XXV
GRACE
Paris, Texas – Lana Del Rey, SYML
The mid-morning light refracted off the rim of the inkwell mockingly as Grace stared at it. Her ink-stained hand poised perfectly over the ledge as the quill it held dripped any overflow into its dark depths.
It seemed all she did these days was write; sheet music, letters to important dignitaries, orders of trade to be sent to the docks. The list was endless and her hand was stained and cramped with the endless flow of information.
She didn't complain. If anything, Grace enjoyed the process of putting thoughts to paper, and to have a release in so many forms was liberating in a way she had not seen since she was last at home. The only issue with the whole process, was that there was little she needed from King Edmund to complete it.
He took her work at the end of the day – she assumed to check it over – and each morning she was given a new list and a stack of paper to write on. She never heard an outcome from his lips, no comments or questions of a quizzical nature. He didn't even bother to interrogate her on the likelihood of her betrayal.
It was all rather… boring.
Grace wondered how anything was to proceed like this. King Edmund was undoubtedly seeing her mental prowess and work ethic, but what did these traits contribute towards his trust? Had he forgot to mention he was a scholar? A man who prized hard work above all else? Or perhaps these matters did not attribute to trust at all and he was merely stalling for time.
Her quill scratched it's last word upon the paper and she looked upon the final stop with satisfaction. The pen was returned home to its inkwell with a thunk that sloshed the ink dangerously close to its rim and Grace held the letter aloft in her hands, undeniably proud of her efforts and the fruit they bore.
This letter had taken her the better part of the morning – King Edmund must have assumed it would, as the list he provided contained less than it's forebearers.
Grace blew gently on the paper as she relaxed into her seat. The King had been kind enough to organise her a writing desk along the western wall of the room. It was a small square of cherry wood, raised at a 70-degree angle to aid her wrists efforts.
She would admit, the gesture was kind. It also should have been – at minimum – expected that such a thing would be provided. Surely, no one would expect anyone to write at great lengths on their behalf without a little assistance.
Grace's eyes flickered to the impenetrable face of the King; his brows furrowed in focus as he stared at the open book upon his desk. Grace knew he'd been brushing up on the laws for working rights – she'd seen him pluck the book from the shelf earlier – but hadn't found the nerve to ask him about it.
As Grace continued to blow heartily on the sheet, an idea came to mind. Usually, she would deliver all of her work to the King at the end of their session… but perhaps it would be prudent to deliver this letter now? If the King had any feedback, he would then be able to deliver it whilst she was still there and maybe then they could… talk?
Grace groaned internally, the idea seemed so silly now – in the light of the darkened study. She mentally cursed Lilis for putting it there in the first place.
"Is that the Terebinthian letter?"
Grace started, her fingers nearly dropping the paper in her hands, "I uh-"
The King held his hand out across the wide expanse of his desk, "May I see it now, please?"
Grace's lips parted into a surprised 'O'. Had he read her mind? The timing was impeccably uncanny.
He watched her expectantly for a moment, before his brow furrowed and his reach dropped atop the desk, "If it is not yet ready-"
"No, it is!" Grace shot up from her seat, fingers indenting the remaining papers as they were collected. The five meagre steps it took to reach him felt like they were through thick mud, but she managed them, one foot placed determinedly in front of the other.
The stack was placed into his awaiting hand – it was still atop the desk as he had not cared to lift it, choosing instead to eye her with the most curious gaze.
"Right, thank you," his calloused fingers enclosed around an edge and lifted the document.
Grace gazed after them, half in awe at how clean they were. She looked back to her own, covered in blotches that hadn't moved no matter how hard she scratched at them with the brushes of the Cair's baths. Some were beginning to fade, but not fast enough for her tastes.
The King cleared his throat, his dark eyes catching Grace's in a silent question.
Grace caught the hint, back stiff as a board as she spun and returned to her seat. She was sure that her cheeks were burning. But what for? There was nothing to be embarrassed about, there was no way the King had read her mind… was there?
In a world of water-like sheets and talking animals, Grace was beginning to doubt herself and decided to test it.
She stared directly at the King's forehead – it was bare and pale with a few stray hairs artfully folded over it. The dark expanse had grown at least a centimetre since she'd first met him on the terrace a month ago, but it had not yet reached that awkward stage of growth after a haircut.
You need a haircut, she thought loudly.
Nothing, not a single twitch out of focus. His bark eyes remained steadily concentrated on the letter, twitching left and right with the lines of text.
