Christine hit the ground, fingers clutching at the gritty dust beneath her as a cloud of it billowed around us, her head banging unwillingly into something more solid. I saw her cringe. The money bag's tie burst open, spilling coins like syrup out of bottle. Christine did not try to gather them up; her eyes were squeezed shut, whether by force or actual unconsciousness I could not tell. It all happened so fast.
Oh, dear. I had never intended to be a murderer.
What followed next was a blur of images that tried to force themselves to the front of importance as fast as possible. Someone screamed. I ran for Christine. The brown stallion kicked back with a whinny of insult. A flurry of people ran for Christine as well, whether to help her or snatch the spilt coins I did not know or care. For the other image was perfectly clear, Wyatt, swinging off of his horse as if off of a rope with the way his strong hands clutched the reins and drug the horse's head. The horse himself pounded the ground once before calming.
Cautiously Christine opened one eye, one wide eye, green and frightened. A young boy, both brave and stupid as boys go, already had her arm in a sweet, vain attempt to help her to her feet. "Are you all right, miss?"
I stopped just over her. Heavens, I had nearly killed her with my idiotic little stunt. "Christine," I said, and that was it. I had never been in such a situation where I had to speak to someone who had tried to kill me, and I certainly was not aware of the necessities of the reverse.
The other eye now open, she glared at me with sheer hellfire.
A guard grabbed the horse's reins from Wyatt as he joined us in front. Already it seemed as if half the population of Sunelle had gathered to watch their beloved prince trample young girls. Oh, the joke it might have been! I tore me eyes from Christine to watch him, dead-pale behind the stubble. Could he not shave? His eyes were on Christine. Of course they would be. He had nearly killed her. Wyatt would not take this time to carry on old gossip. But as he passed, he brushed me with his elbow.
Now the living could not feel me unless I wanted them to. Only Christine could see me now. I had never asked anyone what they might feel, but no one ever seemed dreadfully bewildered. To Wyatt I was air, a patch of space where no one stood at the moment. Nothing. But I felt him. His elbow caught me a little above the waist, striking my ribs. Not painfully, but with heat. Living heat that I could practically taste. I shuddered as he passed. Why was this happening?
And then it was over, and there was Christine, looking thoroughly stunned (though I still sensed a glare meant solely for me) as she nodded briefly to the crowd. "Miss!" he spoke, the same voice I remembered. "I am so sorry! I did not see you…" He blushed faintly, though it was striking compared to that ashen pallor. "… which I realize is no excuse. I did not see you fall."
I almost laughed. Wyatt was known for having his head in the clouds at times.
Christine shook her head. Her eyes, to my surprise, were not on him but dutifully on the ground. Ah, yes. Manners to royalty. I had almost forgotten. "No, no, Your Highness. It is not your fault. I was…"
Clumsy?
"I was pushed."
My mouth fell open as the rest of the observers let out gasps that might as well have announced my murder, and a dozen pairs of eyes looked around in pure accusation. Thank goodness no one could see. Even so I wanted to skulk into the ground for hiding. It was like being a child again. Instead, I returned the filthy look she had sent me. Brat.
"Who pushed you?" Wyatt demanded. I hoped he wouldn't say it was attempted manslaughter.
That caught Christine. Her expression fluttered, and her gaze jumped up to the crowd. "I…"
"You did not see them?"
Another long pause as we all waited. What sort of game was she playing? A slow smile crept onto her mouth to settle, one of adorable apology. She was good. "I'ms certain it was an accident, Your Highness," she said in the sweetest voice I could imagine anyone could muster. "It was crowded on the street and you were coming… Perhaps I should not have said pushed. It had to be an accident."
Accident. If she had any idea who Wyatt was to me…
"An accident," he repeated. His hands loosened. I hadn't realized he had them clenched. His face relaxed into something relating to a smile. "Are you sure?"
