II. In which there is a flashback, and the weather is discussed
Alice hated New Haland. She hated it and she wanted to go home.
Father and Mother had promised she would like it here, that she and Edward would have a lovely time playing in the gardens with King Henry's children while the grownups were stuck in boring important meetings all day. That she would make two new friends and have lots of adventures, and if she was good and behaved herself properly, they would let her pick out some New Halander fabrics to make into new dresses when they got home.
But none of it had come true, and Alice was tired of behaving herself properly. It had gotten her nowhere whatsoever.
On the first day, when she had curtseyed (perfectly, not that anybody noticed) to the prince and princess, she had noted with excitement that they were the exact sort of friends she'd like to have. Princess Rosalie, tall and golden-haired and violet-eyed and taffeta-gowned, looked just how Alice had always imagined a princess ought to look (and her twin brother Prince Jasper was an acceptable boy-version, Alice supposed.) She had never met a princess her own age before, and it was cause for great excitement.
But her hopes were soon dashed. Princess Rosalie made it clear she did not consider herself the same age as Alice. She turned up her nose at the idea of playing dolls or dress-up or admiring Alice's drawings or embroidery, declaring she preferred grown-up activities like riding and archery, which a little girl like Alice could hardly be allowed to participate in.
She and Prince Jasper exchanged a skeptical glance when Alice insisted that she was not too little, she could too ride, she had a pony at home. Worst of all was when Edward agreed with them and told her she could only come if she rode pillion behind a groom. Alice hated riding pillion—the groom went much too slow and she couldn't see anything around his broad back. She hadn't even wanted to change into an ugly riding habit and get on a smelly horse in the first place, except she knew if she didn't the others would think she was a baby.
Things only got worse from there. Alice's skinny arms were too weak to draw a bow, and they didn't have one small enough for her anyway. She was accused of cheating at Nine Men's Morris and banned from playing whist. During hide-and-seek in the gardens Edward "forgot" to come find her and left her sweating and itching in a camellia bush for over an hour, even after she started rustling the leaves on purpose to give him a hint. And on the last horrible day of the whole horrible week, she found herself "accidentally" locked in an empty wardrobe on the third floor.
Trying the door and finding it locked was the final straw for Alice, who had been holding back tears all day and now unleashed them. She hated the dark and the stuffy mothball smell and the splintery walls of the wardrobe, and she hated Edward and Prince Jasper and Princess Rosalie. But most of all she hated New Haland, enough to scream it over and over as she kicked and pounded on the wood. She hated that nobody loved her and they'd all forgotten about her and left her to die in this stupid wardrobe in this stupid room in this stupid country.
She was not prepared for the sudden wrenching-open of the wardrobe door, and almost whacked her rescuer in the face with a stray fist. She was even less prepared when squinting through her tears revealed that it was Prince Jasper.
Alice didn't really know what to make of him. All week he had seemed content to go along with whatever Edward and Princess Rosalie were doing, but he'd hardly ever spoken, himself. He didn't speak now, just took her by the hand and pulled her unceremoniously out of the wardrobe.
"Th-they locked me in there," said Alice tragically, in case he had failed to notice how much she was suffering.
"I know," said Prince Jasper, in the same unconcerned tone one might use to say "it's cloudy" or "pass the salt."
He led her down the stairs, into a little courtyard garden she'd never been in before, and they sat down on a bench at the end of a narrow, meandering path. It was nice here—shady and calm. The only sounds were the burbling of a mossy old fountain and the quiet sniffles of Alice's dwindling sobs.
Jasper still didn't say anything, but rooted around in his pocket and handed her a handkerchief. Alice took it, too surprised to remember to say thank you. It felt much better to cry into the cloth than it did blubbering out in the open like a baby.
And that was how the nursemaids found them, sitting on the bench in tearstained silence. Royal siblings were located, resentful apologies made, everybody was cleaned up for dinner, and the next day Edward and Alice were packed off back to Olympias with their parents.
It did not occur to Alice until days later that she had never returned Prince Jasper's handkerchief, which she found balled up in the pocket of her rumpled gown. Oh well, she thought. It was too late to give it back now. She had left that hateful New Haland behind for good.
Alice loved New Haland. Or at least, she intended to. It would be such an agreeable place once she was queen and could have everything to her liking!
And getting married meant she could have everything to her liking. The weeks passed in a whirlwind of fittings and gilt-edged stationery and an endless parade of craftsmen from whom she chose diamonds or sapphires, this lace or that silk. She trusted no one but herself to get the beadwork on her wedding gown just right, and spent long hours closeted with the team of seamstresses who were working around the clock on it. The resulting piece was so exquisite that when at last they stood back to admire it, they all exclaimed and clasped their hands in glee, declaring that all that work had not been in vain and their Grand Duchess was going to be the loveliest bride New Haland had ever seen.
