The Prince's Bride (Part 2)

by J. J. McAvoy

  I had no idea what was going on in the world anymore.

  “Is everything okay?” Wolfgang asked me, but all I could do was shake my head.

  I now knew why Gale was so worried whenever we spoke about the press back home. I was doing my best to ignore it. I kept telling myself I knew the press would be hard to deal with, but I’d deal with it. However, every day here, it felt like I was getting punched in the face and told to smile as if it had never happened. For the most part, I had still been able to smile. It was lies. But with Augusta, my sister, I felt gutted.

  Did she not see how hard it was?

  Did she not see me getting slandered all over the world every day?

  Even if she was upset at me, she should not have aired it like this.

  “Everyone saw this already?” I whispered, sitting back down slowly.

  “No one has said anything, miss.”

  I rubbed the side of my head. “They haven’t said anything, but they have seen it. So, I am sure it is only a matter of time before the queen will call me in for tea.”

  “It was not bad, miss. Would you like me to tell your other tutors to come back another day?”

  I scoffed. “And have someone leak that too? No, I’d rather not give them headlines for tomorrow. The very least they should do is work to come up with stories about me.”

  “Then I shall get the next one?”

  I closed my eyes and tucked my hair behind my ears, inhaling deeply. You can do this, Odette. Everything is okay—you are okay. You are stronger than the lies they tell about you. Augusta is just dealing with her own life. Her own stresses. It can’t be easy when she has the press on her back too. And she doesn’t have a palace full of people trying to shield her, either. See, you are okay. Odette, you are okay.

  “Next should be my Ersovian tutor, correct?” I asked, rising for my seat and standing up properly to wait for them to enter.

  Wolfgang nodded, walking to the door.

  Just as it opened, I put a small smile back on my face, pretending it was Gale coming through those doors.

  “Forgive me, ma’am, but it seems they chose to change their story early this morning.” Mr. Ambrose stated as he placed the printed newspaper out for us both to see, though I already knew what it said.

  “Thank you, Ambrose. You may leave us,” my mother directed, and he bowed his head to us both before exiting Arthur’s—my personal study.

  “Augusta Wyntor-Washington, Odette Wyntor’s younger sister, claims her sister has snubbed her? Who is she going to be at war with next—Eliza?” I snapped. They had chosen a photo that had to be at least five or six years old based on the outfit choice—ripped denim overalls, rose-colored shades, and her hair was much shorter and in pigtails—and city, most likely Seattle. She did not look bad. However, they had chosen a much more modern and pretty photo for her sister for some reason.

  “The length these people will go to never surprises me. However, why, in God’s name, would her sister speak to the press? I thought they were on good terms,” she asked me as if I would know.

  The last time Odette and I had spoken about her sister was months ago. I had thought because Odette cared for her, they would have worked it out, but her sister had come with another knife to stab from behind again, it seemed.

  “It is jealousy,” I muttered.

  “I do not care what it is. It cannot happen again,” my mother declared, tossing the paper onto my desk. “Today’s story was supposed to be about the signing of the Austrian Treaty yesterday, as well as the upcoming Bellecoeur Garden Party as your official first outing together. Instead, it is this nonsense.”

  At the very mention of it, I wanted to throw my head onto the desk. Over 10,000 people up close and personal, forced to make conversation with everyone, was supposed to be our first royal public event together?

  “Throwing her to wolves would be kinder, Mother.”

  “I will ignore you because I cannot bear to explain once again why it must be so.”

  I exhaled. “I understand, I do. It is to get as many people to see her live and in-person instead of just reading about her in articles, such as these in the press. But even so, you must see how brutal this will be. She has only just gotten a grasp of part of all the protocols. Her understanding of Ersovian is decent at best. Never in this family history have we used the garden party for an official engagement first outing. That is usually saved for after the wedding for a reason. It is like war.”

  “Are you done preaching to me about all the things I already know?” she questioned, and I felt slightly better. “Yes, it will be brutal, but the brutality is the only way we can combat the press. They keep creating stories because we are not saying anything.”

