Thanks for staying patient, everyone! I've been tweaking this chapter for months, trying to get it just right. I'm finally pretty happy with it, and you beautiful folks deserve an update. I have plans for the future of this story, but there's a bit of setup I need to do, first. That said, I don't think the next chapter will take as long. Thanks again for the continued support, and I hope you enjoy the latest installment!
If I had ever dreamed of attending dinner with the Royal Family of Kyrria, it would have been in a banquet hall with at least a hundred noble men and ladies in attendance. We would have been seated with the families of my father's fellow merchants, and the conversation would have bored me. Mother and I would have amused ourselves by guessing the thoughts of the other guests, and we would have found the meal divinely good, but I would not have known the cook's name, and I would barely have been able to see the king and queen, let alone speak to them.
I would have never imagined sitting at a small table, calling each of them by name, laughing and jesting like old friends. The food was sublime, the flow of wine ceaseless. It had been so long since a dinner had brought me such enjoyment. Any event in Father's presence was a somber affair, and while of course I loved Mandy, even she was not given to peals of uproarious laughter. I hadn't had a dinner this satisfying since Mother was alive, and I had never in my life shared a meal with so many people whose company I truly enjoyed.
After an impeccable dessert of apricot bread pudding (I could only manage two bites, I was so full), we retired to the Garnet Parlor for coffee and digestifs. The king poured into a wide-mouthed goblet a small amount of amber liquid and handed it to me. It smelled of oranges. I thought it might be wine, but before I could take a sip, my nose registered the fumes, and my eyes fluttered wide. King Jerrold laughed at that.
"Sip it," he instructed me. "It's meant to be savored."
I could scarcely more than wet my lips without being overwhelmed by the heat of alcohol. Still, the orange flavor was delicious, and if I took only the tiniest sips and allowed plenty of time in between, I found it quite bearable. I balanced the glass in my palm and swirled it, enjoying the scent.
Cecilia fetched her lute, and Char brought out a strategy game called Stones. I didn't know it, but Char vowed to teach me. We played on teams, the aim being to win the small, colored marbles from our opponents. My fumbling with the rules earned me and Char early disqualification from the first game, but when I insisted we play again, we managed to edge out the king and queen. Both times, Philip and Armand won handily.
"A quick study," said the king as we scooped the stones back into their bag. "This is not an easy game to master."
High praise from the king. "I would hardly say I've mastered it," I protested.
"You can't compare yourself against Armand," said Char. "He can beat any of us in a game of strategy."
Armand said nothing, but his lips twitched upward. He certainly did seem to have a knack for solving puzzles, as well as a sophisticated way of speaking. Smiling to himself like that, privately, he suddenly looked much older. "How old are you, Armand?" I asked.
He didn't look up. "Eleven."
So he was as old as I had previously thought. Merely small for his age. And judging by his father and brothers, he was due a growth spurt at any moment.
"Lovely and intelligent," sighed the queen, beaming at me. "Char, you truly have found yourself a charming lass."
Cecilia spoke from the corner. "Which reminds me: Armand, you owe me ten gold KJ's." She looked up from her lute, but her fingers continued to idly pluck out a simple, lovely tune.
Queen Daria knit her brow. "Whatever for?"
"He swore Ella would be disfigured," said Cecilia. "But she's obviously beautiful."
The queen made an astonished noise. "You placed a bet on the poor lass? What a thing to do!"
"We were only curious," said Cecilia. "At the balls. Why should she be the last to remove her mask? Armand thought her ashamed. But I heard her voice, and I knew she must be lovely."
Philip laughed. "A person can have a lovely voice without a lovely face."
"Regardless, I was right." Cecilia turned to Armand. "She's not disfigured. You've lost."
The lad's eyes rolled slowly in my direction. "Have I?" he asked thoughtfully.
"Disfigured," said Cecilia. "That was the word you used. Really, Armand, just admit you guessed wrong."
Armand continued to study me. His gaze lingered just long enough for a sinking feeling to creep its way into my stomach. Finally, he shrugged. "Not disfigured," he conceded. He fished the coins out of a pocket and handed them over.
