Princess of Athelia: An Unfinished Fairy Tales Novella

by Aya Ling

  Rosie is speechless.

  “Um . . .” I drop my hand when I realize I’ve been waving in the air. “Sorry. But I just thought you should know. Don’t mind me.”

  “But Papa said that girls can’t think for themselves, and that’s what men are for.”

  I try very hard not to roll my eyes. No wonder Thomas acted so condescending. “But what about Tristan? Didn’t he give you his workbook?”

  “Papa said he always had weird ideas. That’s why he told me that I should keep the book out of sight.”

  “Do you want to study it? Don’t give me any more of that ‘Papa said’ or ‘Mama said’ stuff. Tell me what you really think.”

  Rosie glances at me, still kind of bemused, but I give her a firm nod. “Tell me.”

  “I . . . I guess I don’t want to be stupid,” she says, her hand bunching around a handful of the dress. “That’s what Thomas always calls me.”

  I pull up a chair. “Great. I’m glad you said that.”

  We spend the next hour or so plowing through Tristan’s workbook. Rosie had to dig up an even older one because the one Thomas wanted to copy was too advanced. I show her how to add and subtract, and how to recite the multiplication table. She is a bit slow in the beginning, but after working through the same sum over and over again, she seems to grasp the concept, and the rest of the problems go much quicker.

  While Rosie works at her desk, I walk around the room. There are dolls sitting in a cushioned chair, a bright, painted rocking horse in a corner, and a couple of rubber balls. Of course, I can’t resist browsing the bookshelf. Books with titles like “How to Be a Good Daughter, Wife, and Mother.” And as Rosie grows older and is eventually presented, she’ll also get those books on ballroom manners and fan flirting like the ones I used to have when I was in Lady Bradshaw’s house.

  And then I realize that even though I feel disdain toward the company Constance keeps, and the awfully boring conversations the ladies have when the men go hunting—it’s inevitable that they can’t talk much beyond gossip. They’ve been brought up to be ignorant and taught not to think for themselves. What else can they do when the resources aren’t provided for them?

  “Kat!”

  Rosie has left her desk; she has her nose pressed against the window. “Thomas . . . he went rowing in the lake, and he’s fallen in!”

  I rush to the window. Outside, a small boat is bobbing on the lake while Thomas flails in the waters, one arm clawing the air.

  “Doesn’t he know how to swim?”

  “No one taught him!” Rosie clutches my arm. “Oh, Kat, what can we do? Papa and Mama have gone to the village, and I don’t even know who can swim.”

  I don’t even pause to think. “I can.”

  * * *

  I race toward the lake as fast as I can. Once I stop at the bank, I try to take off my gown but without success. My fingers fumble at the convoluted web of laces, and the more I try, the tighter I lace myself. Frustrated, I rip the laces off my dress. It falls on the ground in a heavy heap of velvet. Next I cast off my corset. Now with only my chemise on, I dive into the lake.

  My heart contracts when the ice-cold water hits me. The sun may be shining, but it is still autumn. But I don’t have time to think about it. I swim over to Thomas, who is still struggling in the water. I grab his arm, fully intending to drag him back to the bank, but then he fastens his arms around my neck in a death grip. We both go down in the water.

  Dammit! If he doesn’t loosen his hold on me, we could both drown. I open my mouth but swallow a mouthful of water. I can’t tell him to let go. And even if I could, I very much doubt he would listen to me.

  I struggle to get Thomas to loosen his grip, but he holds fast to me. He might only be thirteen, but his strength is already more than I can handle. For a moment, I apologize to Edward. I’m sorry that I can’t be with you for the remaining months.

  But then I hear Edward’s voice in my head. We still have nine months left. Make them the happiest nine months I have yet to live.

  A newfound strength rises within me. I manage to wrench my arm free from his grasp. But instead of trying to get Thomas back to shore, I punch him in the face—hard. That does the trick. He sags from the blow, falling limp in my arms.

