Damsel, page 4
Lucinda let out a frustrated cry. She whirled from the window, away from the sight of the torches, and stomped back to bed, throwing herself onto the covers. “What was good enough for me should have been good enough for Elodie! She should have had a normal wedding. Not all this gold, all this pomp and circumstance, all this Aurean tradition. We should have kept her in Inophe.”
ELODIE
Thankfully, the real Prince Henry’s eyes were not lit by the torches of Elodie’s strange dreams. From the quick glance she’d stolen as she entered the Aurean throne room—before she dipped into a deep curtsy to the royal family—Henry’s eyes sparkled like the ocean that surrounded the kingdom.
Now, however, Elodie’s gaze was on the gold mosaic on the floor, her head still down, her body still folded deferentially in her curtsy. The tiles were a mirror image of the fractal pattern on her bedroom ceiling, like small shields spiraling from where Elodie stood, out to the thrones before her, the courtiers at the sides of the great hall, and her father, stepmother, and Floria behind her.
“Your Majesty, King Rodrick, and Your Majesty, Queen Isabelle,” Elodie said. “It is a great honor to be in your presence. I—”
“My lady,” Henry said, rushing from his throne and taking her arm. “You needn’t bow. Not to me. And surely not to my parents.” He helped her rise.
A blush bloomed on Elodie’s cheeks. Seeing her future husband this close…Heavens, he was striking, with the lines of his jaw like they were shorn from the mountainside, but with a smile that brought softness to his features. His hair was as golden as the castle, and his strong hands a match for hers. For a woman who’d long prepared herself for a hard and lonely life, this was more than Elodie felt she had a right to dream of, and it went a long way to assuage her anxiety from the previous night. She saw Floria out of the corner of her eye. Her little sister was swooning as discreetly as possible in a throne room, a hand over her heart. Floria mouthed, So handsome!
Elodie had to stifle a snort of laughter.
But then Prince Henry was speaking again, and she turned her attention back on him, keeping her posture straight enough to be worthy of a soon-to-be princess.
“My dear Elodie, I’ve read your letters so often, there’s more ink on my fingers now than the page. I’m happy to finally meet you,” Henry said.
“We all are,” the queen said with an approving—and assessing—look at Elodie.
“Pardon me,” King Rodrick said, rising abruptly from his throne. His olive skin had gone ashen, and a light sheen of sweat shone on his brow. “I—I am not well, I must retire at once.” A royal attendant in a velvet uniform rushed forward to take the king’s arm, and they staggered out of the throne room without the king even acknowledging Elodie.
She tried not to stare at the empty throne but couldn’t help the racing thoughts in her mind. Had she made such a terrible first impression? Should she have practiced her curtsying more, as Lady Bayford had demanded? Did the king’s departure mean the engagement was off?
But Queen Isabelle smiled at Elodie and continued the thread of Henry’s conversation as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “My son has understated our joy in your arrival. And your father has understated your beauty.”
Elodie blinked, her brain trying to catch up and find its place in the proceedings. “I am relieved you corresponded only with my father, and not with my stepmother. She would have pointed out all my flaws, including that I show my petticoats to sailors.”
Lady Bayford’s eyes went wide.
Oh god. Elodie wanted to slap her hand over her mouth. Why did I say that?
Lord Bayford rescued her with a good-natured chuckle. “My daughter has an unorthodox kind of grace, yet it is delightful. Inophe is a difficult place to live, and Elodie has thrived there through her intelligence and strength. She may climb trees and rigging, but she also understands duty and knows her place, I assure you.”
Elodie bit her lip. She knows her place? What had gotten into Father?
But she supposed she understood why he’d said it. Lord Bayford had had to undo whatever harm her comment about the petticoats had done. And in truth, Elodie did know her place—she had always been meant to lead others, and that meant putting herself second when necessary.
Like right now. She had to set her ego aside for the purpose of making a good impression on Queen Isabelle and Prince Henry. It was for Inophe’s sake that this marriage go through.
“We welcome that assurance,” the queen said.
Both Elodie and her father bowed their heads.
“And as such,” Queen Isabelle continued, “we exhort you to be at home in Aurea.” She turned to rest her gaze on Floria in the back of the throne room. “You, as well, dear Floria. I see even the harsh climes of Inophe can grow the fairest of flowers.”
“Your son is well grown, too!” Floria blurted.
At that, both the queen and Henry laughed jovially, and the courtiers along the sides of the hall joined in. Elodie was relieved at the passing of whatever tension her own gaffe had caused.
When the gaiety finally died down, the queen said, “I apologize that we were unavailable to receive you upon your arrival last night. How was your journey? And did the chamberlain furnish your rooms to your standards?”
“The voyage was horrid,” Lady Bayford said. “As for our chambers—”
Elodie cut her off. “The rooms are beyond our standards, Your Majesty. Never in my life have I experienced such hospitality and generosity.”
“I am glad to hear it,” the queen said. “We are happy you are all here, safe and sound. We have quite a celebration planned for the nuptials and hope you shall be spoiled these next three days. The royal kitchen is at your command at any hour, there are masseurs at your beck and call, and seamstresses can assist with any finery you fancy.” Queen Isabelle didn’t say anything more, but she tilted her chin slightly toward Lady Bayford’s simple gray kirtle.
