A Choice of Crowns

by Barb Hendee

  Everyone listened and nodded in agreement.

  “Of late,” Rowan continued, “I have suffered at the thought of her being married to a foreign king and being sent from the people she so loves. Who among us can imagine life at Partheney without her gentle counsel beside me? I am Eduard’s son, but the princess and I share no line of blood. Together, we could found a line of heirs and secure the future of the kingdom. I have proposed an offer of marriage to her, and she has accepted.”

  If the crowd had been quiet before, complete silence fell now. I held a long breath. This was the crux, the moment Genève had so feared, where the people would either cringe away at the suggestion of incest…or worse, they would not, and then question his right to rule.

  “Who among us could part with our princess? Who could suffer her loss when the answer is so clear?” he asked. “I am king, and I would see the princess Ashton at my side in her rightful place as queen.” Stepping forward on the dais, he spoke directly to several men at the front of the crowd. “Would you see Ashton as your queen?”

  After an instant’s hesitation, the men nodded. “Yes, my king.”

  Rowan stepped back and called out, “Queen Ashton!”

  A low cheer went up that grew louder and louder.

  I closed my eyes.

  He had them.

  They saw him as king…and they’d accepted Ashton as queen.

  Close behind me, I felt the captain’s strong presence. He didn’t touch me nor attempt to offer comfort, but neither did he cheer.

  * * * *

  The following two days passed in a fog.

  Rowan refused to retract his order that Genève not be placed in the family crypt. Her body was buried in a public grave without ceremony. I thought this a mistake at a political and personal level. It embarrassed the council, and it gave Ashton no chance to mourn properly or say good-bye in a way that might allow her to begin to heal.

  At dinner, the other nobles were polite to me, but no one remained in my company for more than few moments, offering vapid words about the weather or the wine or my gown.

  My status was in question. I’d not lost yet, and there was a chance I might still become queen, so no one wished to offend me…but the chances were now slim. Rowan had won the people over, and he had their support at his back. This had been the main concern of the council all along. They had no opposition to Ashton. They only desired Rowan’s crown to remain safely on his head.

  On the third day after his announcement at dinner, he called a closed-door meeting of the council. This was my last chance for salvation, but I didn’t hold out much hope, and I was not wrong. They were in session less than half an hour, and when they came out, the marriage had been approved.

  I was now officially unwanted extra baggage, the third daughter of Hugh Géroux.

  And I was afraid.

  * * * *

  Though on a purely intellectual level, Rowan was intelligent, even shrewd, in many ways he possessed a weak grasp of human nature.

  If he’d only put off the wedding for several months, Ashton might have been able to reconcile herself better. If he had let her plan a wedding with the other noblewomen and given her time to grow accustomed to viewing him as her future husband, she might slowly have come to see him as a man…and not as her elder brother.

  But he didn’t.

  As promised, he arranged an informal ceremony four days later—exactly one week from his initial announcement—and invited the council and any nobles in residence.

  This included me, and I couldn’t refuse or even feign illness without making myself the subject of pitying gossip. I had to attend and hold my head high. I even helped Kamilla arrange Ashton’s hair. It all felt like a bad dream from which I could not wake.

  At first, Rowan insisted Ashton wear a white gown passed down through her family. It came with a matching white ribbon to be tied around her throat. But she was so small that even Kamilla couldn’t take the gown in enough without ruining it, so in the end, Ashton wore her peach silk.

  The ceremony was brief.

  Rowan and Ashton each spoke their vows and then signed the agreement. Lord Cloutier and Baron Augustine signed as witnesses. The noble wives tried to weep prettily and pretend it was a happy day, but everything was overshadowed by Genève’s grisly death, her cold-blooded burial, and the fact that the bride looked like a lamb being led to slaughter.

  The dinner after was an equally strained affair, and only Rowan appeared to enjoy himself. He fed Ashton small bites of food from his plate.

  Captain Caron had been invited as a guest. Though he held no title, due to his station, he was a man who could walk comfortably in several worlds. Tonight, he dined at the second table, wearing a black tunic with silver thread. His hair was held back in a leather thong at the base of his neck. I’d never seen him in anything but a wool shirt and tabard.

  My position here had altered radically…I also ate at the second table, placed well below him. Few people spoke to me.

  I was nothing, a failure who would soon vanish back to the southeast.

  Even before dessert had even been served, Rowan stood. His dark eyes glittered.

  “My friends,” he called. “It has been a joyful day. The musicians will be in shortly. Stay and dance and drink as late as you like.” He looked down to Ashton. “But now, my bride and I will leave you…to retire.”

  As opposed to crooking his arm, he offered her his hand.

  Slowly, she took it, and he drew her up. The fear in her eyes made me look away. I had no idea what she was about to face behind closed doors, and didn’t want to think on it.

  Smiles and congratulations followed them as they left the great hall, but it all sounded hollow.

  Once they were gone, the smiles vanished.