She shrugged. Her eyes were now on him, somewhat nervous but still irritatingly charming. "It had to be. I dropped my money bag and I guess I wanted it bad enough to go in after it." To prove her point she dropped gracefully back to the ground and scooped the coins back into the bag. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."
"You did make this morning a little interesting," said a guard with a mustache like a walrus.
Wyatt laughed, and my heart melted. I hadn't heard him laugh in so long, I had forgotten what it sounded like.
And Christine chimed in, sounding much like she had the prior day. "Well, if it does please Your Majesty. But I still apologize."
He bowed before her, sturdy and deep. He had always been a decent one for bows, though the two of us had always secretly thought them silly when used too much. Sometimes he had made fun of the ways other would bow, mimicking them with passion to the extreme until I could scarcely breathe for laughter. This wasn't like him, and a bitter taste filled my mouth. I could not place it. "Then," he continued, "All I ask of you is that you be more careful."
"A market is a scary thing to navigate, Your Highness," she replied, adding in a late "In my defense, of course."
That only made him and the guard laugh again.
The little servant girl was a flirt! Of course she was a flirt. I had seen her in action the day before. But I had met plenty of women of the same manner, and I shoved it out of my head. This was Christine. For what was I worried? She dipped into her own curtsey, and before I knew it Wyatt had climbed back onto his horse and was trotting off.
And all I could do was stand where I was and stare after him. It was like I was dying all over again, but then fireworks burst through me and I smiled. Wyatt. I had seen Wyatt. He had touched me.
I was only distantly aware of the commotion that now surrounded Christine. I did not know anything of the balance between commoners and royalty in Sunelle, but apparently, as much as Wyatt and his parents liked to come through town, it was still novel to have one of them speak directly to you. The girl had managed to collect her own little circle of cheers.
When Wyatt was out of distance, I turned back to her as she finally broke away from the crowd with the excuse about finishing her shopping. Despite the evil looks of earlier she scurried to my side, face beaming and moneybag held between her hands like a bouquet. "Wasn't that exciting?"
"You were nearly trampled," I said softly as we made our way back to the shadowy sides. "That horse could have killed you."
"I'm sure the horse was a dear."
"He was a big horse!" I breathed in the chill air of the shadows. It managed to clear my spinning head well enough. "Though I guess if you find death interesting…"
"Death is morbid," she replied with loud distaste. "By the way, in case you forgot, you, Miss Fawn Angel, were the one who stole the coins from me and threw them into the street!"
And to think that I was not even sure why I did so. I blushed. It was like being caught for a naughty deed as a child. I was feeling so much like a child! "I'm sorry. I just…"
"Just what?"
"I was interested in seeing the prince, and it seemed as good a way as any to stop him."
"To nearly kill the girl you claim you want to help." Christine nodded firmly, though her eyes still sparkled as if she had just stolen another pound of berries. "Besides, as you are clearly not aware, I'm not referring to that near-trampling incident. I am referring to meeting Prince Wyatt."
At least she had good taste in what was exciting. She had even managed to get up the courage to tease with him. "In all the days you have spent watching for the family, this is the first time you have been so close."
"Yes'm." She stopped at a fruit stand and began to examine the lemons. "I certainly did not expect this, and you made it possible. I'm sorry that I was angry with you after I fell. Now I have a story that my stepmother and sisters will never believe." She picked four lemons and handed money to the seller, an old woman who was apparently deaf, for she did not look up at Christine chattered away to me.
"Is that all that matters to you?" A story to keep for herself? I found myself once more playing in a dusty old library making up my own secret games.
"What else would it be good for?" She moved on, now seeming quite content to shop now that the adventure was done for the day. "It's not every girl that is nearly run over by royalty"
She had that right. I laughed. "You surprise me, Christine."
"Thank-you. But I am still curious as to why you were so interested in seeing him."
I thought that my first temptation would be to spill my entire story, but my tongue was frozen in my mouth. I could not speak a word of it, and to my surprise I had no desire, no instinct to say anything about my life. It wasn't for her to know. It was a lifetime ago. "I guess I was just what you said. Curious."