  I say a prayer of thanks, but my troubles aren’t over yet. I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to drag him back to the shore. After a moment of hesitation, I start to head toward the boat. After much difficulty, I manage to dump him on it. I swim back to the bank, towing the boat with the unconscious boy on it.

  “Kat!”

  Rosie and several servants are now standing on the bank, their eyes as round as saucers. I deposit Thomas on the grass and check his pulse. He is still unconscious, so I tilt his head back and clamp my mouth over his, using what health class taught us about mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

  “What are you doing?” the steward cries.

  “Trying to save his life,” I snap.

  I continue with the ministrations, ignoring the horrified looks on their faces. Please wake up, I pray frantically. Please open your eyes. A few minutes later, my prayers are answered. Thomas starts to gurgle and cough, and water dribbles down his chin. Then his eyes flicker open, and he looks up at me, his expression dazed.

  I let out a huge sigh of relief. If he didn’t wake up . . . if he didn’t wake up . . .

  A choked cry comes from Rosie.

  A servant—the housekeeper, I think—gasps. “Praise the Lord—he’s alive!”

  I get to my feet—wet, cold, and shivering. But then a gust of wind comes up, and I sneeze.

  “Can someone get me a towel?”

  14

  I sit in bed, propped up by two pillows, warming my hands with a mug of hot chocolate. I have a hot water bottle snuggled near my feet, and as if that isn’t enough, thick blankets provide layers of comfort. A huge fire burns in the grate, with a servant bringing more logs. Another servant told me that the estate gets pretty cold during the winter, so they are well equipped for dealing with the cold.

  I’ve just taken a hot bath, and my hair is still damp, wrapped in a towel. Wearing only my chemise, I wiggle my toes and drink some chocolate, enjoying the warmth that spreads from my stomach to my body.

  “Where is she?” Edward’s voice is urgent, commanding, as though if he’s prevented from seeing me, he’ll put everyone under arrest. The door is flung open, and he storms inside, ignoring the cries of, “But she is indecent!”

  He sits on the bed, which sags from his weight. He searches my face, his gaze filled with concern. “Are you feeling well? Any injuries? Has the doctor been sent for?”

  “Yes, no, and no. I’m feeling fine now that I’m out of the lake.”

  He still looks at me in disbelief, as though I said I just emerged unscathed from a building on fire. “I heard that you saved Thomas from drowning. How did you survive the waters? The lake is much deeper than the river at the Fremont house.”

  “Oh. I’m . . . we had swimming lessons in high school,” I say in a low voice. “And my father took me to the pool when I was a kid. I know it sounds impossible, but yeah, it’s not uncommon for a girl to know how to swim where I come from.”

  He lets out a sigh and pushes his hair from his face. “I should have known. When they told me you dived into the lake, I . . .” He swallows and looks away. “I thought it was only by a stroke of luck, or because help arrived just in time, that you survived.”

  I put my hand on his. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, “but there wasn’t anyone nearby. I couldn’t let him drown.”

  “No.” He threads his fingers through mine and tightens his grip. “That is not what you should apologize for.”

  Instantly, I know what he is referring to. My stomach tightens, and I look down at our hands clasped together. “Krev visited me.”

  “The goblin you have mentioned? The one who is responsible for sending you here?”

  I nod. In a low voice, I repeat what Krev told me about my ch
anging Athelia’s history—and about the old Katriona coming back.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, “but I’m scared—worried for you. I’d hate it if you were stuck with someone you didn’t know. What if she is as horrible as Bianca?”

  When I look up, my heart jumps. His face is so close that his breath warms my cheeks. His eyes are blazing; my instinct is to back away, but the headboard prevents me putting any distance between us.

  “Even if that happens”—his voice is low but underlaid with passion—“it is my choice. I’ll handle whatever comes after you’re gone. But now, all I want is to make the most of my time with you, and yet you choose to foist another girl on me. Did you ever consider how I might feel? Have you forgotten what I told you that day?”

  The anguish in his voice is palpable. Remorse, shame, and affection for him rise up within me; a lump forms in my throat, and tears start to gather in my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, blinking away the tears. “I shouldn’t have tried . . . it was thoughtless of me.”

