in the quiet as Edward's footsteps disappeared down the hall. She heard him go— had heard each heavy footfall, every trembling, angry breath until he stopped, and then there were voices, too muted and hushed for her to hear.
Her foot tapped against the floor— the only noise in the quiet, warm room— and when Edward returned with the guard at his side, he came and knelt before her. He was tender with her, full of pity and righteous anger, and when he kissed her he lingered, letting his forehead rest on hers. He pulled back with a sigh, brushing his thumbs over the wetness on either cheek, and the guard, his gaze politely averted, said nothing.
"Niko says there was no girl," said Edward, and Bella stared at him, perplexed. "What did she look like?"
"Small," said Bella at once, and the guard, wary, shook his head. "Thin. Dirty. Pale."
"What was she wearing?"
"I didn't notice."
"Did you see where she went?"
"Down the hall," Bella said, gesturing down the only corridor that led from their room to the stairs. "She just went off. It was dark… I didn't see where she ended up."
"I never saw a child," said the guard. "I swear to you, other than myself, no one but you and Her Grace have passed the threshold since supper."
"Are there servants' stairs that come this far up?"
"We weren't told of any," said the guard. "But I'll make inquiries."
"Ask the barmaid," said Edward. "She'll know. Someone was up here. That much is certain."
The guard bowed, ducking away. He closed the door behind him before Bella heard the rumble of voices, and beneath the crack in the door, where the hall was now aglow with torchlight, she could see two pairs of feet from their new guards, who now stood sentry outside the bedroom itself.
"I'm sorry for this, Bella," said Edward, and at once, she shook her head. "I'm so very sorry…"
"It's not your fault."
"Our security was lax," he said. "I never expected trouble here. Not so far east."
Bella said nothing.
"I'm sorry the note scared you."
"It's talking about Rosalie."
"Yes."
Bella trembled again.
"If they come for her…"
"They won't come."
Bella frowned at him.
"The West makes empty threats, love," said Edward gently. "They have done for years. I do not fear them, Bella… but it would be foolish of me to tempt them, nevertheless."
"Tempt them?"
"We cannot stay," he said, and at this, she shook her head. "We mustn't linger here, love, and we're safest back at home."
"We're expected elsewhere…"
"I know."
"They will be disappointed."
"I know," he said again. "I know, Bella, but our safety is paramount."
"Are we in danger?"
He didn't answer.
"That note didn't read like an empty threat, Edward."
"No…"
"How did they find us here?"
"I don't know, love, and I'm loathe to speculate."
"They said they've infiltrated."
"I know."
"Have they?"
"We knew of a spy in the city," said Edward. "There may be more…"
"Would they come?" she asked, and to her disgust her voice was little more than a squeak. This made Edward's face fall, his hands cradling her face, and when he sighed, she frowned.
"They've not been so bold before," he said. "I've no reason to believe they'd start now."
"That wasn't an empty threat, Edward…"
"They've not acted on it yet."
"Yet," Bella emphasized. "They burned a good chunk of the Grasslands… and they've done damage elsewhere."
"They always raid."
"You said it yourself, Edward… they don't raid like that. They don't burn like they did in the Grasslands…"
Edward kept silent.
"The Council said that they've never been so ruthless."
"They're angry."
"And they'll be angrier still for the loss of their heir," Bella said. "Two heirs now, if baby Leila counts for anything."
"Yes."
"If the people find out…"
"They won't find out."
"We can't be sure of that."
"Yes, we can be," said Edward. "Only the Councillors, Emmett, and we know the truth. Unless you plan on telling…"
"They wrote a letter, which means that they know too."
"The letter came to you."
"But who else did they write to, Edward?" Bella asked, her voice suddenly weak. "If they wrote that note to you, to us, what's to stop them from writing to every family in the kingdom?"
"The people are loyal. They will stand by us."
"But will they stand by her, Edward? If the people know who Rosalie really is, will they stand by her?"
A/N: So... thanks for sticking with me. Those of you who've been reading some of my other stuff know that this year's been a bit of a shit show. We've had ongoing job action for Ontario teachers since September which affects my work as a supply teacher (and my earnings), which sparked some anxiety that makes it very difficult for me to get anything written. Now, with this pandemic well under way, we're all looking for ways to keep busy at home, and luckily for me (and maybe for you too!) I've been inspired to continue on with my writing.
During the unplanned hiatus, I took some time to work on other projects (After the Fall) and to replan this story with a little more detail and focus. My outline currently has a total of 73 chapters, plus a possible epilogue, so we've still got a ways to go if all goes to plan. I know my update schedule has been absolute shit, but I do hope that those of you who are interested will tune in whenever new chapters come out.
Now, for this chapter in particular, I wanted to take some time to let Bella figure out what it means to be a Queen. We always see the glitz and the glamour, but I wanted to show that it's not always fun and games. Also, I creeped myself out a little bit writing the note delivery scene. I don't know if it was as vivid on the page as it was in my head, but I really don't like that little kid, even though I wrote her. Also, this chapter is 43 PAGES LONG. That might be my longest ever.
As always, feel free to leave a comment if you've got something you'd like to say. Also, please remember that if you ask me a question in a guest review that I can't answer you! I've noticed this happening a lot lately. If you want a reply, make sure you log in!
Stay safe, and keep an eye out for some more chapters as our social isolation journey continues!