“Well, maybe he was lucky,” Marie said. “That’s what everyone says about Leo, you know—that he’s blessed. The seers say there was a shower of shooting stars on the day he was born.”
Aelwyn shrugged. “Don’t they say that about every royal prince? Don’t they say that about you?” She smiled as she sprinkled another dusting of powder on Marie’s hair to make it shine, and rubbed a rosy pigment into her cheeks.
Marie peered at herself in the mirror. A naughty smile crept on her face. “Remember how we used to play twins?” she asked.
Aelwyn remembered but she shook her head, knowing what Marie would ask next. “No, it’s not right.”
“Please? It’s so fun—please do it! Winnie! Please!”
Aelwyn pursed her mouth in disapproval but as Marie continued to insist, a reckless rebellion overcame her better sensibilities. Marie always could goad her into mischief. It had been the princess’s idea, after all, to make the sparklers that had started the fire in her bedroom. “You must never tell anyone,” Aelwyn warned.
“I never have. I promise,” said Marie.
Taking a quick look around to make certain they were alone, Aelwyn blew a puff of smoke from her hand. It sent a shower of silver sparks dancing around them. “Did it work?” she asked, when it cleared.
Marie laughed in delight. “Look for yourself!”
Aelwyn stared at the beautiful princess in the mirror. Marie’s face was vibrant, her cheeks pink, her eyes shining, her brown hair thick and glorious, everything about her blooming in the prime of health—with no sign of illness or the wasting plague. Then Marie put her own cheek next to hers. There were two of them in the mirror now. Two princesses, who looked exactly alike—except that one was just slightly more radiant than the other.
The illusion glamour. One of the most powerful spells known to Avalon, it had the power to make people see only what you wanted them to see. It had the ability to fool the world and blind it from the truth. Viviane had taught her to use her power sparingly, to keep it hidden from those who would use it against her. “Not even your father can know you can do this,” her aunt had warned. “He is wary of the glamour mask. It would cause him to be wary of you.”
But Aelwyn couldn’t resist. And anyway, Marie already knew she could do it.
Her friend brought her back to the moment. “Winnie, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you since you returned. When you left, I never got the chance to tell you how sorry I was about what happened, the day of the fire,” Marie whispered. “It was all my fault.”
“We were children,” Aelwyn said stiffly.
“It’s no excuse. They sent you away. I know how hard it must have been,” Marie said. “I’m sorry, Winnie.”
Aelwyn unclenched her fists; she hadn’t noticed how tightly she was holding them until now. “I forgive you,” she said, blinking back tears.
Marie nodded and wiped the corners of her eyes as well. “Look,” she said hoarsely, pointing back to the mirror. “You’re me,” she said wistfully.
“If only,” Aelwyn joked, then snapped her fingers and just like that, she was herself again.
The Prussian ambassador was satisfied. He had been very complimentary of her looks, which Marie attributed to Aelwyn’s handiwork rather than anything real. “Inspected and found satisfactory,” she had joked to her ladies after the gruesome affair that had included a private visit with the Prussian royal physician. She had tried to protest, but her mother had silenced her with a stony frown as the nurses led her away.
During the examination Marie had been made to stand this way and that, while the creepy doctor had peered down her throat, inside her ears, and in her unmentionables. Marie had snuck a peek over her shoulder and caught the doctor scribbling “virgin, fertile,” in her chart after the exam. Truly? How could they be so certain she was chaste? And who was to say she was fertile? Just another way to assuage any concerns over the upcoming alliance, she thought. Even so, she was nonetheless relieved to have passed the test. There had been many queens who had been unable to produce heirs to the throne, and had lost their lives and crowns in the process. Marie did not think she would be susceptible to such a fate, but she wasn’t certain she was so keen to bear a child so soon, either. She was still a child herself; what would she do with one?