Not disfigured. The best compliment I could expect from Prince Armand, and it had been extracted, quite frankly, under duress.
Again, none appeared to have caught the insult, if an insult it was. Daria was chiding her daughter in affronted tones, while Jerrold defended the game: "It's only a child's fun, Daria."
"A sixteen-year-old child should know better!"
"Oh, Mama, all the lads were placing bets. There was a two-hundred-KJ pot to pick the lass Char took home."
"All the lads!" cried Daria. "Squires, Cecilia. And servants and village folk. Not princesses."
"Philip put in twenty gold KJ's on Ella," Cecilia retorted. "Which he just about doubled, if I'm not mistaken. You're only upset because I'm female."
As Daria tried—rather in vain—to dispute this accusation, I discreetly studied Armand. He was a marvel, to be sure. Only eleven, but those eyes, deep and brown, shone with intelligence beyond his years. I wondered if he had many friends. Perhaps he was only a bit antisocial, growing up in this great stone castle. I was the outsider in his home. I knew nothing about this family except what little I could have gleaned in the past few hours. In my anxiety to be accepted, was I seeing hostility that wasn't there?
I resolved to befriend him. A boy of eleven wasn't out to make enemies. Certainly, he was only a shy child. Nothing more.
I didn't want to leave, but it was already past midnight, and my eyes were growing heavy. Cecilia wouldn't let me go without promising to see her first thing tomorrow, and the queen wanted to meet over lunch and discuss plans for the wedding and the household. I said good-bye, but it was half an hour before Char and I were bundled in our furs and descending the front steps. Daria and Cecilia waved from the door. Between the two of them, it would be a miracle if we ever got a moment alone.
We had one now, as he handed me into the carriage and settled in beside me. It was a short ride back to the manor, and while I would have liked nothing better than to nestle into his arms and fall asleep there, I had to clear the air, and I had to do it now.
"Char."
"Hmm?"
"I have something to tell you."
"What is it?"
"Something about the curse." I felt him shift, perhaps recognizing the gravity in my voice. "It caused me to do all manner of things," I said slowly. "I had to obey direct orders. Sometimes, that meant I had to make . . . some very difficult decisions."
He was silent, listening.
I took a deep breath. "When we were writing, while you were in Ayortha, I was a servant of Dame Olga's. Father was out of town, and she had me practically enslaved, despite his wishes. Your letters were all that gave me comfort. And when you . . . the letter you wrote, when you shared your feelings for me . . . It made me . . ." My voice was cracking, my words jumbling up. I tried to steady myself.
Char's thumb ran itself along my elbow. "You did see that letter," he murmured. "I wondered."
"I saw it," I said, "and it thrilled me. I nearly wept for joy. I composed a response in my head as I fell asleep." I smiled as I thought of it—and yet, the memory was not a happy one. I was glad for the darkness of the carriage as my eyes began to grow warm.
"Then I remembered the curse. I couldn't marry you. The thought of it made me happier than I can describe, but when I considered it as a true possibility, I knew . . . I couldn't. It would have been so dangerous. Hattie knew of my curse, and Dame Olga and Olive suspected. And Lucinda, of course. If many more people found out—if an enemy of Kyrria found out . . ." I trailed off.
After a moment, Char finished my sentence. "They could have used you," he said softly. He was silent a minute longer, and then he said, "You wrote that letter." It wasn't really a question. "Then your sister had nothing to do with it?"
"She is deplorable," I said, "and has been since I met her. But apart from bully her sister—and perhaps show a lack of decorum before the prince—she's done nothing wrong. I didn't want you to think her more evil than she is." I drew a breath and closed my eyes. "Forgive me," I breathed.
He pulled away, and he sat me up straight so I faced him. He took my chin in his strong hand, and he stared fiercely into my eyes. "You broke both our hearts that day," he said. "And you did it for our country. How many maidens would reject the hand of the prince for such a selfless cause? Forgive you? I will not." He shook his head, and he added emphatically, "There is nothing to forgive."