  “Oh, there is plenty I wish to say.”

  “Galahad.”

  “I understand, Mother, and I am listening and following all your directions, even as it pains me to do so. Even though I can barely see the woman I love, as you have locked her in with tutors from morning till night.” I swallowed hard. Over the last few weeks, I had only seen Odette at breakfast and dinner. Partially because of her never-ending army of tutors and partially because of my own duties. I could feel our conversations getting shorter and shorter. This morning, she had all but rushed past me to not be late for her first tutor.

  “All of it will be worth it in the end.”

  “Will I still know what she looks and sounds like by then?” I muttered.

  “I am starting to see that the less you see of her in a day, the more of a brat you become,” she replied.

  “Then clearly, I need to see her more.”

  “Or you can continue with the piles of work you must go through and allow her to prepare for what will be the greatest moment of her life to date. You, yourself, said the garden party was like war. Well, she is in training, so do not disturb her.”

  I did not reply. Instead, I lifted and opened the black folder with our family seal on the cover, preparing to just sign it when I saw the nobles who would be attending the garden party. One caused me to check through the list of other guests until I saw the other name.

  “Lady Giselle Bancroft and Sabina Franziska are attending,” I stated coldly, staring at the paper.

  “Of course, Lady Giselle Bancroft, the wife of Lord of Belway. How could he not be in attendance? He is a member of the House of Lords. Sabina Franziska is the former Countess of Gormsey and the daughter of Sir Adam J. Franziska,” she replied with the same coldness.

  When I looked back up at her, I knew there was almost nothing my mother did not know. Yet she pretended as if she did not know the reason I had asked. So, I sighed.

  “I am going to check on your father,” she said, and as she rose, so did I. But before she could leave, I said one thing.

  “Mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tonight, Odette and I will have dinner in my rooms privately.”

  “Gale. No. Did you not just say you would listen and do as I ask? She cannot go to your rooms until she is your wife.”

  She is my wife!

  I inhaled again, trying to get my point across calmly. “Mother, there is no place she and I can have a private moment in this whole palace. With the garden party coming up, allow us time to—”

  “Gale, every time you break the rules for her, you make it harder for her. It is romantic at the time, and then the next morning, it is a weapon used against her. You help her more by not allowing your feelings to rule. Allow her to stand and prove herself to the people who love you for upholding our traditions. Yes, it is hard, but we have all gone through it. Be. Patient. She is trying very hard. Silent support is what she needs.”

  I said nothing, bowing my head as she left.

  I lifted the paper again before tearing it in half, then again and again, before sitting back down.

  Silent support?

  How did you know if you were being supported then?

  This felt—this felt wrong.

  But every time I t
ried to help her, the press found out and used it as slander, so maybe Mother was right. We still had no clue who was leaking information outside, either. So maybe this was one of the duties of the Adelaar—doing nothing for the sake of tradition.

  Chapter 15

  “Grandmother is coming?” Eliza exclaimed over breakfast. “She never comes to the garden party or leaves Donaè Castle for that matter.”

  “Well, she will be leaving Donaè and coming for the garden party, for sure. She has already sent word for her rooms here to be prepared,” my mother replied, lifting her tea to her lips.

  “Aren’t her rooms always prepared?” Eliza questioned.

  “She does not trust that they were prepared correctly,” my mother answered with slight annoyance. And it made me wonder that if my grandmother still had not come to like my mother, who by everyone’s standard seemed to be beloved as a model queen, how was she going to like Odette?

  I glanced over at the empty chair in front of me, feeling my annoyance rise. “Has no one called for Odette this morning?”

  “She has long been called,” my mother replied.

  I frowned, watching as she took a slow slip. “What do you mean long been called? If she is up, why has she not come down for breakfast.”

  “Miss Wyntor arrived at exactly seven this morning and ate breakfast with the queen at seven thirty-one,” Parsworth, the head butler, answered for her, and I looked between them both before looking down at my watch.

