21 August 1959
Strange, Lucien thought as he wandered among the bright blooms of the glasshouse late one Friday evening, how beauty and grief can live together, in such harmony with one another.
The glasshouse was everything that he hoped it would be, sprawling but neat, bursting with all sorts of flowers and greenery, a few benches scattered throughout and fairy lights strung overhead to bring a touch of whimsy to this place in the darkness. It was tended by gardeners, and that was not as Lucien had intended, but it was beautiful, and his, for no one else walked in this place save for the men who tended the plants and their king, who was heartsick and weary.
Perhaps it was foolish, in hindsight, to build such a physical reminder of his loss, but Lucien had acted impulsively when he ordered its construction, and now that it was done he found himself grateful for it. There was no grave where he could visit his late wife's remains, and there was no way for him to speak to Jean. He found no peace in the castle chapel, and the battlements echoed with the whispered voices of remembered conversations when his steps led him there. Here in the glasshouse he felt at times almost as if Jean walked beside him, but her feet had never followed this path, and the melancholy was softer here, less unbearable. He could soak in sorrow in this place, far from prying eyes, and while perhaps it was not healthy to revisit his heartbreak again and again he took a certain comfort from it. Here was a grief he could name, an ending made complete; unlike the years he'd spent searching for Mei Lin with no success, he knew that Jean had gone, knew he would not see her again, and he tried to remind himself that perhaps there was grace, in such certainty. She had told him so, once; it was not easier, she'd said, but it helped.
His father had not felt the need for such communion with a love taken too soon; the moment Queen Genevieve died her private quarters were sealed, and no one, not her husband or her son or any of the industrious castle servants, had set foot in that place again. Before Jean left him Lucien had entertained thoughts of installing her there; he recalled his mother's rooms with their wide windows, their high vaulted ceilings, their soft pink wallpaper and their multitude of paintings, as a place of beauty and restoration, and he believed if anyone could have breathed life into them again it would have been Jean. But Jean was gone, now, and the Queen's rooms remained closed.
And yet life soldiered on. Though he had lost himself in drink the moment Jean left he had over the last few weeks been gradually imbibing less and less; he would never, could never stop entirely, but he had a kingdom to run. It was for the sake of that kingdom that Lucien had given up the freedom of his old life, for the sake of that kingdom that Jean had left him all alone. If it all turned to ashes in his hands those sacrifices would have been for nothing, and so he was trying, once more, to do his best. Love had left him, but the work remained, and so it was to the work he turned, most every minute of every waking hour.
The harvest festival was coming; every year in September the castle hosted the best and the brightest of the kingdom's elite for a day among the gardens. It was a dignified affair, hardly the sort of thing happening in towns and villages across the kingdom at that time of year, but the scope of the celebration was massive. Lady Ann - Joy, as she insisted he call her - had been brought in to assist with the preparations, though as far as Lucien knew she had no more expertise in planning a royal event than Lucien did himself. She had, at the request of the Earl Marshal and with the blessing of Sir Patrick, been installed in the castle for the duration; in itself that was not so very unusual, for all sorts of court functionaries resided in the castle for all sorts of reasons. And yet Lucien knew that Joy had not moved into his home for the sake of convenience, or at least not for sake of the harvest festival. Sir Patrick had been behind it, of that he had no doubt, had placed the woman he viewed most likely to capture the king's affections directly under Lucien's nose in a not so subtle attempt to move things along.
Sir Patrick had engineered the whole thing quite neatly, as it happened. Giving Joy a role in the preparations for the festival was a test of sorts, to see how she handled the administrative side of things. Every decision she made was one ordinarily given over to the Queen, and in assuming that position for herself she had been positioned in front of the entire court as a likely candidate to sit at their king's right hand. As the days passed Sir Patrick would be able to see how she functioned amongst society, whether she had the dignity and the self-restraint a good Queen required. And, of course, she was seated beside Lucien every evening for supper, and they often found themselves alone together in the evenings. Lucien was beginning to feel as if the decision had already been made, and Sir Patrick was just waiting for him to come around to the idea.
The truly horrible thing was, Lucien did feel as if he were warming to it. Joy was fine company - a bit too enamored with herself and a bit overly concerned with appearances and a bit of a snob, truth be told, but he could actually hold a conversation with her, unlike so many of the other ladies he'd been introduced to in the last year. She was quite pretty, and young enough to bear him heirs while not yet so young as to be utterly inappropriate a match for him. If he had to marry a noble lady she was not the worst of them, and the Christmas season was not far off. Patrick would love that, Lucien thought, an engagement announced just in time for the holidays, a wedding at Christmas the following year. The people would like it, too, no doubt, the romance of a royal wedding at Christmas just cliched enough to capture the hearts of the masses. And in a year, when the time came to actually get down to the business of marriage, perhaps his heart would not be quite so heavy. In a year, perhaps his dreams of Jean would have faded, and he could content himself with what he had.
Though marriage held no appeal for him fatherhood certainly did; he was certain now that he would never love Joy as a man ought to love his wife, but he knew he could love a child. From the moment of her birth Li had been the best and brightest piece of his life, and though his heart rejoiced to know that she was safe and well she was far from his side, and not likely ever to come home to him. Another child he could hold, sing to, play with, a child he could watch grow from infancy to adulthood in security and peace, that would be a gift. A child would occupy his idle moments, and bring a smile to him when all happiness seemed to have left him. It would not be such a terrible thing, he thought, to be a father again.
"I thought I might find you here," a soft voice called through the darkness, and he whirled to find Joy walking towards him along the gravel path. It was a warm night and she wore a pale blue dress with sleeves that left most of her arms bare, cut in the latest fashion. She looked rather lovely, but Lucien felt no relief at the sight of her. If anything a strange, bitter sort of anger began to grow in his heart; it had been Jean, once, who spoke those words to him, and it was Jean, and not Joy, for whom the glasshouse had been built. It did not seem right, somehow, to see Joy in this place that was meant for another.