Lady Bayford wilted, and Elodie frowned. She and her stepmother didn’t always see eye to eye, but Elodie didn’t enjoy seeing Lady Bayford taken down a notch.
“Now,” the queen said. “I do believe Lord Bayford and I have some trivial contractual matters to finalize, which we can attend to privately. While you, Elodie and Henry, have an important task.”
“We must get to know each other,” Henry said.
Elodie cast a glance at the prince with his chiseled jaw and deep blue eyes.
Even though this was an arranged marriage undertaken for duty, she suspected she would enjoy the task assigned to her. Very much.
* * *
—
The gardens she had seen from her tower window were even more resplendent in person and in daylight than she could have imagined. There weren’t any sharp anthodite flowers, but there were roses of every hue, and lilies with tiny bells full of nectar that ruby-throated hummingbirds couldn’t get enough of; the beautiful birds darted from one lily to the next, zipping around Elodie and Henry.
There were blue irises and purple violets, orange marigolds and bright pink hydrangeas bigger than Elodie’s head. She saw fuzzy yellow flowers she didn’t know the name of, burgundy flowers that felt like velvet, and lacy white ones that looked like ladies’ handkerchiefs.
And everywhere between the flowers was lush greenery—carpets of moss, bright shiny leaves, vines that snaked up tree trunks, and an overwhelming sense of life. It was so different from Inophe…
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Henry said, taking care to walk slowly to give Elodie the time she wanted to gawk. “We are fortunate on Aurea to have such resplendent plants.”
“Or to have any plants at all,” Elodie said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound rude,” she added quickly. “It’s just that our lands have suffered from a drought for seventy years. I’m not used to seeing such natural beauty.”
“Nor am I,” Henry said, openly staring at her.
Elodie restrained herself from laughing at the prince’s mawkishness. Henry might not have been a poet (his letters had been charming, but in a straightforward rather than lyrical way), but he seemed genuine. And although Elodie dug latrines and went on long sweat-drenched hikes and all sorts of other things Lady Bayford deemed unfit for a duke’s daughter, it did not preclude Elodie from also appreciating a compliment.
Nonetheless, she also had great concern for others, and she had not forgotten about the king’s hasty departure from the throne room. “Your Highness, is your father all right? He left in such a—”
Henry waved off her worries. “The king is afflicted with an excess of black bile. Because of that, official duties easily overwhelm him; he does much better in the solitude of his solarium or in the kennel with his dogs. Do not concern yourself overmuch with him, however. The royal physician tends to him daily and believes my father shall live a long life, as long as he rests sufficiently.”
“I am so sorry to hear that he suffers,” Elodie said, both relieved that King Rodrick’s departure hadn’t been her fault but also slightly guilty at feeling that relief.
“I share your regret,” Henry said. “But let us speak of more pleasant topics. For instance, you.”
“Me?”
He gave her that heart-melting smile of his, all dimples and charm, and it was as deft a change of subject as she had ever witnessed (and she’d seen plenty, since Lord Bayford was a charmer, too). Henry would make a fine king someday. He certainly had the diplomatic charisma for it.
“You’re not like other women,” Prince Henry said. “Your letters—”
“You’ve read many other women’s letters?” Elodie asked.
“N-no! I meant—”
“I was only teasing, Your Highness.”
He flushed. “Oh. Thank the skies.”
“Thank the skies?” Elodie asked. She hadn’t heard that phrase before.
“Ah, an Aurean saying,” Henry said. “Akin to ‘thank goodness.’ However, more important than our colloquialisms, you don’t need to call me Your Highness. I prefer Henry, if you please.”
Elodie smiled. “All right, then, Henry. So tell me, why don’t you think I’m like other women? Because I’m not naïve. I know a prince such as yourself could choose any wife he wanted. Why me? Why the daughter of a duke from a dusty, distant land?”
“Because there is a great deal of duty and sacrifice required to reign over Aurea, and those seem to be responsibilities you understand.”
She tilted her head. “Indeed, I do.”
He steered her around a bend in the garden path, leading them to a dark green lawn shaded by a willow tree, right next to a pond dotted with little white ducklings following their mother on the water. There was a gold picnic blanket laid out on the grass, with a vast spread of cakes and pastries and delicate petit fours in every pastel color imaginable.
Elodie stopped in her tracks. “Is that for us?”
“Yes, of course.” Henry dipped his head and gestured for her to go first.
But she couldn’t. Not because she didn’t want to—she did, as she’d never seen so much sugar and flour in one place. But she couldn’t move because, well, she’d never seen so much sugar and flour in one place.
“Henry…”
“Is something the matter?”
“I think we have different notions of sacrifice,” Elodie said. “You see, in Inophe, the people are quite literally starving.” It was perhaps too blunt a thing to say, but she couldn’t help it. The pain of her home and the contrast to life here were too much to simply ignore.
“It won’t be a problem for long,” Henry said. “We are solving it, aren’t we?”