Now that the princess had been deemed acceptable by his advisors, Leo was on his way to the palace to meet his bride. There was still the matter of dissolving his prior engagement, but the ambassador assured them that Isabelle and her guardian would be in town shortly to sign the papers releasing him from his obligation. The prince himself would be in London in the next week or so, and the court was buzzing with excitement and pride, as well as relief that the long war with Prussia was finally over. Yet the more her ladies congratulated her and made a fuss, the more depressed Marie became. She could hardly force a smile during wardrobe fittings, and was absent-minded and distracted at every royal occasion.
As the days went by, preparations for the upcoming season began in earnest, with the traditional opening of Parliament by the queen and the city filling up as noble families from all over the empire arrived for the festivities. Marie was starting to be a bit of an embarrassment to the whole court. The princess, instead of acting like a girl on the cusp of a great romance—awaiting the appearance of her soon-to-be-beloved—was sulking around the palace, holed up in her room, eating sweets and not speaking to anyone.
One afternoon not long after the ambassador’s visit, Marie remained in her room once more, rather than taking tea with a few court favorites. Her ladies did their best to encourage her, but she would not be persuaded to change her mind. “I need to be left alone, I feel ill,” she insisted, thankful that she always had the wasting plague to fall back on when she didn’t want to do something.
The ladies bowed and exited the room, but a few minutes later there was a knock on the door again. “I told you, I want to be left alone,” she snapped, then immediately felt guilty for taking that tone with the servants.
“Sorry, Princess, I’ll come back later,” the voice called.
Gill?!
At the sound of his voice, Marie hustled out of her bed and opened the door in a breathless rush. “I didn’t know it was you!” she cried, throwing her arms around the soldier who stood in her doorway.
Gill Cameron laughed, but looked around nervously to see if anyone had seen the princess’s enthusiastic display of affection. Luckily, the hallway was empty for once, and Marie was without her usual entourage of ladies. “I just got back from leave. Thought I’d tell you I’m back on duty.”
“I’m so glad! I didn’t think I would ever see you again!” she said, pulling him into the room, even as her cheeks turned bright pink at her outburst.
“Truly?” he asked, a confused look on his face.
“I wrote you—to your family in Ayrshire—and when you didn’t reply, I thought…it’s so good to see you,” she said.
Gill smiled and ruffled her hair. He was a strapping lad of eighteen, with a blunt nose, honey-colored hair, and a strong jaw. His features were more rough than fine, unlike the pretty-boy aristocrats who professed their admiration for her at court, but Marie’s heart beat painfully in her chest at the sight of his shy smile.
“So what you’re saying is, you can’t live without me—is that right?” He grinned, taking the seat recently vacated by her attendant.
“Not at all,” she said. “Were you gone? I didn’t notice,” she said airily.
“I didn’t think about you at all either, not even once,” he said, stretching his arms across the back of the couch.
“Liar,” she said, sitting next to him so that she was curled up against his side. It was his cue to put his arm around her, which he did, and he squeezed her shoulder warmly. “You’ve heard, I’m sure?” she asked.
“That you are getting a husband? Yes! A fine one too. Leopold the Seventh! The Hero of Lamac!” Gill said affably. “Good on you, Marie.”
<
br /> “Please don’t congratulate me,” she said stubbornly. “I don’t care about him, or the empire. Hang it all, they don’t care about me except as a broodmare,” she said darkly.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Stop acting so foul, people are starting to talk. Even the stablehands have heard there’s something the matter. Luckily, the scuttlebutt is that your ladies are just worried you’ve taken ill again. Have you?”
“Maybe.” She felt a pain in her heart from his genial reaction to the news of her upcoming nuptials. What had she expected? A flare of jealousy? A declaration of affection? For him to whisk her away somewhere? No such luck. He was a practical fellow and knew his place. Gill was a friend, and that’s all he would be to her, for his sake and hers. Anything more would have meant treason, or worse. It was wrong to yearn for the impossible, but Marie found she could not stop hoping. She took a deep breath and put a hand over his, her small fingers interlacing with his broad ones. “Shall I read to you?” she asked.