  His expression softens, though the sternness in his eyes is still there. Footsteps approach the door; he looks back for a second but ignores whoever is coming our way.

  “I should teach you a lesson for your heartlessness, Kat.” He says it with such a serious face that for a second I wonder if he’s joking.

  “Are you saying that what I did warrants a punishment?”

  “Correct.”

  His hands clamp down on the blankets around my hips. Edward leans in and kisses me, completely disregarding the open door, completely ignoring the fact that I am only wearing a chemise, completely forgetting that he shouldn’t be initiating such intimacy before marriage. Nevertheless, I don’t bother to dissuade him. I bunch my fingers on the hem of his coat and pour my feelings into the kiss—partly to make up for the pain I’ll cause when I leave, but mostly for encouraging him to warm up to Lillie.

  Someone coughs loudly. Edward breaks off the kiss and stands up, and I catch a flash of annoyance in his eyes. There, in the doorway, stand Philip, Constance, and a bunch of other lords and ladies, all of them wearing identical expressions of pure shock. Lady Fremont has a hand over her mouth. There’s also Lillie, who looks like someone struck her on the head. She meets my eyes for a second and suddenly dashes off. I can almost hear her heart breaking.

  Well, there goes any hope of finding a substitute for Edward when I’m gone. But now I don’t feel any remorse. I promised Edward that we’d be the happiest couple in Athelia, and this time, I swear I will keep my promise.

  “Well, although I am glad that Katriona is well,” Philip says, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, “might I remind you, my dear cousin, that you are not married yet. Even though I can perfectly comprehend your feelings.”

  “Not to mention that you aren’t even officially engaged,” Constance says. Her tone is more severe—not surprising, since she’s a stickler for propriety.

  I sneeze just at that moment. Edward reaches into his pocket and gives me his handkerchief. “Send for the doctor immediately. I will not have Kat develop a cold.”

  * * *

  Our remaining few days at Northport are the happiest I have experienced since entering the palace. I caught a cold after all—not surprising, considering that I was standing for a while before a servant brought me a towel—and was ordered to stay in bed until His Royal Fussiness and the physician decided I was well enough to leave. It’s almost like being Jane Bennet, although however attentive Edward behaves, his manner will always seem more Darcy-ish to me.

  Edward seems smugly content—which I soon discover why. After that public demonstration that borders on scandalous, my reputation is as good as ruined by my would-be fiancé. It also sent a message to the others: the prince was so overcome with relief that his beloved is safe that he couldn’t control himself in an irrational display of passion. It will be an ill-considered move to separate us.

  I’m both embarrassed and pleased. To think that the best way to safeguard from being tricked into a compromising position is to simply engage in the compromising position ourselves.

  “Are you sure it’s okay if you don’t go out with them?” I ask. Duke Philip and the men have just left for another grouse-shooting expedition in the moors. From the bed, I can see them astride their horses, the brass holsters of the guns poking from their hips.

  Edward settles on a stool by the bed. “Perfectly sure. In fact, I have to thank you. This is the perfect excuse I need to not join the hunt. I always prefer to create a life rather than to extinguish one.”

  There’s a rustle of skirts. Constance enters, followed by an array of servants. She waves a hand like a commander, and they go to work like well-trained soldiers. One stokes the fireplace, another clears the dishes on my breakfast tray, and yet another changes the hot water bottle.

  “My dear Katriona! Do tell me that you are feeling better this morning. We were so concerned about you, and your presence at breakfast was sorely missed.”

  “Um . . .” Considering that I rarely speak more than a sentence or two among them, I suppose she’s just being polite, especially since Edward’s also there. “I’m sorry. Actually, I’m almost recovered. I would have attended breakfast if someone”—I send Edward a meaningful look—“hadn’t insisted on treating me like a porcelain doll.”

  “It is for the safety of others, as well,” Edward says with his emotionless face on. “To prevent them from being infected from your cold.”

  I roll my eyes. “And you are immune?”