And they were right, Alice knew. It was all going to be absolutely perfect. She should have gotten married ages ago.
King Henry's enthusiastic reply to her father's proposal had arrived with astonishing speed, and all told it had taken less than a week to hash out the details of Alice's betrothal. They were even able to retain the schedule originally planned for Edward and Rosalie's wedding, with a few adjustments. Everything had gone off without a hitch.
Crown Prince Jasper had added a cordial paragraph to the end of one of his father's letters, expressing his eagerness to see Grand Duchess Alice again and his hope that she would find New Haland to her liking. ("Translation:," said Edward, "he hopes you aren't going to pitch a disgraceful fit like his sister when the curtains in your sitting room are inevitably the wrong color or something.")
The days before they were due to set off for New Haland passed in a flurry of packing. At first Alice directed the servants to just pack everything, figuring she'd sort through it all once she got there, but Esme soon countermanded this and insisted that no, they would sort through it all now, and she could very well start afresh in her new country without nineteen years' worth of accumulated frippery.
On her last day in Olympias, Alice opened the drawer where she had kept Crown Prince Jasper's handkerchief for almost twelve years. It was crisp and clean, neatly pressed and carefully preserved from moths. She took it out and held it up to the light.
It was plain white linen rather than silk, with a simple border of gold thread. All told it was, she had to admit, a distressingly boring handkerchief. There wasn't even a motif, or an embroidered J or anything. When they were married, she would get him some better ones, Alice resolved.
She wondered if he had ever missed it, if he even remembered giving it to her. Probably not. She herself was overflowing with handkerchiefs, and had only held onto this one out of a vague sense of guilty responsibility. After the announcement of Edward's engagement to Princess Rosalie, she had imagined returning it to her new brother-in-law at their siblings' wedding. But for some reason, the idea of returning it to her husband at her own wedding seemed utterly ridiculous. No, that wouldn't do. Alice would give it back to him some other time. Until then, she tucked the handkerchief into her reticule, where it would be safe from Esme's junk purge.
"They're here," announced Rosalie.
Jasper did not look up from his desk, where he was looking over Clause H, Section XII of the treaty. In the event of civil unrest on the northwestern border, a joint task force of troops from both nations is to be dispatched…
"I said they're here," repeated Rose. "'Them' as in the Olympian delegation. They were just spotted entering the city a few minutes ago."
"Good," said Jasper.
"'Good?' That's all you have to say?"
"What else should I say?"
Rosalie turned away from the window to huff at him. "Has it not occurred to you that by the simple motion of getting off your ass and walking over here, you might catch a glimpse of your future wife? Or is that too much t—oh. Is that really what you're wearing?"
Jasper split the stack of papers into two, carefully setting aside the "unread" pile.
"I'll see her later," he told Rosalie, resolutely ignoring the way she was wincing at his outfit.
"You'll—? Are you mad? I know we've been ordered not to greet them until the formal presentation later, but I figured you'd at least want a look. What if she's grown into a perfect troll, with snaggleteeth and warts or something?"
"Then I doubt I'll be able to tell from this distance," said Jasper. His study overlooked the entry courtyard, but it was on the third floor of the palace, too high to allow for a detailed view of anyone's features.
And it didn't matter if Grand Duchess Alice had warts—he would still have to marry her. Better to preserve the possibility of a wart-free wife for as long as possible, were that the case. He crossed to the shelves opposite the window and began sorting through the scrolls.
"Oh!" cried Rosalie. "There they are!"
Jasper fought not to turn his head. It didn't matter, it didn't matter. From below came the sounds of horses stamping, guards calling out to each other, the echo of carriage wheels on cobblestone.
"They've brought an absolute mountain of baggage," observed Rose nonchalantly, just in case he should care to listen. "Oh, someone's getting out—false alarm, just a footman. Someone else…that's King Carlisle, I recognize him…he's reached back to help the next person himself. His wife—very genteel. Hmm, she's got a cloak on. Is it really late enough in the season for that? Uck, and there's Edward. They denied my request to put him up in a nice tavern in the city, or maybe pitch him a tent outside the walls—oh. That must be her!" She fell silent.
Jasper forced his hand to relax before it could crumple the scroll he was holding. He slid the document back onto the shelf and turned ever-so-casually to look at Rose, half-wishing and half-dreading he might catch a glimpse of the courtyard below in the process.
But the Olympian royal family were nowhere in sight—they must have been just beneath the window.
He could feel the great bustle going on a few floors below where he stood, and imagined the Olympian delegation being ushered inside, servants and stewards kowtowing left and right. There was a slight tremor as the great double doors slammed shut behind them.
Jasper went back to his desk and rifled uselessly through the same stack of papers he'd just organized. "Well?" he asked, wishing he had the dignity to keep his mouth shut.
