by Laura Kenyon
“He was the childhood love she thought died years ago,” Belle said, coming to Dawn’s rescue. “I wouldn’t call that immoral. She thought he was her true love—and for good reason. It sure sounds like a fairy tale. I would have done the same thing.”
Rapunzel’s jaw plummeted, then rose into a trouble-making grin. “Well, now I’ve heard everything.”
Penny’s head was still swimming. No wonder Dawn was so sure Angus was the villain here. “So you and Hunter…” she said, intentionally trailing off.
Dawn gave a slightly sad, slightly hopeful smile from her seat. “I think we might be on the mend,” she said. “When I told him about Elmina and what could happen to me and the kids if she’s right, I think that took precedence over what I did.”
“So he no longer thinks Morning and Day could be Davin’s?” Belle’s voice was sheepish, as if she didn’t really want to ask but shamefully wanted to know.
Dawn shrugged. “We didn’t discuss that directly, but it seems that way. Besides,” she added, “there’s no possible way they’re Davin’s.”
Rapunzel chortled, as if this was so not news to her. “So you’re saying he didn’t pop your cherry three hundred years ago in one of these stone towers?”
Dawn sucked her cheeks in and gave Rapunzel a scathing look. “No. Things were different when I was growing up. People were more reserved. More … proper.”
“Well, sorry if our hedonistic century corrupted you, but—”
“But you can’t tell a story like that and leave out the most important part!” Penny interrupted, elated by the shift in mood. “How was it? I mean, I can only imagine how amazing the sex must be after waiting for more than three centuries!”
“Yeah, spill!”
“Oh.” Dawn’s eyes fell as the other women leaned in. “No. Actually. We didn’t actually have sex.”
Three cries of protest hollered out in unison. “What?”
Dawn shrugged. “We kissed a lot, of course. Cuddled. Took off our outer layers, but. . .” She looked away as her face turned bright red. “Like I said, we’re from a different time.”
Rapunzel fell back into her cushioned armchair with a bang. “Okay. Hold on,” she said, rubbing her forehead while struggling to process. “Does Hunter know that?”
Dawn looked at her. Then she looked at the others, and shook her head.
The room filled with laughter. Then tears of laughter. It was exactly the sort of gossipy, ridiculous girl talk that Penny needed—that they all needed—to make it through the rest of the day.
“Well,” Rapunzel said after another hour of chatter about Liam-Davin, Donner, Rye, and all the other men in their lives, “here’s to the greatest Queen of Riverfell and her loyal posse of friends.”
Belle, Dawn, and Rapunzel all raised their glasses, but Penny kept hers by her side. “Hey, I’m not queen yet,” she said, even though Logan had just swung by to tell her the ballroom was filled to capacity and it was almost two o’clock. “By the time we get through all the pompous rites and speeches, I’d say Kiarra Kane still has about forty-five minutes to wake up and order Carter to take back the throne. Then I can buy that perfect little house I saw with the picket fence and four bedrooms and space for a private home office.”
Everyone’s faces and glasses fell, followed by a chorus of reassurance.
“It’s really not that bad,” said Belle. “Not when you have the sort of marriage you and Logan have.”
“You can still have a family as queen,” Dawn offered. “That won’t change.”
“Yeah and who says you can’t pull a Snow and buy that house anyway?” declared Rapunzel. “If Logan wants to be king so bad and you want a normal life, he can suck it up and commute like every other working stiff in Marestam. You’ve sacrificed for long enough; now it’s his turn.”
Penny thought about this for a minute. No matter what they said, she knew things wouldn’t be exactly the way she’d wanted. Even if they did somehow manage to move out of Riverfell Palace, Letitia would always be looming over them, treating Logan like he was still in braces and Penny like she was the high school prom date who wasn’t good enough for her son. But it was nice to believe it was still possible for a few minutes.
“You’re right,” she said while raising her glass, pulling her lips wide, and hugging each of her dearest friends with her eyes. “Cheers.”