  As the musicians came in to set up, most people rose from their tables to stretch and drink wine while standing. Captain Caron crossed the hall partway to speak with Lord Sauvage.

  I stood alone, but I heard Lord Cloutier’s aging wife sigh as she watched the captain.

  “A fine-looking man. It’s such a pity he has no title,” she said. “Otherwise, he’d do well for my granddaughter, Sophia.”

  Lady Miranda watched the captain dispassionately. “I’ve heard there’s family money.”

  “Not enough to make up for a lack of title. My lord would never consider it.”

  It troubled me to hear them discussing Captain Caron as if he were some bull up for sale, but I held my tongue. My best option for safety at the moment was to remain invisible. And yet…I looked conspicuously isolated standing here.

  The music began.

  Captain Caron left Lord Sauvage and walked straight to me, holding out his hand. “My lady?”

  Without hesitation, I joined him. He was the only man in the hall with whom I wanted to dance.

  Out on the floor, he held my left hand in his and grasped my waist lightly as we stepped in time with the other dancers.

  “A strange wedding,” he said quietly.

  This was probably the closest he’d ever come to criticizing Rowan, but I agreed with him. “Yes. Poor Ashton.”

  “You pity the princess?”

  With him, honesty tended to spill out of my mouth. “Not as much as I pity myself.”

  I felt him stiffen a little in his steps. “Because it was not you who married the king?”

  “No, because I dread what may happen to me now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you think I mean? I’ve failed here, and my father will call me home.”

  Without warning, he stopped dancing and held me in place. I couldn’t move.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked.

  The fear and despair inside me welled up, and I couldn’t keep a brave front. “Yes.”

  Realizing that people were gla
ncing our way, he moved us back into the flow of the other dancers.

  “I can’t do anything to help you,” he said quietly, “but Ashton can, and she will. If you need protection, go to her.”

  My eyes focused on the blond hair of his close-trimmed beard. Could he be right? Would Ashton protect me? She couldn’t seem to protect herself. But I had little else to try.

  “I will. Thank you, Captain.”

  “Call me Micah.”

  I let myself become lost in the music and the skill of his steps. I danced with him until almost midnight and didn’t care a whit what anyone thought.

  * * * *

  Midmorning of the next day, I stepped out into the courtyard for some air and saw Rowan speaking to Micah near the new stable.

  I’d not expected to see Rowan up and about this early after his wedding night, but perhaps he had duties. More importantly, it meant he was not with Ashton.

  Turning, I went back inside and made my way to the first of the south towers. I’d heard from Kamilla that the new couple had spent the night in Ashton’s apartments. There I stood outside the door, not certain what I’d find inside.

  Finally, I knocked. “Ashton, it’s me.”

  “Come in,” she called.

  Upon entering, I found her still in her nightgown and silk dressing robe, but she sat at a table, sipping a cup of tea. Walking over, I made a quick examination. She looked well enough physically, but she was paler than normal, with a hint of that lost look in her eyes.

  Subtle or euphemistic language seemed absurd. I was the one who’d brought her here the day Rowan ripped her gown and cut her mouth with his teeth.

  “Are you all right?” I asked bluntly.

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand me. “Yes. The king was not…unkind.”

  Well, that was something. But it struck me that this would probably be the strongest passion he’d ever receive from his wife, a quiet relief on her part that he’d not been brutal. He had no one to blame but himself.

  If only he’d waited a few months.

  Still, I had other worries, and sat down across from her.

  “I’m glad you’ve come,” she said. “You are the only one who would come to see that I was well.”

  “I did come out of concern for you, but also for myself.”

  The lost look left her eyes as she focused on me. “For yourself?”

  “Do know Lord Arullian?”

  She shuddered. “Yes. Mother didn’t like to have him here any more often than necessary. She gave orders no serving girls were ever to be alone with him. His last wife’s death was…” She trailed off, as if not knowing how to finish the sentence.

  “He’s asked for my hand,” I said, “and my father threatened that he’d accept the proposal if I failed here. And I have failed here.”

  “Arullian?” she repeated. “No. Your father would not.”

  “He would. My father does not brook failure from his children.”

  “I am to blame.”

  In part, that might be true, but she’d not done anything to harm me. With the exception of Micah, she was my only friend here. “That doesn’t matter now,” I said. “What matters is that I not be called home.”

  Reaching out, she grasped my hand. “I won’t let your father take you. I’ll write him today and tell him that I need you here, and I’ll suggest some favors may be traded. Do you know of anything he wants?”

  I did not, as he told me little, but I was sure there must be something. “If there is, he will tell you.”

  “Good,” she said. “Please don’t fear. I will be queen, and I will protect you.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  As with the wedding, Rowan wasted no time with Ashton’s coronation, and it was carried out two weeks later.

  This didn’t give the other nobles of the kingdom time to plan or travel, and so only members of the council already in residence and their wives attended the ceremony. My father sent a letter with his regrets, but I didn’t think he would have come even if enough time had been allowed—as he was embarrassed by my failure. Still, he did not call me home.