Perhaps she had not been rude enough to warrant a response. Maybe if his pride was hurt, he'd be more likely to call her out on her thoughts?
Or perhaps, he knew she was testing him and would ignore her no matter what she tried.
Grace sighed, hinging her chin in her hand as she reluctantly returned her eyes to work. Never mind, it looked like today would not grant her liberty. It was a futile hope at best, she knew, but one could not help it.
She gazed emptily at the next sheet of paper for a few minutes, mind frozen between her previous task and the next. The King made no noise during the time, save for the brief shuffles of paper as he turned a page. Just when she thought she might go mad with impatience, the stack was dropped noisily atop his desk.
Grace jumped, her grey and searching eyes fixating on the King's face. He was staring at the letter with a perplexed frown.
"Is something the matter, your majesty?" Grace asked.
King Edmund's look was infuriatingly indecipherable, "It's curious."
Her head tilted, "Curious?"
"Yes," He ran a thoughtful hand over his chin, "Your grammar and spelling are perfect but your wording itself is not something I would agree with."
Grace didn't respond. Her mouth frozen as disappointment settled in the pit of her stomach.
"See here," King Edmund turned the sheet and pointed at a line of text which was unreadable at her distance, "You've written the request of materials rather oddly."
The sheet was plucked out of his hands before Grace realised she had done it. She didn't understand what he meant by 'oddly', she thought she'd laid out the terms with satisfaction.
"What do you mean? I've stated Narnia's needs quite clearly here and provided a suitable timeframe for shipment?"
King Edmund shook his head, "It's too soft, the Kingdom of Terebinthia has promised parchment and a supply of oil in exchange for our precious metals, but they have yet to deliver on their end. This," He tapped the papers edge lightly, "Will not convince them to make good on their promises."
"I think it would."
His disbelief was transparent in his dark eyes, "What gives you such conviction on the idea?"
Grace thought it should have been obvious, "Have you not heard the phrase?"
King Edmund only stared at her dumbly, "What phrase?"
"You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."
His face was still as he took in her words and replied simply, "You would catch an equal amount of flies with a carcass."
A dull bell of annoyance rung in Grace's mind. The King was right – he was totally missing the point of her statement – but in the barebone meaning of the words he was right.
"What would you usually write for something like this then?" Grace snapped, stung at the easy dismissal of what she had thought was a good point.
The King lounged comfortably in his chair, seeming to enjoy her discomfort, "I would accuse them outright at not delivering upon our agreement."
Grace scoffed at his response, her arms crossing defensively as she spoke, "And do you not think that might cause some friction?"
King Edmund shrugged easily, "It always works."
His easy arrogance made her eye twitch. It also made Grace wonder at the history between Narnia and Terebinthia in general.
If it was a feud between neighbouring kingdoms then his actions – and the actions of those on the other side – would make sense. However, there was something about the King's behaviour which made her think he'd been personally offended by the Kingdom and was taking a course of retribution.
Grace leaned casually against the desk, "Tell me, how are Narnia's relations with Terebinthia?"
A thoughtful hand ran across the King's face, "Well… they love Lucy. King Ventotene used to constantly ask after her health in our missives. That is, until I asked Lucy to write to him separately about such things."
There was a slight edge to his voice, jealousy. Grace pushed against it gently, "And have they ever asked about your health?"
King Edmund snorted, "We are discussing a trade matter, why would they need to? It is the very reason I asked Lucy to write to him personally."
Grace crossed her arms thoughtfully, "It's only that, I find it odd that they would ask after Lucy's health… and not yours?"
There was a beat of silence, then slow recognition began to light the King's features. He threw her an accusatory glare, "You think they don't like me."
"It's pretty clear and doesn't need much thought," Grace shrugged.
There was a tinge of hurt in his soft eyes before it was replaced again with stubborn bark, "It doesn't matter if they do or don't, we are discussing trade deals," the letter was grasped and held aloft, "Terebinthia is repeatedly late with their payments and needs a firm hand to maintain trade."
Grace's hand gripped her arm as she grew frustrated with the King's stubbornness, "Surely you know that a friendship between countries cannot survive on force alone."
He looked away from her, "Lucy and King Ventotene share personal correspondence, that seems to satisfy the need."
"Clearly not, if the King is willing to blatantly disrespect you with late deliveries," Grace chipped.