"Did you need something?" he asked, trying to be civil. Though the anger simmered and swirled through him he tried to bite it back, for Joy did not know she was trespassing, and it would be unkind to lash out at her now, when she had no idea of the pain it caused him to see her walking where Jean should have been.
"I wanted to ask you about the Rose Queen. For the festival," she explained. As she reached him she leaned idly against one of the long trestle tables, her arms crossed over her chest and her hips cocked toward him invitingly. "Ordinarily the actual Queen places the crown on the Rose Queen's head and welcomes her to court. Sir Patrick thought I might do that this year."
"Ah," Lucien said. Of course, the bloody Rose Queen; each little village would choose their own for their harvest festivities, and the castle would be no different. Several likely girls would be chosen for the Rose Court, and the most popular among them would be elected their Queen, given a crown of roses by the actual Queen and placed in a position of honor leading the Rose Parade through the city streets.
Lucien did not give a damn about the bloody Rose Queen.
"Whatever Sir Patrick thinks is best." He's deciding everything else these days, he thought, but wisely kept those words to himself.
"I think it gives a certain impression, having me do it," she said, watching him through narrowed eyes. "Everyone will assume that my involvement indicates an announcement is coming. I wouldn't want to stand up in front of the court acting in the place of the Queen without some sort of assurances."
"Assurances?" Lucien repeated. He'd only had three glasses of whiskey before he'd come down to the glasshouse, but it was enough to make keeping a rein on his emotions difficult. The very idea of Joy accosting him here, of all places, to make demands of him, putting him on the spot and insisting he confirm his intention to marry her, was appalling to him. Before this moment he had thought that neither of them was in any particular rush to make an announcement, but as he looked at Joy now he could see the determination in her eyes, and he realized that perhaps he had misjudged her interest.
"I understand if you want to wait until Christmas for appearance's sake, your Majesty," she said slowly, "but I think that you and I both know which way the wind is blowing. Leaving things as they are may suit you, but I need to know what to expect. If the arrangement between Sir Patrick and my father is agreeable to you I'm happy to go along with it, but if you're just going to change your mind in a month or two I'll take my leave now. I have my reputation to consider, and nothing that happens in the castle remains secret for very long."
Jean had warned him about secrets, once, but it was his reputation that concerned her, not her own. They could not have been more different, the woman he loved and the woman he seemed doomed to marry. If it were not for Jean, perhaps Joy's directness and her pragmatism might have delighted him, but now it only stoked the embers of his simmering anger. She did not care about love, or about him; Joy was looking out for herself and her future, and no doubt she had no qualms about taking on the privileges and responsibilities of being Queen. And while Lucien knew he could hardly blame her for wanting to secure her own prospects, the sight of her almost turned his stomach. Though perhaps, he thought, that was only the whiskey talking, only the glasshouse making him waspish and vulnerable, and perhaps he might feel differently come morning.
Perhaps he'd been quiet too long; she was watching him, still, hardly blinking, a hawk on the hunt. In the silence she stepped towards him, looked up at him through thick lashes with a determined set to her mouth.
"Everyone knows, your Majesty," she said then. "About your...woman. It comes with the territory, doesn't it? Every king has his mistress. I won't stop you from taking another, if you wish. But we aren't talking about passion here. We're talking about the future of your kingdom and the security of your family. I won't ask you to love me and I won't tell you what to do. But you stand to gain a great deal by marrying me, and you stand to lose just as much if you left me go. I'm not the only one who needs this marriage."
There was a pounding in Lucien's head not entirely caused by whiskey and the lateness of the hour; rage boiled in him as she spoke to him so calmly of their fate. She was saying everything a good Queen might say, knowing that her life was not her own and trying to make the best of the hand she'd been dealt. No doubt she thought she was being quite generous, laying out her terms so plainly. And if it had not been for Jean, if it had not been for the gentleness of her spirit and the depth of the love he bore her, perhaps he would have accepted Joy's terms quite readily. But Jean was not his woman, not one affair in a long line of many designed to scratch an itch and no more. Jean had caused the sun to rise on the darkness of his life for the first time since Singapore fell, and to see her so easily disregarded by a woman who did not possess even one ounce of her courage, her compassion, left him full of rage.
"Perhaps I need it less than you think," he told her grimly. "If you want me to make this decision tonight I think you'll be disappointed with my terms. We'll speak later, Joy. When I've made up my mind."
"As you wish, your Majesty," she said, though there was no deference in the honorific; her eyes were hard, and her lips were set in a frown. She curtsied to him shortly, and turned to walk away, but Lucien was not quite finished.
"And whatever decision I make," he told her, "do not ever come here again."
"As you wish," she said again, through clenched teeth. "Though I don't see the purpose of a glasshouse, if no one but you is allowed to enjoy it."
"Joy," he growled; he'd lost all patience, and was set to tell her exactly what he thought of her and her assurances, but there was no need. She was already walking away, and he let her, let her go and turned away so that he could stew in silence and solitude on the utter mess his life had become.
It would not do, he knew, to simply cast her aside. An arrangement had been made, however secretive it might be for the moment, and the pieces were all in place. Joy was the most suitable woman in the realm to take his arm, to stand beside him, and he knew that if he rejected her now it would be all but impossible to find someone palatable. She was educated and strong-minded, not afraid to challenge him, and though the latter of those qualities had riled him this evening he knew he would prefer a wife with a mind of her own to one who only did as he bid her. Parliament would approve her, and the people would love her, and she would make a good Queen.
But she was not Jean, and for that reason alone Lucien could not bear the sight of her.