* * *
At first, Penny could do nothing but stare at the far end of the ballroom. While the officiant spoke, she traced the filigree borders with her eyes and studied the massive arched windows, each one tall enough to fit one Carpale subway car on its nose. There were seven lining the back wall, for a grand total of sixty-three rows of stained glass diamonds and seven three-dimensional rosettes painstakingly restored to their original gold leaf splendor. For something so ancient, it was quite beautiful—more so, in many ways, than the dramatic skyscrapers lining Marestam’s capital, each one perfectly designed and executed to be the tallest or the strongest or (insert other muscle-flexing superlative here) edifice of its time. Back in Vashia, she’d been so impressed by those towers. She’d seen them as beacons of freedom, summoning her from the other side of the world.
But now, sitting beside her husband while a thousand strangers waited for an old man to place a golden shackle around her head, the word “freedom” took on a whole new meaning. Maybe Marestam wasn’t quite as liberated as she’d thought. Cinderella had said something to that effect a few months back, but everyone had shaken it off—blaming it on hormones, or hunger from her obsessive desire to fit into a dress she’d worn as an emaciated peasant ten years earlier. While Marestam was light-years ahead of her childhood kingdom, there were still so many restrictions for those with magical blood, so many codes for those of royal lineage, so many barriers for those born with nothing or born with eggs instead of sperm.
It was in this moment, as her gaze fell from the rear windows to the double-thick line of police stretching across the back wall (Letitia’s doing, she assumed, to give her wedding that extra air of importance), that Penny began to realize having a scepter might not be such a terrible thing after all. Like her friends said, she wasn’t Letitia and Logan wasn’t her keeper. Perhaps she could make a difference as queen. Perhaps she could take Cinderella’s social charity work and ramp it up a notch—inspire actual, fundamental change, not just healing. Strengthen it with her schooling and her knowledge of the law. Give it claws.
She flinched as Logan squeezed her hand and rose to his feet. The half-bald officiant was teetering before them, palms spread flat as if he was checking for rain. He had wiry white hairs sprinkled along his pockmarked head, eyelids that seemed ten pounds too heavy, and a belly to rival Belle’s baby bump—even when it was real.
As Penny stood up, she felt her fake smile becoming more and more genuine. She surveyed the people sitting in the silver-brushed banquet chairs, accented with surprisingly stunning black roses, on either side of an amethyst aisle runner. Belle, dressed in a suspiciously flattering maternity dress, was holding her stomach and staring into nothingness. She was sitting beside Dawn and Hunter (whose hands were intertwined, she noted, but not for the cameras) and an empty chair. Where was Ruby?
“Logan Jonathan Jean-Pierre LeBlanche,” Penny heard her husband say, pulling her back before she could panic. She turned to look. The officiant’s trembling hands now clutched the Riverfell crown, and Logan’s eyes shone like diamonds.
Penny took a deep breath, splayed her hand across her husband’s back, and purged her mind of everything not related to his joy at this moment. True, it would have meant more if they were in Riverfell’s throne room instead of Selladóre’s … and if they weren’t the opening act to Letitia’s second marriage … and if Logan hadn’t been dubbed heir by default … and if Carter had actually made it to his own brother’s coronation. But this was still the fulfillment of his lifelong dream.
Just before the old man steadied himself and began to raise the crown, Penny saw h
im close his eyes and take the same kind of breath she’d taken when she landed safely on Marestam soil so many years ago. It was the sort of breath that signaled both the end of a tumultuous journey and the start of something even greater. Penny was so proud of him. And after everything, still so in love. Even more than the white picket fence and the dog bowls and the honey-I’m-home moments, that is what she’d dreamt about most when she was plotting a way to escape that oppressive regime back across the ocean: the sort of love that wound tighter when faced with adversity and always came out stronger when the smoke cleared.
“Bless thee this crown,” she heard as Logan smiled at her and bent his head.
Her stomach churned. She stopped listening to the old man’s words, focusing instead on the movement of Logan’s back muscles through his shirt, the love of the friends seated before her, the—
Someone’s cell phone screamed out but was quickly silenced. She could only imagine Letitia’s face right now. It would look something like a wild boar on a blood hunt, closing in on the kill.