King Edmund stood, the motion creating a loud scrape of wood that made Grace wince. His back was ramrod straight as he looked down on her, "I wonder, where you this argumentative to your previous boss?"
Grace bristled uncomfortably, "You are not my boss, or is your agreement on that point so easily forgotten?"
"At the very least, your work is under my review," The King argued, his breath uncomfortably warm across her face, "Why do you struggle to take my criticism?"
There couldn't be more than 15 centimetres difference in their height, but like that night on the balcony he towered over her again. His eyes a shade of unforgiving darkness that made Grace want to shudder.
"Because there is something about this situation that stinks," Grace bit back, she'd been backed into a corner now and refused to falter, "Something that you are not telling me."
King Edmund scoffed, "I have nothing to hide."
Grace stood taller, "That's not what I'm seeing. Your expression became sour the minute King Ventotene was mentioned."
The King sneered, "He is old and unchangeable. King Ventotene clings to the traditions of his people and scorns any who step out of their line. There is little to like about him."
"You talk as if you are not just as stubborn."
"I am different," King Edmund insisted, "And if the roles were reversed, I would not behave the way he did."
Silence fell as Grace pieced his words together.
"The way he… did?" she repeated, "What did he do?"
Something haunted crossed over the King's sight like fog on a murky river, "It does not matter."
"No, tell me," Grace persuaded him.
"I do not like to speak of it," The King dismissed.
Grace could feel the energy in the balls of her feet. Whatever the King was hiding, she knew it was important. Important enough that he curled around it like a wounded animal. There was a part of her rising that was desperate to know his secrets, a part that Grace knew she could not control.
"Tell me anyway," She tried, "Consider it an exercise of trust. An offer of your secret in exchange for one of mine."
At her offer, King Edmund looked past her. He'd shrunk again, no longer towering over her like the intimidating King she knew he played, "You could tell me any number of things that are insignificant."
Grace's eyes narrowed at the implication, "A question, then. If that is your price. Anything you want to know."
The King's eyes returned to hers. Still haunted by the mist as he considered her proposal. They shifted between hers in thought, seeking some kind of truth in her promise.
Then, at last, he nodded.
The King's shoulders hunched forwards as he reseated himself. It was as if a great weight had settled itself upon them, or perhaps it was always there and in this moment he simply wore it openly.
Hands rubbed the King's face tiredly and when his shadowed eyes were released from their grasp they looked an age older. There were no physical signs, no crow's feet or sagged skin; however, there was more than the simple knowledge they beheld previously. They held the experience of one who'd seen the worst mankind could offer.
Grace settled herself comfortably against the edge of the desk and waited. She tried to cool her features, worried that a show of overexcitement might scare him off. It was hard for her, but she managed it; her toes stinging with the pressure she exerted to stick them to the floor.
Finally, King Edmund spoke, "Our first week in Cair Paravel was packed with balls and celebrations. Susan spared no expense of finance or time in planning it."
Vibrant and rich images ghosted over her mind's eye with startling clarity. From the sight of Queen Susan's birthday ball, Grace had no doubt in the woman's ability.
"The Cair was packed with foreign dignitaries from all over the world," The King continued, "Some had come to trade, some to make alliances and some just to look at us; the four children who had reclaimed the wilderness after the Hundred-Year-Winter."
Grace's eyes widened at the mention of the Hundred-Year-Winter. Having only heard of it in passing and shuddering every time she did.
"We welcomed them all just the same. Susan made a big deal out of it and had us meet them on the Cair's steps personally. She said it was about making a good first impression," The King snorted.
"Did you not make a good first impression?" Grace asked.
King Edmund grimaced, "Some first impressions are made before the first conversation."
Grace stared at him, her mind reeling at the meaning of those words.
"The day went well, though it was long. We were out on those stairs for the better part of the morning, King Ventotene was the last to be welcomed. He arrived on a chair carried by four of his party. He looked rather pleased with himself."
If she had four people to carry her around in a chair, Grace would be too.
King Edmund squinted at the memory, "I remember feeling intimidated at first. At King Ventotene's full height he towered over us all. He stayed two steps below so the height difference was not so apparent as he shook hands. First Peter's, then Susan's and then Lucy's."
Grace was beginning to understand where this was going, "But not yours?"
His jaw tensed, "Not mine. It wasn't noticed, of course. My Royal Siblings were all caught up in greeting the remainder of his party. I'll never forget the manner in which he passed me over - he'd taken the trouble of climbing those last two steps to scowl at me over his nose."
