by Kiki Leach
“In that case, blackmailing me into marriage does not equate you to the status of your vile brother.”
“Why?” he asked inquisitively. “Because you are attracted to me?”
I glowered. “I should go.” I tried getting up from the bed, but Norvack clutched my wrist, holding me down.
“I’m sorry.” He rubbed his thumb across the back of my hand. “I did not mean to insult you in such a manner.”
“You didn’t.”
It was quiet for a moment and I removed my hand from the bed, placing it in my lap.
Norvack sighed, breaking the awkward friction. “Do you know what I hate more than my father’s favoritism of Willem? The inability to ride my stallion around the premises and into town.”
“You will ride again someday.”
“That seems unlikely.”
“Why?”
“They tell me he’s skittish. In the battle when I was knocked from his back, he nearly fell over himself. Members of my court have tried riding him, but he’s nearly kicked a few. Riding gave me stability, somewhat of a purpose. I would travel all throughout London on that horse, to clear my head, or to think of you.” He smiled at me and I did the same.
“You asked earlier if I had fallen in love while you were away, and I said no. Now I’m telling you that I lied.”
He cleared his throat and soured. “Really?” he said, his tone defeated.
“Yes. It seems I’m much better at it than you give me credit.”
He bobbed his head up and down, pushing out his bottom lip simultaneously. “Who was he?”
“She,” I emphasized.
He lay back and crinkled his eyes and nose. “You’re putting me on.”
I snickered. “A little. When I was seventeen, I traveled to the square and saw a woman standing in the nude. She was in the fountain, dousing herself with water, placing her head underneath the waterfall. I wasn’t sure if she was bathing at first, or purposely attempting to make a spectacle. Anyway, there was a man on the other side, sitting on the ground with a scroll before him and a small bucket of paint beside him, and he began painting her, though the image wasn’t exact or remotely perfect. People who came upon her either stood staring in fascination or ordered the Sheriff and his men to have her beheaded. I learned later that the man was her husband and both were hung before nightfall for coarse displays of public nudity. What happened to them was far beyond barbaric, but the point is, they expressed themselves openly, freely, without fearing the absolute consequences they knew would be prone to them, through art.”
“You fell in love with painting.”
“Not exactly -- I fell in love with the idea of being creative.”
“I have always believed you to be a born creator,” he said.
“I’m flattered, but you’re lying.” I looked down at my hands. “It’s not as if I feel I need to paint a woman in the nude or a canvass to be creative, but I fell in love with the idea that I could be…. The portrait of me beneath your bed.” His head snapped up. “I would like to see it someday.”
He cocked his head. “You’re not unnerved?”
“No. Perhaps not as much as I should be, or as I was before. But I have come to realize that portrait was a way for you to freely express what you feel for me without judgment, even if it was someone else’s creation. Just as riding expresses your passion for freedom from the constraints of your father and the kingdom; and the woman in the fountain expressed a sort of freedom in her nudity, as did her husband. Freedom from the constriction of this country.”
He extended his index finger and draped it across my forehead, sliding a lock of hair around and behind my ear. “Are you beginning to know me, Cinder girl?”
“I’m trying,” I said. “I’m married to you now and must try to know you, the same as you claim to have always known me.”
“That could take time. Days and nights spent together for weeks and months on end.”
“I’m certain I will manage to fit it into my demanding schedule of avoiding your parents upon their return.”
He laughed. And then he told me of the portrait, and when he had it painted, which was prior to him leaving for London five years ago.
We talked of nearly everything inside our minds until nightfall. I never knew he could listen as well or as often as he spoke. He fell asleep first after having devoured the pot roast dinner brought up to us by his servants, and I reached over to blow out the candle on his nightstand. But before I did, I looked down at his face. He seemed so peaceful and perfect as he lay there so still, I hardly noticed his breathing. I chewed on my bottom lip and watched the strands of hair cascading down and sticking to his face as he began to sweat again.
I went over for the compress, dipping it in the fresh water I had ordered for him just moments before he had finally fallen asleep, and wiped down each side of his face. I noticed a faint smile gracing his lips, but he never opened his eyes or said a word. Once I finished, I placed the compress near his book and blew out the candle.
The next day seemed to be no different than this one in terms of my learning more and more of the prince and his habits and tics, as well as his desires outside of having me. Brandy continued to be his drink of choice, despite doctor’s constant orders of orange juice instead, and plump sausage patties smothered in gravy seemed to be his favorite meal. I sat back watching him eat in the manner of a savage and couldn’t decide whether I was aroused by the way he stabbed at his meat or reviled by it. As he wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, indicating he was finished with his meal, I informed him of my plans to continue in the garden with Brigita’s help.