  He doesn’t even blink. “Henry has always told me my constitution is as impregnable as a fortress.”

  Constance looks between us, her beautiful brown eyes blinking. “Now, now—let us not have a tiff in the morning. Honestly, my dear”—she looks at me and shakes a slender finger that would look perfect on a piano—“you ought be more appreciative of such affection, not to mention that he is the prince. And you, young man, must be prepared to endure grudges and grumbling from the menfolk.”

  Edward raises an eyebrow. He looks genuinely puzzled. “Why?”

  “At breakfast, all the ladies could talk of nothing but how you refused to leave Katriona’s side. Now all the husbands will be nagged about how they should aspire to your level of attentiveness.”

  I giggle. Edward chooses to turn to the window in dignified silence, but a telltale blush is spreading from his neck to his ears. I’m tempted to tease him, but I decide not to since Constance is still here.

  “How is Thomas, by the way?”

  Constance nods. “Lords bless him; he is doing all right. We gave him a right good scolding, and he’s forbidden to go out for the entire week.”

  “Teach him how to swim,” Edward says, his tone frigid. “As well as Tristan and Liana.”

  “Rosie? But—”

  “Unless you prefer that she never walk near the lake or go rowing?”

  Constance looks scandalized. “You cannot suggest that my only daughter, brought up with propriety and care, go swimming in the open air. Have you not considered her reputation? What will the neighbors think?”

  “It is, of course, not my place to advise how you raise your children. Remember, however, that were Kat not present when Thomas fell in, he might have drowned.”

  “Pardon me,” I add, straightening my spine. “But having talked to Rosie, I do believe that she wishes to learn more than simply the lessons you have assigned her.” I give an account of how Thomas bullied Rosie and how she preferred to work on math problems than her needlework. “I’m not saying that her . . . um . . . lady lessons are bad, but should we not respect her desire to broaden her knowledge?”

  Constance purses her lips; obviously she’s conflicted between the conventional way of raising her daughter and the new information that I have presented. “But even if I allow Rosie to take different lessons, there are no resources. The governess knows very little other than literature and music. And it’s impossible that I send her to boarding
school along with Tristan and Thomas.”

  I fold my hands and give her my best imperial gaze, perfected by practice with Madame Dubois. “That you need not be worried about. I am already involved in the planning for a girls’ school. Both rich and poor will be allowed to attend, so girls can receive a practical education—not a superficial one that revolves around pleasing menfolk. Will you allow Rosie to be sent to the school when it opens?”

  A brief look of surprise from Edward, but his reaction is just beautiful. “You may be assured that this girls’ school will receive full support from the crown.”

  Silence ensues. “But . . . I don’t . . .” It’s the first time I’ve seen Constance stammer. “I must have time to think it over.”

  “Certainly.” I smile at her encouragingly. “I look forward to a favorable reply.”

  When Constance leaves us, Edward comes to my side and threads his fingers through mine. I look into his eyes, and my heart feels like bursting from the admiring, affectionate gaze in his face. It has been some time since he looked at me like that. “Now that is the Kat I know and love.”

  15

  Edward slips the engagement ring onto my finger. It is set with emeralds, diamonds, white topaz, amethysts, and rubies—gemstones that form his name. Somehow, the jeweler was able to fashion the gems in a pattern that doesn’t look too flashy, for which I’m thankful.

  It’s the day that our engagement is officially announced. Edward and I stand in the center of a room, surrounded by close friends and relatives. They will witness the ceremony of the man presenting his engagement gift, which is typically a ring.

  The king and queen wear simple but elegant crimson robes, both of them smiling broadly. Mr. Davenport has his arm around Poppy, who isn’t showing, but she has a hand over her stomach already. Elle stands near them, looking fresh and lovely in a pale, pink gown. I might have imagined it, but I catch her glance at Henry across the room and a smile, small but sweet, blossoms in her face. Edward told me that Henry, much to the duchess’s displeasure, offered to give biology lectures in the new girls’ school. Score one for Henry. This definitely means he is making progress in his relationship with Elle.