Graced nodded, so King Edmund had been scorned. It was plain in his features that King Ventotene's behaviour still troubled him, even further than the issues it caused with trade.
"It's been many years since then, right?" Grace asked.
The King nodded, "Yes, but that was not the last of it. Nor do I think the treatment will ever end."
Something in his voice told her that he'd resigned himself to his fate, that he even thought he deserved it. But surely that couldn't be the case? For what could a teenager do to offend a King he had never met?
"Did you ever ask him why?" Grace murmured. Her eyes were glued permanently to the lines of King Edmunds face.
"I bribed a member of his household to bring him a missive. She returned a day later and handed it back," His expression soured, "It was unopened. I doubt it was even touched by anyone but the maid."
Grace's face scrunched in confusion, "But why?
The scorched bark eyes of the King stared unseeingly ahead, "Because the King already knew his stance and was in no mind to negotiate with me. Or at least, that much became clear with the message his maid returned."
Grace couldn't help the way she leant forward in interest. Her hands gripping the edge of the desk were the only anchors keeping her from falling forward, "What did she say?"
At first, King Edmund did not speak. He did not even move. There was the haze of a battle being fought behind his eyes, one more severe than the one she'd seen a few nights ago on the balcony.
Then he lifted his chin, his dark eyes blank and expressionless, "She conveyed that while King Ventotene was pleased to be welcomed at Cair Paravel, there were some troubling whispers he'd heard. For the reputation of his kingdom, he saw fit not to consort with me directly."
The pieces of the puzzle clicked loudly in her mind. King Ventotene had ignored King Edmund because of a rumour. A rumour so heinous to him that he saw fit to continue torturing the King for near a decade afterwards.
Her epiphany must have been clear on her face for the King looked away from her again. His gaze returning to the abyss as he added, "For my part in the matter, I do not blame him."
So it was not a rumour then. Grace watched his resignation with pity. What could be so horrible that a grown man could not forgive? What could be so horrible that a grown man had the right to withhold forgiveness from one he held no acquaintance to?
"What were the whispers?"
Grace regretted the words the moment they left her mouth and King Edmund's reaction only served to deepen her guilt.
His eyes closed like she'd asked the question he dreaded most, "I offered you one secret, Grace, and it has been given. I offer no more on this day."
The questions stilled in Grace's mind as she became worried by the expression on his face. With one simple overstep the oozing and sickening feeling of guilt had begun to fill her stomach. She looked away from him, out of the nearest window and into the clear blue skies beyond it.
As Grace thought, she could feel the King wrestle with his emotions. The soft sound of skin against skin accompanied by slow drawn-out breaths of air. She didn't need to look to know what he was doing. It was a practice she followed herself. A practice she had not needed in a while.
"If King Ventotene has become this troublesome," She began tentatively, "Perhaps someone else should take over Terebinthia's trade deals."
The instant denial would almost be laughable if the expression on the King's face did not hold traces of his emotion moments ago, "As the best negotiator among my Royal Siblings; any formal trade deals are my burden to bear. My siblings have enough work as it is."
Grace glanced to the overflowing stacks of parchment set on multiple points of the desk, "So do you, as it seems."
"My workload is manageable."
"Oh, so that is why you hired me," Grace commented, "To show me just how manageable it is."
The King didn't reply to that one. Grace took a peek at his expression again, noting happily that he looked much calmer. Their trade of remarks returning some colour to his skin.
For a moment, Grace felt bold, "Perhaps I might suggest someone?"
King Edmund looked at her curiously.
"From my conversations with Lucy-"
"Queen Lucy."
Grace ignored him, "It seems like she wants to contribute more. Perhaps you might consider handing the Terebinthian trade matters over to her?"
King Edmund seemed to think over it. There was a doubting expression on his features that made Grace think the proposal was fruitless.
At last, he opened his mouth, air poised in his lungs to respond when – BANG!
The loud echo of the study door shattered the peace in the room and in its wake stood a very dishevelled Queen.
Lucy was almost wild as she rushed through the doorway, her eyes a wide and manic blue. The crazed look was only accentuated by the wet streaks dripping from it. Her hair was falling from its pins more than it usually did, like she had been tugging at it with her hands for hours on end.
Those same hands were clutching something pale, white, and crumpled. It was only upon closer inspection that Grace realised it was stained with ink.
The Valiant Queen's voice was cracked but strong as she laid the purpose of her interruption, "Brother, I'm going to the Northern Reaches."