“Yes, but…” Elodie shook her head at the bounty of sweets. “Don’t you feel guilty, partaking of a picnic like this when so many others in the world suffer?”
A storm cloud passed over Henry’s expression, although he quickly shook it off. “No, because the royal family of Aurea bears plenty of other burdens on its shoulders. You don’t understand yet, since you’ve only just arrived. But you’ll see…and I urge you to enjoy moments like these when you can. Duty shall call upon you soon after we wed, and you may regret it if you don’t eat cake now.”
Elodie frowned. But there was a weight in the way Henry spoke that was familiar to her, the heaviness carried by those in charge of the well-being of others. And she should not presume to understand Aurea after being here for less than a day; Elodie would balk if anyone thought they understood the intricacies and hardships of Inophean life after so short a time.
“All right,” Elodie said. “If I am going to be Aurean, I shall try things your way.”
Henry smiled, all his easy charm flooding back as he took her arm and led her to the picnic.
Elodie ate her fill of cake and pastry, but every bite was both pleasure and pain—relief that she could help her beloved people, but guilt that she’d left them behind in order to do so.
ELODIE
As soon as Elodie returned from her garden stroll with Henry, Floria rushed into her room.
“Tell me everything!” her sister gushed. “Is he as chivalrous as he is handsome? Did he tell you how he fell in love with you? Oh, heavens, did he kiss you?
Elodie smiled at Floria’s enthusiasm. “Let me catch my breath before the interrogation, at least!”
“You don’t need to catch your breath. Those never-ending stairs don’t even faze you.”
“Hmm, good point,” Elodie said. “Well then I suppose I do have to answer your questions. But first, have this.” She reached into a pocket in her gown and produced something wrapped in a linen napkin.
Floria hopped up onto Elodie’s bed and opened it. Her jaw dropped. “Are these petit fours? I’ve only ever read about them in books…” Flor took a dainty bite from one of the little cakes so she could savor it, although Elodie knew she was torn between slowly enjoying every morsel while in Aurea or cramming her mouth with as much as she could fit into it before she had to return to Inophe in a few days.
“Is he wonderful?” Floria asked.
“Who, Henry?” Elodie said as she undid the tight sash around her waist.
“Yes, Henry! Who else?”
Elodie laughed. Being around her sister never failed to brighten her mood. Floria, realizing she was being teased, threw a pillow at Elodie’s face.
“Tsk-tsk,” a woman said as she barged into the room. “Please do not injure our princess before the wedding!”
A veritable army of seamstresses followed the first into the room. One set up a trifold mirror. Another, a velvet-covered platform. Another had a cloth dressmaker’s mannequin and baskets full of needles and thread, and the youngest hurried in with her arms full of yards of different fabrics.
“Uh, what’s happening?” Floria asked.
“We are making the lady’s wedding gown, of course,” the first woman said. “I am Gerdera, the head palace seamstress.”
Floria squealed. “El, you know what that means? You don’t have to wear whatever awful creation Lady Bayford made!” It was Inophean tradition that the mother of the bride sewed her daughter’s wedding gown and presented it as a gift on the morning of the ceremony. But of course, Elodie and Flor’s mother had passed away a long time ago. And Elodie knew Floria was terribly concerned about whatever their stepmother had crafted, given Lucinda Bayford’s bland taste for proper gray wool that went all the way up to her chin.
“I’m so pleased to meet you,” Elodie said to the seamstress with a smile to Floria.
“Let us begin with the overall silhouette,” Gerdera said.
One of the other seamstresses opened up a display of dress sketches. “We have many options for you, my lady. We are able to tailor a gown according to your preferences, whatever they may be. However, I find that showing examples to the bride is often most helpful—”
“Have you made a great many wedding dresses for future princesses?” Floria joked.
“Wh-what?” the seamstress turned an alarming shade of dark pink. “N-no, I—”
Gerdera jumped in to explain. “She meant for others in Aurea.”
“Y-yes. Others in Aurea,” the seamstress echoed.
“I’m sorry,” Floria said. “I was only jesting. I didn’t mean to unsettle you.”
“Oh.” She let out a nervous titter. “All right.”
Elodie furrowed her brow at the exchange. But Flor saw her expression and immediately walked over and smoothed the wrinkle with her small fingers while whispering, “We’re just making dresses here, not solving Inophean hunger. Relax, El. It was only a bad joke.” She winked.
“You’re right, sorry.”
“Shall we carry on?” Gerdera asked.
“Yes, please!” Floria clapped, then scooted closer to Elodie so they could study the sketches the seamstress presented together.
“The, er, most traditional,” the woman said, “is a lace chemise, worn under a heavy velvet kirtle—colored blue, of course, for chastity and purity.”
Elodie made a choking sound, then started coughing.
The poor seamstress’s eyes bugged, as if she thought she’d just killed the future princess.
“Just give me a minute…” Elodie cleared her throat several times. The thing was, she had enjoyed her freedom at home (she’d lost her virginity to a groom in the hayloft in the stables, and she’d had a few other dalliances besides), and when the seamstress began talking about chastity and purity, it had caught Elodie off guard. But she pulled her composure back together; she preferred that Floria not know how very inapplicable the “innocent” bride comment was.