Christine stepped out into the sun. "It's getting chilly in the shade." Her closed her eyes, looked up, and sighed. "I love the outdoors. I want to go fishing."
"Fishing?" I echoed in horror. Then I reminded myself that she was a servant, after all, even if against her will.
"Mm. Yes. Fishing. It's very relaxing, and with the weather changing as it is there won't be more than a few weeks left to do so. Speaking of which, I need peaches."
I was not sure what peaches and fish had to do with each other, but I followed her to the next stand as she charmed a few extra fruits out of a few less coins.
I had been nothing like her in life.
Christine continued to flirt and play her way through the rest of the shopping, preferring to wander and stare rather than directly go to more than three stands at a time. It was a clear delay, an effort to not return to house. I could not blame her, not with the people that lived there. As for me, I had found that incredibly my mind had slipped away from thoughts of Wyatt. And finally there it was, the sun climbing toward noon like a perfect ball of fire in clear blue. Tamenrook had rarely seen such a sight. It also signaled the end of Christine's shopping.
"Well," she said softly as she took the last of her spices. "I guess that's it for today. Let's go."
We walked in silence from the city, the house looming toward us before I knew it.
"You don't seem like you want to go back," I finally said.
She rolled her eyes. "No, not really. I'm sick to death of my idiotic family. I don't think you would want to go back, either. But I have to. I'm hungry and I did not bother to steal any food."
Stealing. Oh no. "Christine, did you steal something?"
I expected her to deny it, but after a moment's hesitation she revealed a bracelet from her pocket.
Good grief. "Christine!"
"What?" The fact that she had stolen once more did not seem to bother her. "It's cheap and the seller beats his animals. He deserves to lose this."
"You can't steal," I scolded.
"And you don't seem to be wanting to give me anything nice. And every once in a while I like something nice. And this happens to be it."
I knew plenty of other heavenly angels that would march her right back to the city to return the jewelry, but, to be perfectly honestly, I was rather amused. I would have never dared steal something. "How often do you steal?"
"Not often." Her face revealed neither truth nor lie.
"What if your stepsisters ask about it?"
She shook that mane of gold and smiled proudly. "I will probably just tell them it belonged to my mother. Or something. I do still have trinkets from my parents, things with which they don't bother."
"Where do you keep them?" I thought of that bare little floor of hers with its books and piles.
"I have my secrets, Fawn. Plenty of secrets. Humans have them as well. They're not just for angels."
I opened my mouth to ask what exactly she meant by that, but no voice came out. It was probably nothing. We had only met the night before.
We were now at the house, that pretty little house that was run by such morons. I paused, but Christine kept walking in like she owned the place. By all accounts, she should own it, but apparently the marriage laws had won out. I followed her into the kitchen, where she dumped her groceries and set to making a soup.
"They will probably want fresh bread," she mused as she chopped vegetables. "I just bought a loaf at the market. Slightly stale. Would you mind warming it up?"
"No," I said.
"No?"
I smiled. "It's your punishment for stealing that bracelet."
I half-expected a retort, but she also smiled and nodded in defeat. "All right, then. If that is how it's going to be. If they complain, I shall blame my fairy godmother."
Fairy godmother. That had a nice ring to it. I slipped from the kitchen before she could ask me to do another stitch of work and pounded up the steps to do a little more exploring.
During that little excursion I found Grace, clumsily trying to paint a bowl of fruit. She was doing a most terrible job. I found that rather funny.
That night it returned, the vivid memory of Wyatt, so intensely I could not remain in that house, wandering like a ghost. Christine fell asleep early, curled up like a puppy on her little mattress, still in her work clothes. I watched her for a moment. We had not spoken since lunch—she had just been too busy, the poor thing. Melissa worked her like a slave, what with the cooking and the cleaning. No, it was probably not fair to say a slave, but it was clear that Christine was not happy in that house. I could scarcely imagine how a person could be so different in the shadows of a building and in the daylight. But such a person was Christine. The quiet girl who cooked muffins and the girl who had joked with my prince.