Something released inside of me. Something that had been tight around my heart for I don't know how long. Tears began to flow freely, and as Char leaned in to kiss me, I finally felt a freedom that had nothing to do with the curse. I had hurt him, and he loved me still. I felt I could take on the world.
Too soon, the carriage pulled up to the manor. The front hall windows glowed—Nathan, perhaps, or Mandy, waiting up for me—but the rest of the house slumbered in darkness. As Char handed me out, I had the feeling once more of a cold, empty space. I didn't want to go home. I wanted to be with Char.
He walked me to the front door and kissed me goodnight. His lips left mine, but I resisted, and with a hand behind his head, I pulled him back. He cradled my back, lifted me nearly off the ground, and this kiss lasted much longer than the first. Still, when he tried to pull away, I didn't want to let him. I stood with my hands clasped behind his neck, staring up into his eyes.
He smiled, but I had concerned him. "I hate to leave you alone," he said. "You're certain you want me to go?"
It was only a cursory offer. I'd made it clear by now that I was perfectly fine, I wasn't alone, I had a full household. But as I gazed at him, I thought about leaving him until morning, and sleeping alone in my cold room in the dark, empty house, and I realized I didn't want him to go. Not at all.
I chewed my lip. "It wouldn't be proper," I said softly.
He understood immediately, and his eyes grew wide. "Ella, if you want me to stay, you need only ask."
What would his family think? What would Mandy say? I couldn't possibly . . . and yet, there was nothing I wanted more. The invitation made me shy, and I felt my cheeks glow as I smiled. "Will you stay, Char?"
He positively beamed. "Of course."
He exchanged a few hurried words with the coachman, who then flicked his whip and headed, alone, back to the castle. Char hooked my waist, and my heart raced. We headed inside.
Nancy was there to greet us. She smiled and bobbed a curtsy. "Evening, Lady. Your Highness. How was dinner?"
"Heavenly," I said. "Almost as good as Mandy's. Nancy, is the master room made up?"
She raised her eyebrows, but she took the question in stride. "It is, Lady. I can set a fire in a few minutes' time."
"Please do, Nancy, thank you."
She nodded. The tiniest glint came into her eyes, but she made no further comment and made directly for the stairs.
I was glad for Char's company. As suspected, Nancy was the only soul awake. Even the kitchen was dark, the door to Mandy's room downstairs shut fast. In no hurry to part for bed, I lit candles and began to heat a pot of milk. Mandy carried bricks of chocolate she had blended with aromatic spices. I broke off a piece for each of us and directed Char to stir his into the mug of steaming milk I set before him.
We carried our cocoa to the parlor, where the last of a fire still flickered in the grate, and curled up on the rug. Char praised the chocolate exuberantly, and I told him Mandy would share the recipe with no one, not even me. Then we didn't speak again for a long time. We sat close and watched the flames. Their dance was mesmerizing, and Char's closeness kept the empty dark at bay.
Nancy eventually came in to show Char his room. I took the mugs back to the kitchen, extinguished the candles, and retired upstairs. I dressed for bed in the glow of the fire, and Nancy had put a warming pan under my comforter, but I wasn't ready to sleep.
I'd had nightmares when I was young, as all children do. Mine were perhaps unique, as they often involved the curse and tended to be chillingly realistic. I'd had no enemies back then, so commands came from faceless, dark figures. In the very bad dreams, I was ordered to kill Mother, or Mandy, or my friends, or my household. In the worst dreams, I followed through.
My only comfort during those night terrors was the knowledge that my mother slept in the room just down the hall. I had spent only a few nights in my room after her death, before Father shipped me off to Jenn, but each night, I lay awake, tossing and turning for hours. My one solace had always been the thought of her peaceful slumber. I had taken security from her nearness. The thought of her room empty and still was as bad as the thought of Mother sealed away in that awful box, and the nightmares had returned in full force.
But her room was occupied, now.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was in my slippers and padding down the hall to where a soft light spilled out from the master bedroom.
I knocked softly, and Char's voice called, "Come in." I pushed the door open and poked my head through.