  “It is just after eight now, Mother, and breakfast has always been at eight. Why would you have breakfast with her early?” I had even gotten here ten minutes early because I wanted to see Odette before my mother came. Only to find Mother at the table, seated and waiting already. At first, I thought nothing of it, but now? Now I was confused.

  “Breakfast is always at eight. However, I made an exception this morning as I felt bad,” she replied gently as if that made any more sense.

  “You felt bad?” I repeated, my eyebrow rising.

  She nodded, taking another sip, which also explained why she was only drinking tea—she had already had her fill.

  “She was in here already going over further etiquette with her assistant.”

  “Further etiquette?”

  “Where she is supposed to sit, why she sits there, everyone else’s position around the table, why they are there... She also was working on her curtsy and leg placement again as she sat. It was quite intensive for the morning, I must say.” She smiled to herself, clearly proud of this insanity.

  “And you just so happened to walk in and had breakfast with her before the rest of us arrived? Are you trying to make sure we never see each other?”

  Her eyes shot at me angrily. “I had breakfast with her because her stomach was growling loud enough for all to hear. That, I can only assume, is because she barely ate last night with all ‘Are you all right’ questions you kept asking her. Furthermore, if you and your sister ever bothered to arrive on time or, by God, were early to breakfast, you would know your father and I have always arrived at seven-thirty. It was the only time we could speak before you all came, or the rest of the staff came to whisk us away, which is why I noticed she was here. Therefore, make a better effort in your schedule if you wish to see her instead of finding fault with others.”

  “Forgive me, Mother. I misspoke.” I glanced over my plate.

  “Yes, you did. And you are forgiven.”

  I smirked over at her. “Where is Odette now?”

  She looked at Parsworth, who stepped forward again. “Miss Wyntor is with her Ersovian history and etiquette tutors, going over the garden party protocol.”

  My mother nodded proudly once again. “Exactly as she should. You are worrying far too much. She is taking this seriously, and that is precisely what we need.”

  I hung my head, tapping my fingers on the table and trying to breathe, but the words kept repeating through my mind. Exactly what we need. But who was we? It was the crown, the monarchy. It was not me and, more importantly, not Odette. Had she seen all the articles? Was that why she was very quickly leaning toward obsessing? I had seen it happen over and over again with other families, not royal, but noble. Whoever married in forced themselves into a mold, bending, changing, almost void of any thoughts of their own—all they knew and did was protocol.

  I did not want Odette to be like that.

  I did not know that Odette.

  That was not the woman I fell for.

  But at the same time, I feared that the attacks would never stop if she did not conform. I did not know what to do.

  “Mother, please excuse me,” I said, rising, and the butler came behind me to move my chair.

  “Gale,” she called, and I paused, looking back to her. “Please do not distract her.”

  “Of course.” I nodded, stepping out the room, and there Iskandar stood waiting, as well as Balduin, who only stood at chest height to Iskandar.

  “Adelaar.” They both bowed, and when I nodded, Balduin handed me another black file.

  “It is again about the farmers of Zotteven and Youglin,” he started to explain as we went up the west staircase. However, I paused midway, looking out the window at a blur of dark-headed brown curls. Sure enough, there was Odette, walking in the garden slowly, I guess gracefully, with some thin, old woman beside her, nodding her head and motioning dramatically with her hands.

  “Adelaar?”

  “Yes?” I asked as I still watched whatever it was they were doing.

  “The farmers?” Balduin spoke up.

  I frowned, forcing myself to look away. “What? Is this about the chickens again?”

  “They are doing the votes today.”

  Which meant I had to watch. I sighed. That was going to be my day. If only I could grab her hand and run away. For just an hour, at the very least.

  My time with Lady de Marissonne, going through every—and I mean every—step of the garden party was cut short, as instructed by the queen. And just hearing that made my heart sink. I was supposed to have a break for lunch. I’d hoped I could spend it with Gale as I did not see him for breakfast. But it was just a dream. We could not talk much at breakfast or dinner. We ate lunch at different times since he was always out and about. I at least hoped to see him as I walked through the halls.

