Prince Rainier
"An Allendale!" Father says for the fiftieth time. "HA! Well, you certainly chose well, my boy. She'll be perfect!"
Once upon a time, House Allendale was a big fucking deal. They were never kings, but not because they couldn't do it, you see, but because they wouldn't. They always preferred to work in the shadows, away from prying eyes, tasting the ambrosia of power without the bitter root of responsibility. We all learned about them in our tutoring lessons as children. There was a lot that could be learned from a family so cunning.
For nearly four hundred years, the Allendales served as advisors to Harrington kings. It's an old noble powerhouse, but in the past few centuries it's fallen out of date. They're no longer much of a political clan, they don't command much besides Royce Manor and a bloated account at Morrison and Associates. But it's been so long since any one of them has done anything remotely interesting that no one even notices them anymore. I think the last anyone cared to check, they were expanding their fortune in the merchant business. I didn't even know they had a daughter. But there it is in the index. The last of the Allendale family—Ambriella Allendale.
"I remember hearing about it a few years back," Father says as the carriage takes us further up the road. "Lord Allendale's death. A terrible carriage accident…just two years after his wife. I'd forgotten they'd had a child…because he was remarried at the time of his death."
"It's that step mother of hers," Edward says. "When I first got word that you were searching for her, I went to see her. But a maid answered the door, told me she wasn't home. I went back the next day, and she told me again. I went back again, and her stepmother answered this time, told me that Ambriella wasn't allowed to see visitors ever again and she slammed the door in my face. They've killed her, I know they have!"
"Relax, dear boy," Father says to him. "They would not be so foolish as to risk going to prison over someone they so openly hate. She might not mean much to them, but she is still an Allendale."
I don't like to imagine whatever Edward is thinking about, so I focus my attention on the road.
Royce Manor is a large, beautiful marble structure. It was built by the first Lord Alexander Allendale some six hundred years ago. I've never actually seen the place in person, only in paintings that I saw as a child. It's so different in person. So regal, so imposing, so powerful. Cunning seems to be etched into every single bit of the place. It has all of the beauty and rapture that the Allendales once had. No artist whose work I've ever seen can quite capture the feel of the place.
My fingers drum on my knee anxiously as the mansion grows closer. She's in there somewhere. And seeing her somewhere other than at the palace, in the garden, in the dark of night feels strange. As though seeing her somewhere different makes her seem almost realer.
Ambriella. I'd never have guessed it. But the Allendales always used such gravely regal names. And it fits her. It fits her better than any name I ever considered for her.
If she had been anyone else, then maybe I'd have been able to win her family over on my own. But House Allendale is one of the only ones in history to have willingly refused an opportunity to take the throne. Power doesn't interest them. Neither does money. They've always minded their distance from visible power in favor of working in the shadows, and they've got plenty of money to spare. So now I'm in no small bit of trouble. Which is why Father's attendance is necessary. Having a king arrive with me to recommend my suit might help the situation. My stomach is in knots—not the good sort, either. I'm nervous. Eager. Anxious. Excited. I want someone else to see her, to look at her at the same time as me to somehow validate her existence.
Edward jumps out of the carriage before it's even stopped, hurrying up the front steps and banging on the doors.
"Madame Allendale!" he yells, pounding his fists on the wood repeatedly. "Madame! Open up!"
"Come back here, child!" Father calls out to him as Roger helps him out. I climb out after him.
"What are we to do with the child?" asks Captain Rhodes as he dismounts his horse. "He'll be an impertinent distraction."
Good point. I need to be on this family's good side, and if this stepmother of hers doesn't like him then I'm not likely to get anywhere good with them. The doors are flung open before I can say anything, however, and a girl of maybe twenty is standing before us. A maid, clearly—judging by her apparel.
"Miss…Miss Drisella?" Edward's brows furrow and he steps back, slightly doubtful.
"Who are you?" she asks bitterly. Her eyes fall on us.
"You'll get what you deserve now," Edward says. "I've brought the King and his son here to exact God's justice—where is Miss Ambriella?"
She's silent for a while as she takes us in. This is a maid? To be honest, this girl looks like the prissy sort of thing who'd have people serving on her hand and foot. Doesn't help her case that she's the size of a full grown ox.
"What in the devil…?" Drisella whispers quietly, but not quietly enough.
"Enough out of you, boy," Father says. "Where is Ambriella Allendale, girl?"
"She—I—come in," the girl says, tipping the door open further and sinking into a curtsey as we walk inside.
The inside is even more imposing than the outside. Marble walls and magnificent statues and paintings, the wide windows leaving the whole area feeling so open. Imposing but welcoming.
"Mother," the girl says quietly to a woman who has just emerged from another room. Another maid, this one much older. This is a strange place. These maids don't look like maids at all.