Gill nodded. “Please.”
Marie flushed with pleasure and took out a book that had been their latest fancy. “Now, where were we before you left? Oh yes, here we are,” she said, finding the page. She settled against the crook of his arm and began to read, her quiet, even voice filling the room.
Gill hadn’t been schooled in his letters as well as she, and he delighted in the stories. She delighted in reading them to him, even if her tastes were not as gruesome as his. She often teased him that he only liked books with murder and bloodshed in their plots.
If she could write her own story, it would be a much simpler one than the life she led now. She was a small, plain girl, and yearned for a small, plain life. If only I wasn’t a princess—then I could go away with Gill. We would live in a cottage by the sea and be happy forever. It was her not-so-secret desire, one she had held in her heart for many months now. One that she knew had absolutely no possibility of ever coming to fruition. It was a cottage in the air. A dream.
Gill pulled his hand away and stood up to face the window, stretching his legs. He yawned with his arms up to the ceiling, lifting the edge of his jacket and shirt, so that she couldn’t help but notice the ugly scar on his lower back. It was a gift from the bullet that was meant for her during a failed coup d’état last year, when “progressive”-minded populist rebels styling themselves the League of Iron Knights had somehow been able to destroy the wards around the gates. They’d stormed the castle in an attempt to assassinate the royal family.
The Iron Knights believed magic was a tyrant’s tool, and agitated to end the monarchy’s control of its source; they believed magic should be for all, not just the rich and titled. Her mother’s retribution had been swift and brutal, the traitors hanged or burned in the square. The Merlin’s men were still out in the country, flushing out the remaining members. It was a reminder that the empire had as many enemies as allies; there were antagonists and opportunists in the shadows within and without, eager to see the fall of their house.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“What, this?” He lifted his shirt higher, revealing his hard stomach as he twisted his head down to look at his scar, and Marie felt her cheeks flush. “Nah, it looks worse than it is.”
Marie still recalled the utter terror of that day: the rebels storming her room, and Gill with his pistol, shielding her with his own body. He would have died for her, and almost had. She put the book away. “I don’t want to marry Leopold,” she said quietly.
“But you don’t even know him,” Gill said gently, tucking his shirt back into his trousers and buttoning his jacket. “You could learn to love him.” He returned to his seat next to her and smoothed her hair away from her forehead, as one would a child.
She shook her head. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them away. She was being ridiculous, she knew. There was nothing to be done; she was born into her position. She could not change who she was, and she could not change who Gill was, either. She would marry Leopold at the end of the season as her mother decreed, and that would be the end of it.
“I should go—they’ll wonder why I’m not at my post,” Gill said, getting up and holstering his sword and gun.
“Wait—” Marie said, feeling bereft already, even though he was still in the room. “Gill, promise me—”
“Yes?”
“Promise me, whatever happens, that we’ll always be friends.”
Gill looked down at her, and his eyes were soft and sad. “I’ll always be your friend, Princess,” he said. “No matter what happens. I’ll be right outside the door, as I always am.” Then he closed it quietly behind him.
As the carriage approached the port, Ronan felt very smart indeed, traveling abroad for the first time—and without her parents! Even though she did have her chaperone Vera with her, who was nervous about making it on time. Ronan thought it was so silly—they had ample time to spare. They had set off from Washington Square right after breakfast, and the ship was not set to sail until noon. They would have hours to unpack and settle into the grand staterooms for the month-long voyage, and Ronan was looking forward to the thrilling adventure of it all. She had spent summers in Newport, but she had never been outside of the Americas. She tilted her hat over one eye, thinking it looked more fashionable that way. Her mother had allowed her a few new things for the journey, including a hat Ronan had helped design: a massive confection of lace and silk with a curved ostrich plume.
Vera leaned over to rub her cheek. “Street dirt,” she explained. “I told you to leave the windows closed.”