I had always missed Wyatt, just as I had missed my parents and my life. An aching in my heart that varied between sharp and dull, but always painful until I learned to push the hurt and the memories away. I had accepted it, the fact that he was gone from me. Even now I still accepted it.
But he was here. Or there, in the city. He had touched me today, not knowing. How could he not have known? He had claimed to love me. Was it so senseless to believe he might have noticed something, the faintest stir of my presence? Clearly not. But then again he was a male and therefore not blessed with the sharpest wit.
I hung at the attic window, staring out into the sky that was so heavy with stars. He had told me the night before my murder that as a boy he had fallen asleep on the roof, gazing at the stars. All those constellations. Orion was out now, ready for the hunt. I breathed in the night air. It tasted similar to the air in the city's shadows. Crisp.
And with that I was gone from Christine's floor, the house now run by Melissa and her spoilt daughters. With a close of my eyes and a single wish I was back on the now-empty street where Christine had nearly been tramped by a handsome brown stallion that morning. I opened my eyes, and my heart twirled. The stars were just as bright here, and I could smell the delicious dust of the city. Somewhere a rat nibbled on something. I turned to the road, which led from what only could be the palace. The palace of the royal family of Sunelle.
Wyatt.
With a laugh I took off at a run. He was in there. I just had to find him. I made it to the gates, once more grateful for how my spirit body ignored breathlessness and pain. There I stopped, shook out my hair, and stared up to a single lit window.
It was like the Prickling, only completely different in meaning. This had knowledge. It was Wyatt's window.
I slipped through the main doors. The palace was, for the most part, asleep, the front hall with its cream marble shimmering ever so faintly in the pale gleam of the sconces. My footsteps left no sound. Part of me wished to stop, to take in the palace that should have been mine under different circumstances. But I had to find stairs. I was here for one purpose and one purpose only. Wyatt. I whispered his name to myself, aloud, probably scaring the lone servant that was awake into thinking the palace was haunted. Well, maybe it was. I quickly found the stairs and bounded up them. I felt like a child, in a good way. A little girl playing a game, hide-and-go-seek in shadowy hallways with the ghosts. I weaved my way through the halls, my heart pounding. I knew exactly where to go.
And soon enough there it was, a lit room and voices, one of them to familiar I wanted to scream.
"I guess I always just thought that this event was for me by my father as his last duty."
Wyatt. I laughed.
"My dear Wyatt, it is your coronation, and sadly behind schedule, I hope you realize."
"Hardly. My father loves his crown."
I turned, unseen, into the room. It was smaller than I had expected, and I liked it all the more for that reason. A bed lay in the corner, spread with green—green and brown seemed to be the general color scheme. There were Wyatt's books, a chess set, a washing basin, and a couple of chairs. That was where he sat now, directly across from another face that tugged on my mind until the name came forward. I smiled. Evan!
The old man had a pile of papers on his lap, reading them with overdone concern. Did he not know that Wyatt only cared about what was important? A coronation was little more than a fancy ball. I knew well enough that all the important routines were done in the presence of the council. Silly.
At least Evan smiled at Wyatt's last remark. "Indeed, I agree with you there, and may I dare say that he loves it a little too much and it might be best for you to take it while he's willing instead of tugging it out of his cold dead hands?"
Wyatt's face crinkled with a laugh, which he and Evan shared for nearly a minute. "Point taken, Evan. I just want to know why it needs to be so… so damn fancy."
"Because it gives the citizens something exciting over which to dream," Evan replied rather cynically, though with another laugh that once more got to Wyatt. "Can't you grant them that?"
"I already said I would be willing to have a ball."
"I know you, Prince Wyatt," Evan said, leaning forward. "I've known you all your life and I know perfectly well that you would rather sign a document in the broom closet whilst eating turkey and be done with it. I'm afraid to give you the bitter truth that fanfare is often necessary to keep people happy. Besides, it will be fun."