“Guide our new king in all of his regal duties…”
Another ring. A different phone. Penny’s shoulders tensed. Logan pressed his lips together but in classic, easygoing Logan fashion, refused to look up. Finally, the officiant lowered the crown, said a few more words about making her husband wise, virtuous, and forever protected, and left it in Logan’s nest of golden curls. He then took a second, smaller crown from a scarlet pillow and did the same thing (minus all the blessings) to Penny.
His fingers were still hidden in her waves when the entire room erupted into an offbeat symphony of tinny pop refrains and electronic ringtones. Seconds later, dresses and suits began shifting in their seats. People started standing. Chairs screeched out against the parquet floor. And then, just as the confused voices multiplied and took on a panicked edge, the guards stationed along the perimeter tripled up around the doors. What the hell was going on?
Within seconds, Logan had a line of guards at his side and was hunched over a cell phone with one finger in his ear.
“Carter? Where are you?" he shouted, his eyes going everywhere and nowhere at once. "You’re supposed to— Yeah, it's over. You missed it. But never mind that. Something’s happening. Do you— What?”
Logan pulled the phone away to examine it, then returned it to his ear. He looked confused, terrified, and livid all at the same time. But for some reason, he wasn’t saying a thing. That’s when Penny’s ears zeroed in on one corner of the room and she plucked out three separate snippets that pulled her arm hairs up by their roots: “Magical terrorism,” “Hall of Curiosities,” and “She woke up.”
Then, as her heart started beating outside of her chest, she heard Logan’s voice again: "What? No! That’s not— What do you mean can we undo it?"
TheMarestamMirror.com
Diamond Ropes and Velvet Cake
By Perrin Hildebrand, King of Gossip
BREAKING NEWS!
Warning: The following is an on-the-ground, as-it-happens, chaos-in-the-making breaking news report, folks. Flair will be lacking.
MARESTAM IS UNDER ATTACK!
Right now, I am hunkered down in the ballroom at Selladóre Castle. I’m surrounded by hundreds of coronedding attendees and their over-stuffed, over-feathered, and over-pompous ensembles. The air is thick with perfume. The bathrooms are inaccessible. And while I’ve never been one for higher powers, I am praying for the Marestam Guard to unblock our exit asap.
Here’s what I know firsthand and from my sources on the outside. The rest I’ve filled in with the help of “citizen journalists” legitimized by the power of “social media.” Desperate times, folks. Desperate times.
•The Hall of Curiosities is in ruins after a firefight broke out between members of the Marestam Guard and three intruders. According to MG Chief Toby Kind, two of these intruders have been identified as Selladóre pureblood fairy Elmina Goodman and wanted Braddax Queen Mother Hazel Wickenham—also a pureblood. The third female has yet to be named, but reportedly showed magical abilities also consistent with pureblood status.
•Logan and Penelopea LeBlanche have officially been crowned King and Queen of Riverfell. However, hospital staff and witnesses are reporting that Kiarra Kane is, indeed, awake. That’s great news for Donner Wickenham, wherever he’s hiding, but not so wonderful for the fledgling monarchs. According to an overwhelmed nurse who happened to be in the room when Carter told his darling what he’d done with his crown, Kiarra Kane’s first words were short and to the point: “Get it back.”
•In response to the attack on one of Marestam’s most iconic buildings, Angus Kane has declared a state of emergency throughout the realm and is enforcing a mandatory shelter-in-place order until all three suspects are in custody. He has also issued an executive order that makes anyone either harboring an illegal magical person or concealing his or her whereabouts to be as culpable as said illegal. Welcome to martial law, folks.
Chapter Twenty-Five
BELLE
Belle didn’t process what was happening until she was fully out of the ballroom and jammed between a dozen members of the Marestam Guard. They were hurrying down a dark, narrow hallway with wainscoted walls, stone floors, and candleless sconces every ten feet.
“Where are we going?” she asked, trying not to trip over the boots shuffling in front, behind, and to the side of her.