Rosalie shrugged. "You were right, I couldn't see her very well," she admitted, though the mocking edge to her smile suggested otherwise. "Dark hair. Small. Wearing green."
None of this was helpful—he already knew Grand Duchess Alice was small and dark-haired.
"When will you meet her?" asked Rosalie.
"Once she's settled in, I'm to go and speak with her in private," he told her.
Rose's eyes narrowed. "Alone?"
"Chaperoned from a distance, I assume."
"They're getting the introductions out of the way as soon as possible, then," Rosalie mused. "Must have learned their lesson from the Edward thing. Wise of them."
Right. They had all learned their lessons from the Edward thing, and now Jasper was paying the price.
Rosalie pinned him with a steely, searching gaze. "What are you going to say to her?"
Jasper swallowed. "The truth."
A mostly-private audience with his betrothed had seemed like a reasonable idea when they'd told him the schedule earlier, but now that it was actually happening, it felt like a mistake. What was he supposed to say to make her like him? The fates of both their countries hung in the balance. Jasper had no talent for flattery—he led by example, mostly, efficient and to the point.
A man with more charisma would no doubt declare his love for his future Crown Princess in some florid manner, but that idea left a sour taste in Jasper's mouth. He wasn't about to start their marriage off by lying to her. But what if she asked him point blank? Or worse—what if she simpered and flattered and professed her love to him? He would have to feign that he was pleased, another skill he utterly lacked.
Rosalie's nose wrinkled. "The truth? And what's that exactly? 'Hello, I'm marrying you because my father ordered me to and I only intend to put up with you until you produce an heir and we can have nothing more to do with each other?'"
Jasper sighed. Obviously not that.
It was with some trepidation that he realized they were leading him to his mother's old garden. Surely the little high-walled courtyard, its crooked stones mossy with neglect, was the least likely setting to impress his betrothed. But when he asked the servant escorting him "why there?" the man only shrugged and said it was at the Grand Duchess' own request.
Jasper struggled not to read anything sinister into that, but his own attempts to explain why a young (and, by all accounts, fashionable and modernistic) girl might wish to install herself in his dead mother's courtyard were…unsettling. It occurred to him for the first time that when they married, his new wife would inherit his mother's former title and everything that came with it—throne, duties, any of her old belongings Rosalie hadn't claimed. Was Grand Duchess Alice making some sort of political statement by choosing this courtyard? Marking her territory? The knot in his stomach clenched.
Stop it, he ordered himself. It was just a garden. A stranger from Olympias couldn't possibly know whose it had been.
Maybe she had chosen it because it was out of the way and secluded. Long years of disuse meant that its ivy-covered walls and overgrown trellises would give them the illusion of privacy even with a cadre of servants—and, in all likelihood, three busybody royal parents—lurking just out of sight. For the first time, Jasper wasn't so certain he wanted privacy.
Although it had been years since he'd set foot in his mother's garden, it was exactly as he remembered it. The grass was decently trimmed, but the fountain was spotted with algae and the hedges were snarled and in dire need of pruning, as if whoever tended the place could only be bothered to do so much.
The servant who'd escorted him melted discreetly away as Jasper started down the one, narrow path. His feet felt oversized and clumsy, determined to catch on the edges of every uneven paving stone. He forced himself to slow down, walk properly, carry himself with the dignity befitting his station. He would make a good first impression on her, no matter what.
That was the last thought before he turned a corner and there she was.
Her Grace the Grand Duchess Alice of Olympias was seated on the white marble bench at the end of the lane, beneath a trellis of peach-colored roses. At the sound of his approach she rose gracefully to her feet, the folds of her sea-foam green gown settling around her.
Dark hair. Small. Wearing green. Rosalie's description had been technically accurate, but had quite failed to convey any sense of the shockingly real person standing before him, staring up at him. His neck prickled with the uncomfortable feeling of being brazenly assessed from head to foot, but he was unable to hold it against her because of the way he was brazenly assessing her back.
Grand Duchess Alice. No longer just a name attached to an indifferent memory, but a small—(tiny in fact, he realized with a flicker of surprise that even at her full height she did not reach his shoulder)—young woman with her hands folded before her.
He scrutinized her face. Yes, this was undoubtedly the same petulant child who had once trailed after him and her brother and Rose. Now that she was actually present, the hazy memories coalesced into various little recognitions—the way wisps of unruly black hair were struggling out of her chignon, the slightly pouting set of her mouth, the sly, elfin features offset by wide, preternaturally innocent eyes.
He was secretly, shallowly relieved to find her attractive.
She inclined her head. "Your Highness," she greeted, in a high, clear voice that somehow managed not to be childish. She sank into a curtsey that would have impressed even Rosalie with its elegance.