He reclined on Mother's bed in a long shirt and trousers, a book open on his lap. He set this aside and smiled at me, a gesture I returned.
"You're comfortable?" I asked.
"Very," said Char. "Thank you."
"It's smaller than you're accustomed to, I'm sure."
He frowned and looked around at the walls, as though the thought hadn't occurred to him. "Perhaps," he said. "My father would say, 'The smaller the room, the better a man fills it.' He used to tell me that when I'd complain about my more menial responsibilities. It never helped much." He laughed. I couldn't imagine him complaining about anything.
"Will you come in?" he asked.
I hesitated, but the manor was asleep. A few moments shouldn't arouse suspicion. I entered, shutting the door behind me.
Char set his book on the nightstand and moved over. I stepped out of my slippers and joined him on the bed, tucking my bare feet beneath me. I had never been so underdressed in Char's presence. It was uncertain and exhilarating. He reached for me, and I nestled into his embrace. How natural it felt.
"What are you reading?" I asked.
"I found it on the nightstand," he said. "A book of fairy tales."
I knew the book. It had belonged to Mother, and I felt a pang as I remembered how she'd treasured it. "This was my mother's room," I told Char. "I haven't been in here since she died. It looks just the same." Had she read that book while she was sick? I tried to put the thought from my mind.
"The view is beautiful," he said. "You can see half of Frell. My window looks out on a stone turret."
His thumb stroked the back of my hand. I moved his fingers to my cheek and held them there, appreciating the warmth. "What about my room?" I asked absently. "In the castle. Do you have one picked out?"
He grinned broadly. "Your room is beautiful," he said. "You know it's been vacant all my life?"
I didn't know that. I leaned back to look up at him.
"The Princess's Suite," he said. "For the sweet princess. It was my mother's in the early days of her marriage. It's empty, now. You'll have to help pick the furniture."
I smiled. There was something comforting in the knowledge that my new home hadn't been entirely pre-ordained.
"You know," he said, a funny little lilt in his voice, "this bed would fit in there nicely. And it's tremendously comfortable."
I looked up at him, eyes wide.
"That is," he added hastily, "only if you want it. The plan was to buy new furniture. I only thought, if this was your mother's, you might want . . ."
I leaned back and kissed him suddenly. It was almost a reflexive action. In the dim candlelight, with the moon reaching through the corner window, it seemed the thing to do.
Our lips parted. "I love you," I said.
"I love you, too."
"No more talking."
He studied my eyes. "Okay."
We were alone. There was no one to interrupt us, no one to see. Even if Nancy were still awake, she wouldn't intrude on the prince after hours. It felt wondrous to kiss him without inhibition, to let my senses take over, to run my fingers through his hair and drink in the faint scent of cedar and cinnamon on his person.
I let my hands drift from his face to explore his chest. It was perhaps not yet as broad as it would be, but it was strong. I felt his back through his shirt, and there was strength there, too, but I wanted more. I wanted the softness of his face and hands. My fingers began working at the laces on his collar. In response, he tugged at the back of my nightgown, and before I knew it, I was in only my slip, and he in his trousers, the rest of our clothes abandoned in a tangled heap at the foot of the bed.
His bare back was soft and velvety on the surface, but hard as steel underneath. I felt all the contours, and it made me shiver. His muscles slipped delightfully beneath my fingers as his hands made the same examination of me. They wanted to know about my shoulders, my hips, my breasts.
His touch was warm, his breathing melodious, his smell sweet. Again and again, our lips met, and as our hands continued to explore, something warm and pleasant began to grow inside of me. I had known love my entire life, bleak as things had seemed at times. But this was a whole new experience. Never had I been so very close to another body. Never had I felt this kind of warmth. And not since Mother had I felt so truly, deeply, and eternally secure. Char's arms were so strong. His whole body was so steady and firm. If I could latch myself to him, no sword could ever pierce me, no monster trample me, no current carry me off. This was safety. This was love.
I fell asleep that night in his arms. I didn't think it consciously, but some part of me vowed never to pass the dark hours alone. I must never have reason to again.