But Ronan had been too excited to keep her face behind the dark curtains. She wanted to soak everything in, to breathe the sea air, to revel in her newfound freedom. They arrived at the port, which was busier and smellier than she had expected, and she held a tidy handkerchief to her nose and a parasol over her head as they made their way to the ticket office. It was almost April, the first hint of spring was in the air, and Ronan felt as if she were bursting at her velvet seams—she couldn’t contain her excitement. After months of penury, this trip was a godsend. She was on her way to make her fortune and her name—to make a life for herself in the world. She could forget, for a moment, the seriousness of her mission, and the parents who had invested everything they had in her success.
But the moment was short-lived; Vera returned from the ticket office looking more anxious than ever. Apparently there was a problem with their rooms. Her father had booked them first-class staterooms, but her governess told her that the ship’s officer insisted they were listed for two second-class fares instead.
Ronan was aghast. “We cannot possibly travel in such cramped accommodations. Our luggage alone will take up the entire room. Let me talk to him. Perhaps it is just a mix-up and easily remedied.” Her heart pounded in her chest, even as her spirits sank, because a part of her knew there was no mistake. Her father had most likely booked the more expensive passage a year earlier, but as financial troubles accumulated, quietly exchanged the tickets without telling her mother. Ronan thought she might still be able to talk her way into her proper berth; she had seen her mother do the same at restaurants and shops when their credit was called into question. She pushed her way to the front and, in the haughtiest voice she could muster, asked the ship’s officer to check again.
The man consulted the list once more with a weary air. The port was busy, with travelers bidding friends and family farewell, great ladies and their servants disembarking from shiny carriages, and tradesmen waving their paper tickets and disappearing into steerage. “Sorry, miss,” the officer sighed. “Right here. Astor. Second class.”
“See, I told you,” Vera chided. Her governess looked almost smug, and Ronan felt an instant of hatred for the older lady, who depended on her family for her well-being. After all, her father had continued to pay Vera’s salary, regardless of their financial insolvency.
An impatient crowd had gathered behind them as they held up the line. Even if the air was cool, the s
un was hot, and she could feel the sweat forming a thin layer between her skin and her clothing. She had felt every inch a grand lady that morning in her fine coat and new hat, along with her mother’s most elegant parasol, but her confidence was shrinking, along with her chances of first-class accommodations. Even Vera had abandoned her, returning to stand by the impatient porter and their embarrassingly large collection of steamer trunks.
Ronan wanted to curse, scream, and cry at the humiliation, but she could not allow herself to make a scene. Second-class cabins! She would die of seasickness! She would rather stay at home. What if someone saw…? But what did it matter where she stayed on the stupid boat, as long as she arrived in London in time for the party? She would sleep on her trunks, if necessary.
“Miss?” the officer asked again, irritated now.
She was about to snatch the tickets from the officer’s hand when she caught sight of Whitney Van Owen and her mother walking sedately along the docks toward the gangplank. The Van Owens were one of the wealthiest families in the Americas, but their riche was so nouveau that their social ascent was still a bit of a shock to established hostesses like Ronan’s mother. It was well known that Colonel Van Owen’s father was nothing more than an indentured servant. Their money was tainted, not quite perfectly respectable, in that it was not inherited but earned—hand over fist, blood over dollars, until it had accumulated and multiplied to ridiculous proportions.
“Why, it’s Ronan!” Whitney trilled. “Off to London for the season as well, of course!”
“Of course,” Ronan smiled, pressing her hot cheek next to Whitney’s fair one.
Whitney looked every inch an heiress, cutting a striking figure in a lavish, fur-trimmed coat with ornately jeweled buttons that caught and spun the light into a thousand rainbows. Her elaborate hat was three times larger than Ronan’s, with a full crown of ostrich feathers and a dazzling lace overlay. Ronan felt drab as a sparrow next to her, and swallowed a pang of jealousy at the shimmering moonstones nestled in the brooch on her friend’s throat.
The Ring and the Crown Page 6