"What on earth?" the woman stops and takes us in. You know what's funny? There's something oddly familiar about this lady. I swear I've seen her somewhere before.
"Madame Allendale," says Edward. "We've come for Ambriella. What have you done with her?"
"My—I—" she pauses, inhaling deeply, turning away as if to compose herself.
Madame Allendale? Of course. I met her once or twice during the balls. Wait…this is the stepmother? This…maid? But the fat girl called her mother. So this is the step family? These are the horrible monsters Edward has been fretting over? Well, if they're working alongside the housekeeping, then I'm fairly sure Ambriella has the situation well sorted.
My heart lifts abruptly at this thought. If she truly has the situation sorted, then I won't have to worry about winning anyone over to earn her hand.
"Where is she, Madame?" asks Father.
Madame Allendale is silent.
"Your king has spoken, Madame," Captain Rhodes says.
"I—of course," Madame Allendale sinks into a curtsey. "A thousand apologies, Your Grace. I shall summon Lady Allendale immediately. Drisella, please escort our guests to the parlor and bring them some tea."
"Yes, Mother."
Drisella leads us into an enormous, sunny room. I spy a grand piano in the distant corner, closest to the window. I inhale and smile to myself. This room smells like her. She was here.
"Stop drumming your fingers like that," Father says, swatting my hand. "You're doing terrible things to my blood pressure."
I chuckle, but it's nervous and shaky. Look at what she's done to me. She's driven me to a nervous breakdown.
"Who?" asks a voice as steps grow steadily closer.
"Guests of the royal variety, my Lady," says Madame Allendale.
"What guests are these?" asks the voice again.
My heart shoots to my throat. I could swallow it if I tried. And I should so I can clearly speak because that's her voice and I'd know it anywhere and I have to inhale for a moment because not too long ago I was thinking that I might never hear it again. I get to my feet and face the door as Madame Allendale walks in, the figure trailing right behind her and pausing by the door.
There she is. Sweet and radiant and beautiful as the day I left her. Her dark hair is glossy and it has small tints of blue that I never got to see in the dark of night, but the sun is up and shining and I can see so much that I never noticed before. Her eyes sparkle even brighter during the day. Here where there are no shadows and no dull moonlight I can see every detail that I've missed and I know that I could spend forever just drinking her in.
And then Father abruptly coughs, and Captain Rhodes inhales sharply, and even Edward is silent, and that's when I really see her.
Her left cheek is an ugly, faded purple. There's a bright red mark on her brow. Her lip is split. Her cheek is cut. One of her eyes has been blackened into a horrible dark circle. It seems that there's only a few inches of skin on her face that isn't covered by some sort of abnormal color.
She comes forward slowly. There's a horrible limp to her walk, but whatever is slowing her down seems concentrated to her abdomen, not her legs.
"Miss Ambriella!" Edward rushes forward to her. She tears her eyes away from me to focus on him as he wraps his arms around her waist. "I thought they'd killed you!"
"Shh," she says to him, running her hair out of her face. That's when I notice her hands. Her fingers are cut from fingertip to palm. They're bright, angry red and shining in the sunlight. Her neck has a sick red weal along the side. My stomach has to catch my heart before it hits my tailbone. It's her, no doubt about it. But…how could this happen?
"I knew they'd hurt you," Edward is saying. "I knew they'd try to kill you! Look, I've brought the Crown—I've brought them here to save you!"
And her eyes return to us again. She holds herself steady by gripping Edward's shoulder as she curtseys to us.
"Please—" I raise my hands. "Don't do that."
She pauses and rises again. "Please do be seated my prince…your Grace."
"Heaven and Earth," says Father as we all sit down. She joins us slowly. "What happened to you, child?"
"Nevermind it, Your Grace," she says, waving it off casually. "It's over and done with. To what do I owe this great honor?"
No one says anything, but every eye in the room instantly falls on me.
"Walk with me," I say to her, standing up and taking her hand.
She looks around the room, then unlatches Edward's arms from her torso and lets me walk her out.
She seems to lead the way to the backdoor on the other end of the foyer, guiding us out to a splendid expanse of green hedges and high growing peach trees. I see no orchids here.
"I didn't think you'd find me," she says after a while.
That's when I snap. I turn and pick her up and hold her close, inhaling her, feeling her weight, reaffirming over and over again that she's not some phantom, that she's real and she's here and people have seen her and spoken to her so she's not something my mind made up to torture me. Her breathing gets heavy so I have to slacken my grip, but I don't dare let go because suddenly everything that I've been imagining since the day I met her is now possible and I can see it already. I can see the rest of our lives together. And I wonder if she can see it, too.