Jasper swallowed. "Your Grace."
As she straightened up, he bowed over her hand and kissed it, silently marveling that an adult's hand could be so small.
"Please," she said, breaking into a grin that showed too many back teeth to be ladylike. "You should call me Alice, don't you think?"
It took him a second too long to reply. "Of course." He cleared his throat. "Then…please call me Jasper." His name sounded wrong coming from his own lips, like some obsolete thing forgotten at the back of a closet. The only people who had ever called him Jasper were Rosalie and his parents.
"Jasper. Marvelous," said the Grand Duchess—said Alice, trying it out. Never mind his own lips, hearing his given name on this near-stranger's was downright jarring.
"Shall we?" she asked, inclining her head toward the bench she had just risen from. Oh. She wanted him to sit beside her? Already?
Stiffly, he obliged, folding his too-long limbs into what he hoped was a dignified posture as she settled onto the other end of the bench, a soufflé falling in on itself. The back of Jasper's neck prickled and he wondered who all was watching them from up on the second-floor peristyle balcony-walk that ringed the courtyard. His father, certainly. Likely King Carlisle and Queen Esme, too. Hopefully not Rose. He didn't dare glance up to check.
He should say something, Jasper knew. "I hope the journey wasn't too taxing?" he blurted. Great. What a master conversationalist.
"Not at all," his betrothed assured him. When she smiled, she had the faintest hint of a dimple, but only on the left side. "The countryside is so lovely in summer. I hope we have weather like this for the wedding."
He was utterly unprepared to hear her speak of it so casually, and could scarcely summon up a mechanical nod in response. Smile back, you idiot, ordered an inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Rosalie.
"…Yes," he agreed lamely. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something else, but absolutely nothing was presenting itself. They had already covered the journey and the weather.
Grand Duchess Alice dropped her gaze and fidgeted with the trim on her gauzy overskirt. She even managed to fidget gracefully, as if all her gestures had been choreographed with an invisible audience in mind.
"I feel I must apologize," she said quickly, "for my brother's behavior during our last visit. It was—he was horribly uncivil."
"You were hardly at fault," Jasper pointed out. She hadn't even been present. "And my sister was equally…uncivil. She can be"—he floundered for a diplomatic adjective—"far too bold…sometimes." This was putting things extremely mildly, but he didn't want to scare Grand Duchess Alice off in their first conversation.
"I'm eager to be reacquainted with her. I've never had a sister before," she admitted with a hesitant smile.
"Nor I a brother," said Jasper. Grand Duke Edward, his brother. Now there was a disturbing thought.
"Well, I'll make sure Edward is on his very best behavior," she told him.
"Rosalie too," Jasper assured. "That is—I'll see to it she doesn't cause any trouble, either."
"Shall we seat them at opposite ends of the table?"
"Opposite ends of the palace," corrected Jasper. "And I think we'd better not allow Rose too near the cake."
His fiancée broke out in a high, trilling laugh, and this time his own corresponding smile was a modicum less forced.
But whatever accomplishment he felt at making her laugh was quickly replaced with dread as her laughter subsided—he had run out of jokes to make at Rosalie's expense. What should he say next?
But Grand Duchess Alice beat him to the punch. "We really will keep Edward in line," she promised, with a last giggle. "We'll be proper guests this time."
"You're not a guest," Jasper pointed out.
That sobered her up in an instant. Jasper had the sudden, sharp feeling he had blundered in saying it.
"No, I'm not," she agreed quietly.
He watched her expression as she gazed back down the path, solemn and contemplative. What was she thinking about? Perhaps she had more doubts about the whole arrangement than she was letting on. The idea should have made him feel more anxious, not…strangely relieved.
He cleared his throat again, mostly to interrupt the oppressive silence that had settled between them.
"I…I wanted to tell you," he stammered, looking down at his hands in his lap, "that if we—if you choose to go through with this, then…I'll do right by you. That is…this will be your home, and you'll be my wife, with all the respect that entails, and—and I'll take care of you," Jasper finished hastily, hyperaware of the blood that had rushed to his face.
Alice was silent for an interminable moment. Then:
"I have chosen to go through with this," she said softly. "Have you?"
Now he raised his head. She was looking up at him, her eyes huge, dark, and unreadable. For a fraction of a second he was flooded with the strange and powerful feeling that he could say no. He could open his mouth and say No, and with that single syllable, wrest control of his own life back. It would be so blissfully, effortlessly easy to say no.
But of course it wasn't that simple. He had a whole country weighing him down, the little everyday lives of hundreds of thousands of ordinary people pushing up against him with all of their need. They were depending on him to make the right decision, to put them first. He knew his duty.
Perhaps that was the one thing he and Grand Duchess Alice of Olympias had in common.
"Yes," he said.