Geric did not come that day. I waited for him to bring the news of the horse's death. I could imagine how he would look, what he would say, how his gait would be slower, despondent, each foot reluctant to take a step, his eyes slow to meet my face. But they would meet my face, and he would take my hand again, and all would be well.
He did not come.
After the sun had started its long slope into the hollow of the western sky, Tatto passed through the archway. "I've got new boots," he said, explaining why he picked his way across the grass, carefully avoiding goose droppings. I watched with sleepy eyes and a resigned dread.
"I've been sent by my chamber-lord to deliver to you a message." Tatto spoke officially, raising one hand, palm upright, in a stiff gesture of oration.
"Yes, go on," I said. He was inclined toward dramatic pauses.
"Here," he said. "A letter from someone in the palace."
The parchment was sealed with a plain pool of wax. I broke it and read.
Isi,
Matters here are worse, and the prince needs me at present. At any rate, I think I had better not return to your pasture again. I do not know how to write this. You know, this is my fourth draft of this letter, and I am determined to finish this one even though I will sound like a right fool. So I will just say it. I cannot love you as a man loves a woman. I am so sorry if I have presumed what is not true or have taken liberties with your sentiments. I hope you can forgive me.
Geric
A postscript scratched at the bottom read, "I have failed you twice. The horse you had regard for was already taken away when I arrived yesterday."
I folded the letter and put it in my pocket. Tatto was watching my face. Curiously, I did not feel like crying, or running away, or sighing. Instead, I felt anger burst open inside me, an overripe fruit. I felt like picking up the fist-size rock that lay by my foot and throwing it, hard. I did. It made an unsatisfactory thump on the ground.
"Not good news," said Tatto.
"I should be used to it. But right now I'd like all my troubles to stand in front of me in a straight line, and one by one I'd give each a black eye."
"Oh." Tatto stood by, waiting to see what I would do.
I kicked my beech tree. The trunk was as thick as two men, the smooth bark as hard as a city stone. I could not even make the branches shiver. I shouted and kicked it again as hard as I could, knowing I could not even dent the bark. I was reminded of one of my temper-prone gardeners that had tried to attack a carthorse, only to get kicked by a rather large hoof.
I stopped and pressed my forehead on a branch in a kind of apology. The pressure of the tree on my face soothed me. I closed my eyes and thought I could hear a kind of breathing echoing all around me, from leafless branches and the thick trunk and below my feet. I opened my eyes and saw Tatto staring.
"You're angry," he said.
"I think so," I said with some satisfaction.
"I saw my ma do that once"—he pointed at the tree trunk—"but to a milk pail. Kicked and chased it clear across the yard, crushed it to a ball of metal. Really."
"Yes, well..." I looked off to where some geese paddled on the pond, though the water was near freezing. I cannot love you as a man loves a woman. My heart twisted at that. And not coming back, I thought. Put him away, with the others who will not come back. Aunt, father, Selia, brothers, sisters, Talone, the guards, Falada. Put Falada away.
"Tatto, do you know where they sent the princess's horse?"
"Yes, the knacker two over east from your pens."
I thanked him automatically. I had planned to go and see what had become of Falada right away, but I was suddenly drained—whether it was from the shock and sorrow or from kicking a tree that a mule could barely dent, I couldn't tell.
I spent the rest of the day sitting under my tree, motionless and silent. The shock had begun to wear off hours ago, but I forced myself to not react until I could get back to my own room.
Enna met me at the door, ready to go to dinner, but I just couldn't hold on any longer. I shook my head wordlessly, not trusting myself to speak. She looked curious, but she only nodded sympathetically.
When I finally reached the solitude of my room, I dropped onto my bed, waiting for the tears to come. To my surprise, they did not; I was left with nothing to do but think. I took out his letter again, but I only saw those ten words: "I cannot love you as a man loves a woman." I whispered them aloud, trying to take in the fact, to convince myself that this was truly happening. "I cannot love you as a man loves a woman." Then I noticed something I had not seen before. He had written not, "I do not love you," but "I cannotlove you." I had assumed that it meant the same thing, but I realized with blinding certainty that it did not. Suddenly I knew, sure as sure, that he loved me and—greatest shock—I loved him; confident in that knowledge, I was determined to find out why he felt he could not love me.
As I braided my hair into a circlet and reached for my hat to cover it, I wondered to myself. I knew him too well to think that it had to do with status—true, he ranked much higher than me, but he had reached that rank through promotion due to merit. I was sure that in a while I would be promoted, too, and—
I realized with a start that all my thoughts up to now had stemmed from the assumption that I would remain the goose girl; that I would allow Selia to claim my title, my groom, and my kingdom. That I would someday marry Geric. And I discovered that that was what I wanted. I did not want to go home and claim the crown from Calib. I did not want to expose Selia and marry the prince. I wanted to be a person, not a princess—a person that could choose who she wanted to love, and marry.
But I could not. If Selia had been a good person, a good ruler, I probably would have let her have what she wished. But she was not, and even if she decided not to harm the people of Bayern, I knew that her men would seek me until I was killed. It was my duty to somehow prove that I was the princess and to... to marry the prince. He would be kind, I supposed, and we could be reasonably happy together; perhaps even love each other, in a way. And I knew when I was married, princess once more, I would have to dismiss Geric from the prince's service. I could not bear to see him every day, unable to love him but knowing how much more we both wanted.
And I knew, surer than sure, I could not love him as a woman loves a man. And with this indisputable knowledge, my tears were freed at last. I knelt on my bed, weeping for what could not be, what could have been, and what would have to be. But I would not allow myself to fall asleep in tears. I did not close my eyes until they were dry of tears. I squared my shoulders and forced myself to smile. For the first time in my life, I felt like a princess.