"I told you that I would," I say. "I told you I'd sail an ocean, cross a forest, cut through an army like a knife through butter…I told you that I'd find you. And now that I have…you will be my princess."
I lower her slowly, letting her find her footing before I release her. Her face is twisted. Not in pain. Not the physical sort, anyways. She's uncomfortable. Thrown off. I've caught her off guard. My smile slowly starts to fade.
"It's not that—" she pauses, inhaling and looking around. "It's not that I'm not glad to see you again—I am—but—you see—it's just that—"
"What?" I ask. "What is it?"
"It's—my Prince—"
"Rainier," I correct her quietly, but I don't like where this is going and I hope she can see that on my face.
"I—Rainier—" she inhales again. "I can't—you can't—be here…right…now."
What?
"Why not?" I ask her. "I told you that I would come."
"I know you did," she says. "But I…I never dreamed you'd actually make good on that."
"Of course I would…what—you thought I'd just forget you?"
"I suppose that I did," she says.
"Well, how could I with that view of the orchid bush right outside my window?"
She sighs and it feels like it's much, much heavier than she can carry. Now that I see her in proper light, it looks like her horrid condition is far worse than just physical injury. Her clear eye has a bag under it. Her skin is pallid and sickly pale. Was she always like that? How could I not notice it? What's the matter with her?
"I…can't…I can't marry you, Rainier," she says.
"Why?" I ask. "If not because of family, and not because of a husband, then why?"
"I'm sorry," she says. "It's…complicated."
"I'm sick of hearing that!" I say, taking a step back. "I love you and I came here to tell you that—I came here to save you!"
"I found a way to save myself," she says. "But thank you for coming."
"Explain this to me," I say, taking her arms and pulling her close. My head is so cloudy and heavy with frustration and confusion and she's not helping. "What is going on around here?"
"The terms of inheritance," she says. "I've been waiting ten years for my eighteenth birthday to finally take all of this. Royce Manor, the Allendale fortune, all of it. Ten years I went through Hell to take back everything that belongs to me. And now I have it. But If I marry you, then I won't be Lady Allendale anymore. Then I'll be Princess Harrington, and Princess Harrington can't live at Royce Manor. Princess Harrington can't be an Allendale, don't you see? I am an Allendale. I belong at Royce Manor. It's not that I can't marry you—I can't marry anyone."
"Can't or won't?" I ask her evenly.
"Pick one," she says. "I've waited too long and lost too much to throw it all away now that I finally have it. For something as silly and stupid as love, no less—"
"Is that how you see me?" I ask. "Silly and stupid?"
"No, I see you as a man with hope," she says. "I see a good person…with true potential. You'll make a fine king one day, but I cannot be your queen. I'm terribly sorry."
"No, you're not," I say.
Here it is. The side of love that I knew I never wanted. The side that takes root inside of you, the side that feels dark and heavy and bitter. The side that feels mean and ugly and relentlessly beats on you, churns your stomach, makes you feel like you've swallowed green rot. The side that hurts.
"So you'd rather stay here," I stumble back. "Just to clarify—you'd rather stay here alone for the rest of your life and make them miserable just to get even? Then who the hell did I meet with at the palace? Who was that girl that you pretended to be?"
"I was never pretending," she says to me. "I swear, it was me—it was. But that girl would never have married you, either, because that girl went to the palace with that very same drive in her."
"Look at you," I say, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. "Have you seen yourself? Are you seriously telling me that you want to face them every day for the rest of your life after this?"
"You think this is the worst?" she asks, and her voice has taken on this new strength. Anger. "You think this is it? This is just what they did to me when they learned I'd gone to the balls. They've done so much worse. They've stolen from me, and I'm not leaving until I've taken back everything they've robbed me of."
"What have they taken? What that I can't give you?"
"Things that the Crown cannot repay, Rainier," she says. "They have taken things far more valuable than money or jewels or paintings or gowns. They have taken my home. They have taken my peace of mind. They have taken my joy and my youth and my hope and my worth. I feel as though my very soul is hidden here somewhere, ripped from me by them and buried away. And I will remain here until I find everything they've taken. And if that takes the rest of my life, then so be it. Please understand me, I cannot go with you."
"I—" I bite down on my bottom lip. "I'm the prince! I can give you anything they've taken! You can find it again!"
"Being your princess won't change anything, Rainier," she says. "You can't honestly believe that waving your royal wand will just magically fix everything."
"I don't know what to believe," I say. "But you're not who I thought you were. That much I believe."
"Which is why I did not want you to find me," she says. "I knew I'd disappoint you."
I'm worse than disappointed. I'm hurting. And it feels so strange to be the one walking away from her this time instead of the other way around, but it doesn't feel wrong. Not right now.
"I'm hardly surprised," Father says on the way home. "Allendales never really could be persuaded to wear a crown."