  Whatever Ashton had written to him, for now, it appeared I was safe.

  At the dinner on the night of the coronation, she came to me as everyone milled about drinking wine before the first course was served. Since her marriage to Rowan, I’d been sleeping in my own room. She’d resumed her work in the old stable, sometimes even going out to help deliver food and goods to the poor, so she and I had less time together in private.

  “Olivia,” she said quietly, pretending to take a sip of wine. “There will be some changes beginning tomorrow. I’ll need to move into my mother’s apartments. It’s expected. I thought to offer you my current apartments…” She hesitated and glanced over at Rowan. “But I’m working on something more permanent to allow you to remain in Partheney.”

  “More permanent?”

  “Don’t ask me yet. I need more time, and for now, it may be wise to do nothing to bring you to the king’s attention. Will you be comfortable in your room a while longer? I know it’s not large.”

  I struggled to absorb all that she said and did not say. She was working on a way to allow me to remain here, but she didn’t wish to call me to Rowan’s attention? Why? I was no longer any threat to him.

  Still, I’d sleep in the stable if it kept me from being called home.

  “My room is fine. Can you not tell me more?”

  “Not yet. Just trust me.”

  It was hard for me to trust. I liked all the facts at my fingertips. But I nodded.

  * * * *

  Several days passed. Seven members of the council announced they were packing to go home and see to their own estates until the next gathering. This showed their comfort, that they need not stay. Rowan’s crown was secure, and Ashton was now queen.

  I was on pins and needles, feeling like an extra appendage and looking for ways to pass the time. I helped Ashton in the old stable—sorting goods and food and loading wagons. I attended embroidery circles in her new quarters. I tried to pretend I belonged here.

  Ashton once said, “I’m so sorry about your seating in the great hall. I’d have you sit beside me, but I don’t want to bring you to Rowan’s attention.”

  Did she fear that if Rowan actively noticed I was still here, he might send me away? When I asked her about this, she was evasive.

  Five days following the coronation, I felt a need for fresh air and solitude, and so I took a walk in the courtyard, thinking to go down and visit my horse, Meesha. As I entered the stable, I stopped.

  Micah stood a few paces away, cleaning a saddle.

  “My lady?” he said in surprise.

  Though I was usually comfortable with him, I suddenly felt like a girl invading his private space.

  “Oh…forgive me. I just thought to check on Meesha.”

  He smiled. “Nothing to forgive. I was just thinking of you.” He put down the cleaning cloth. “Come and see your horse.”

  He’d been thinking of me?

  “I’ve feared you might be sent home,” he said, as we walked between rows of stalls. “Has Ashton found a way to keep you here?”

  “For now,” I answered. “She says she’s working on something for the future, but she won’t tell me what.”

  We reached Meesha, and she put her head over the top of the stall so I could stroke her nose. “She looks well.”

  “Yes. I’ve seen to her exercise myself. She gets out every day.”

  “Thank you.”

  He tilted his head. “Have you eaten lunch?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m off duty this afternoon and was about to take a walk out into the city. Come with me. I know a place that serves the best rolls and spiced tea in all of Partheney.”

  Had the floor behin
d him opened up, I could not have been more taken aback. He was asking me to go walking in the city, with him…unchaperoned?

  But his eyes held a hint of challenge, and I’d not been outside the castle gates since my arrival. This entire place had begun to feel as stifling and smothering as a weight on my chest. Knowing I’d probably lost my wits for even considering his offer, I nodded.

  “All right.”

  * * * *

  Not long after, I didn’t care about any repercussions.

  The day was fine and warm, and Micah showed me a variety of shops and eateries out in the city. I’d never walked through a city before with no other purpose than to see the sights.

  It was more enjoyable than I could describe.

  It was…liberating.

  Then he led me down a street of especially fine shops with colorful signs and awnings.

  “There,” he said, pointing to a shop with a bright yellow awning and numerous tables with chairs set up out front.

  As we approached, my mouth began to water at the smell of freshly baked bread. Perhaps twenty people already sat at the tables, drinking mugs of tea or eating rolls and sausages.

  Micah pulled out a chair at an empty table. “Come and sit, my lady.”

  I wished he would call me Olivia, but I said nothing.

  Rather, I reveled in this new experience, of sitting with common people at a table outdoors. Several people called greetings to Micah and looked at me with open curiosity. With a slight thrill, I realized they’d have no idea who I was. Young noblewomen did not sit alone in public with soldiers in chain armor.

  A large man with a mustache, wearing an apron, strode up to our table. “Captain. How are you this morning?” He glanced at me.

  Micah didn’t introduce me. “I’m well, Bertram. Could you bring us rolls, sausages, and spiced tea?”

  With a nod, Bertram left, but he returned almost immediately with a tray, and my mouth watered again. The rolls were light brown and still steaming. I could smell the spice in the tea. Micah paid.