Wyatt rolled his eyes. "I know it will. When it occurs, I will have plenty of enjoyment. Because I'll go into the back and practice archery on the coaches."
"Like a child?"
"Like a child, Evan."
I crept closer. I do not know why I crept. They could not see me or hear me. But I still felt like an intruder. My mother would not be pleased. Me in the room of the man I had not yet married. Scandalous. I stood behind Wyatt. He smelled wonderful.
"Well," said Even, exchanging paper for paper and readjusting his glasses. "I will let you know that the process of switching over authority is going nicely. Even though you know do over half the work."
"They'll know me with the crown," Wyatt said. "Especially after I nearly ran over that poor young woman in the market this morning."
Evan chuckled. "I thought it funny."
"Would have been funnier if she had been a member of the court."
"You're cruel, Wyatt."
Wyatt smiled mischievously. "Thank-you."
I adored him. Had he always been so cheeky?
"Speaking of such," he continued. "On matters of the ball. I will be the new king, so the people should get to know me beyond the man that rides on occasion through the city. Invite everyone in it. Heaven knows we have enough room."
"Grand idea. I'll have Harold prepare the invitations. What about Princess Marina and her family?"
Who was Princess Marina? I watched Wyatt's face.
He paused a moment. "Yes, invite them. Though it will be a little awkward."
"The courtship is ending, then?"
Wyatt nodded. His face was unreadable.
"Good," said Evan. "I didn't like her."
Wyatt raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Really."
"You should have said something earlier."
"I thought I was pretty obvious about it. You were the one that was not thinking clearly."
Wyatt sighed and stood up from his chair. I instinctively backed away. "She's not Fawn, Evan. You don't need to compare every princess to her."
I froze. He had said my name. He had said my name and the heavens had opened once more upon me and not as a resting place between my wanderings. I wished him immediately to say it again.
Evan was at the door, papers at his chest. His old face smiled faintly. "No, Prince Wyatt. I don't need to."
Wyatt stared at him.
"And I don't. Good night, Your Highness. We really must stop doing these meetings so late at night. It's getting ridiculous." He closed the door.
"Goodnight," Wyatt called after him, loud enough to excuse for the door. Then he made his way to a closet I had not noticed and began to undress.
It was silly of me, I supposed. The love of my life had just said my name, and I was suddenly more interested in watching his body. Nine years later, and he still looked wonderful. I felt myself blushing, but I figured I deserved this much. He was good and muscular and I liked every moment of it.
Nine years, though. Nine years. As soon as Wyatt was ready for bed the number hit me like lightening. I had not dared to do the math, but there it was. Nine years since my murder. Had it really been so long, for nine years was supposed to be an awfully long time. We should have been married. We should have had several children that would be raised to marry others at ridiculously young ages. We should have been happy. I was angry I could have kicked something. But I had done something similar once and had scared the living daylights out of someone. I had no desire to do that to Wyatt.
He did not go directly to his bed. A set of doors led out to a balcony overseeing the city. It was there he went. I followed him, watching his eyes the whole while.
The city was his first focus. I could not blame him, what with this talk of the upcoming coronation. Wyatt a king! How wonderful! I had always known he would be a good king. The best. And I would be his faithful queen, also a wonderful ruler in my own right. Plus, it was just a nice view. Gorgeous.
And then he turned to the stars, stretched out over us like a quilt. There were so many. I had never realized how many there were. Tamenrook never showed enough. Drops of light sprinkling the sky like water, stopping only where the mountains blocked them.
He was right. I did like Sunelle.
His hands gripped the edges of the balcony. Without thinking, I reached over and pressed my fingers over his.
He did nothing, nothing to show he felt a thing.
Maybe I should show myself. No. I could not. It had been nine years. But I liked the way his hand felt.
Soon enough he turned to go back inside. He climbed into his bed and pulled the covers over his head.
I did not follow him. I liked this view of him well enough. And there were already tears on my eyes.