“Somewhere safe,” the lead officer grunted, not bothering to look back.
“Where’s that?” she pushed, not sure who to trust at the moment but doubting she had a choice in the matter either way.
The whole thing had happened so fast. One minute she was watching Penny get her crown, and the next, she was being pushed and pulled in a dozen different directions as the ballroom erupted into a very unceremonious frenzy. She’d been sitting with Dawn and Hunter, but they immediately launched into some sort of private mission—first with hunched and hurried whispers, and then with Hunter yanking the nearest guard aside by the elbow.
Belle’s questions then, just like now, had gone unanswered.
“Where’s this safe place?” she asked again, tripping over the stone.
Still nothing. A hot rage gushed over her panic, sealing it in on all sides. She was so sick and tired of being treated like a porcelain doll—like something to be protected but not even for her sake, for someone else’s. That was the old Belle. Hadn’t this band of badged ruffians received the memo?
“Hey!” she hollered, as if the young man’s ear wasn’t inches from her mouth. He barely flinched. “Fine,” she barked, stopping dead in her tracks. A thousand pounds of masculinity rammed into her from behind, taking out her center of gravity. The pack leader spun and reached out just in time to break her fall.
“What the hell are you doing?” he howled, hoisting her back on her feet and glancing at her stomach. “Someone in your situation should be more careful. That’s how tragedies happen.”
Belle frowned but dusted herself off. “That’s how tragedies happen? I wouldn’t have stopped short if you’d answer my damn question.”
“That’s classified,” he said, sucking both of his cheeks inward and biting down. The hallway was dark, but she could still make out a long, bony nose, buzz-cut hair, and beady—or at least squinting—eyes.
“Classified?” Her right hand curled into a fist. “Do you realize how asinine that sounds? I’m the Queen of Braddax for all intents and purposes, and I’m carrying the heir to the throne.” As much as she’d been denying her title for the past four months, she had no problem using it now. “I have a right to know. Are you here to kidnap me, arrest me, or protect me?”
The silence lingered long enough for her question to take an ominous turn. The man ran his tongue between his front teeth and his upper lip. He couldn’t have been more than twenty—about the same age Belle was when her father picked the rose that changed her life forever.
“You’re not a prisoner,” he finally said. “Protocol is to take all
sitting monarchs to a safe location when there’s an attack. We’re under orders to bring you to the fourth floor,” he said, pausing immediately as if even that vague drip of information was too much. “That’s all I know. Now can we please continue moving before the prime minister thinks we lost the Queen of Braddax and its future heir?”
Reluctantly, Belle pressed her lips together and waved them onward. She still didn’t know what was going on outside this hallway, but outrunning thirteen Marestam Guards didn’t seem like something a bona fide pregnant woman would do—or something a recovering mother with mastitis could do. Plus, she was wearing Donner’s bracelet. If things with Angus got sticky, all she had to do was clear her mind (piece of cake, right?) and hightail it out of there.
They walked for another five minutes in what seemed to be the backstage of a gussied up warehouse—taking sharp, blind corners and clamoring up three sets of rudimentary, winding stairs—before finally stopping in the middle of nowhere. Belle was just about to ask the head dog if he was lost, when he reached up, ran his hand along two panels of wainscoting, and pushed.
Belle started and shielded her eyes as a column of light split the darkness, then stretched out on both sides to reveal a bright room with a red velvet couch, two armchairs, and a dormant fireplace. It was nicely outfitted, with wall-to-wall built-ins, burgundy wallpaper, and a clean mahogany desk.
“A bit small for a safe house,” she said as the guards ushered her in. “Where’s everyone else? Logan and Penelopea? The Tirions?”
But as soon as she turned around, a far less secret door flew open and Angus Kane swooped in. “Oh, thank goodness,” he said as her heart plunged into her stomach. He was out of breath and uncharacteristically disheveled—waistcoat unbuttoned, face flushed, comb-over flopped over the wrong side of his head. With his arms outstretched and the usual walking stick in hand, he flounced forward as if arriving late for Thanksgiving dinner.