  “Do you know where Gale—I mean Prince Galahad is?” I truly felt I had not seen his face in ages.

  “The Adelaar has gone to Trinity Row to hear the special topic vote,” Wolfgang said like I understood that.

  I did not want to, but I had to ask. “Trinity Row?”

  “That is the street on which Parliament, the Prime Minister’s House, and the Supreme Court are all on,” he explained, pausing in the hallway to show me a digital map of the very long street of white Neoclassical buildings. “As you can see, they lead here, to the palace. Once or twice a month, the Adelaar goes to hear Supreme Court disputes or privately listens out of view of Parliament.”

  “Right, I remember that.” My history tutor had mentioned it, I think.

  I was basically in school all over again, and my head was already on fire. I just wanted to lie down. Talk to Gale, see him. I never thought I would miss just sitting around and talking like we did in Seattle as much as I did now.

  “Do you know when he is going to be back?” I asked.

  “I do not, but I can send a message to his secretary to find out.”

  “No, I will just wait. That’s fine.”

  He nodded and proceeded to show me back to my room. I wanted to make him talk about something, anything other than protocol or what I was failing to do, but I found myself unable to speak when I saw a maid or butler walk by. I felt like if I asked or said anything, someone would overhear it, and it would start a whole new set of rumors.

  “We are here,” Wolfgang said as we stopped right in front of the door where a single butler—no, footman stood, waiting.

  The footman opened the door, and Wolfgang stepped from beside me to behi
nd as I was announced. “Miss Wyntor is here, ma’am.”

  “Your Grace,” I spoke gently as I entered the room, watching her as she stood by the window, trimming a houseplant set on the wooden table in front of her.

  “We shall have the room,” she said, and that phrase sent a chill up my spine. We never had the room for any good conversations. “Odette, there is a newspaper by the table there. Please read it for me.”

  Once again, I felt like I was going to be sick. For the briefest second, I had hoped because the paper was not from the Morning Eagle, but some other news, the Ersovian Times, that it wouldn’t be about me. However, when I saw my name right under, all hope vanished.

  “Odette Wyntor’s sister, Augusta, claims the royal palace is forcing Odette to distance herself from her family.” Dear Jesus Christ.

  “Keep reading,” Elspeth said as she snapped away another dead leaf from her plant.

  “Odette was very close to her mother. But the royal family does not think someone with her mother’s background,” my lips trembled as I read the quote from my sister, “as a model and beauty queen with no education or connections reflects well on the palace. She had to do a lot of dastardly things to start her career.”

  “You translated that perfectly,” Elspeth stated, once again snipping another plant. “I am pleased you have made such great progress with your lessons.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” I could say nothing else beyond that.

  “Do you know where Prince Galahad is?”

  I swallowed hard, trying to pull my sinking voice back up. “He is at Trinity Row?”

  “Do you know why?”

  “To hear votes,” I said, glad I had asked Wolfgang before entering.

  “Yes, Prince Galahad is doing the royal duty of hearing votes on one of two highly contested pieces of legislation this year. It is about chickens.” Snip went another piece of her plant. “It may sound a little silly, but it is serious. You see, poultry farming is one of the biggest farming industries in the country; we supply poultry throughout Europe and Asia. The people voted at the last session to end caged chicken farming immediately. However, free-range chickens need range. They need space, which may not be hard for rural communities, but for more industrial farms that do not have that space, this could cripple them and cause a major disruption in the economy. So, it is being debated about how to go about achieving the people’s wishes from their vote, if they understood their vote, or if it can be done at all. Prince Galahad might even have to do what a monarchy rarely wishes to do and give his judgment in the king’s steed. Unfortunately, it is all serious but very boring, which is why it is not on the front page of the Ersovian Times today. It is on page two.”