“You are barely at the tip of my iceberg, Cinder,” he said.
“What I don’t already know, I am certain to learn overtime.”
“Indeed. From me. Is tending to my mother’s garden that important to you?”
I took time to think.
“I suppose not. But if we are going to discuss, I would rather you start off by informing me why your mother remains such an abhorrent human being.”
He sunk down. “My father has never truly been in love with her, despite her undying loyalty to him. The affairs made her hardhearted. But it was Willem’s mother that nearly sent her over the edge.”
“My God. She truly loves your father? Her loyalty is not just to her king, it’s to the man -- to Belarus himself. I’m certain the queen craves the title, but her determined and unyielding defense of him most certainly makes more sense now than it ever did before. Though I still cannot understand her choosing him over her only son.”
“The life of a royal woman.” He lay back and looked toward the curtains, dejected.
I swung myself around and leaned in. “I called her a puppet.”
“My mother?” he said with a laugh.
I nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
“And she did not attack you?”
“Not physically, no. There were things she needed to be made aware of and speaking to and of you as if you are not her son isn’t right.”
He watched me for a long while and then reached out for my hand, clasping our fingers together and kissing the back of my hand. We talked until nightfall once more, foregoing dinner in the main ballroom in honor of the king and queen’s return to the palace. But our absence hadn’t gone unnoticed.
The queen was at Norvack’s door moments before the feast began, adamant in speaking with her son. I vowed to leave the room to allow privacy, but Norvack insisted I stay. Eliza gave me a surly look as she went over to the bed and kissed his forehead. I stood on the other side near the curtains and crossed my arms. Norvack quickly looked over at me in an apologetic manner, and then smiled at his mother. She pressed her hand against his face and scowled.
“You are quite warm for it to be so late in the evening,” she said. “Have you been this warm all day?” She looked back at me. “Why didn’t you contact his physician?”
“My husband was of normal temperature prior to your entering the room
.”
She squint and exhaled harshly.
“Your hands are freezing, mother,” said Norvack, attempting to diffuse the growing tension. “It’s why I feel warm to you.”
“My hands are fine,” she insisted, still eyeing me cruelly. She snatched her hands away and got up from the bed, crossing the room to head straight for me. I stood straight and stiffened. “Have you been keeping him here this entire time? Inside this room?”
“The continued refusal to leave this room is his own choice, not my own. You are quite aware of that fact, and I will not force him to leave against his will.”
“I am quite aware that my son is warm,” she snapped.
“He was fine,” I replied through clinched teeth. “Prior to your entering, of that you should be quite aware.”
She sneered. “My, my--”
“Mother,” he interrupted.
The queen raised her hand to him. “Just a moment. Your wife is insinuating something.”
“I’m doing no such thing, your Majesty.” I simpered. “I am only insisting that your son was perfectly fine prior to your coming about. The physician was here just moments before, you are free to ask him if you choose.”
“I shall.” She looked away momentarily, then went back over to her son, outstretching her hands.
Norvack was doubtful, but took her hands in his anyway. “My wife has taken fine care of me,” he said.
“No better care than someone who can truly help you to heal.” She sat down. “The king and I traveled to the Netherlands to meet with a new physician, that was our purpose for going. Now, this man insists that within a matter of months, he can get you to walk again.”
He knit his brows. “How?”
“With herbs and physical therapy. He’s downstairs at the feast. I wished for you to meet with him tonight, but I wasn’t certain of your reaction to the news.”
“The entire country is aware I can no longer walk, what is it if one more person from another is now made aware.”
She stood up and then leaned down to kiss his cheek. “He shall meet with you in the east ballroom tomorrow morning at dawn.”
A member of her court entered, reminding her of the dinner’s start.
Eliza nodded and looked into my eyes. “Are you to join us?”
“I have had my feast of rats for the evening, thank you.”
She sighed and clinched her jaw. “You are a snippy one,” she muttered, exiting.
I ran to close the door then joined Norvack once more. He seemed more despondent than ever. I reached over for his hand, placing it in my lap.
“Perhaps if your gown were a few inches higher…”
I chortled under my breath. And then looked at him as he refused to smile at his own tease.
“She insists this man can help you heal,” I said.
“She is determined to keep me from becoming a complete invalid.”
“She is determined to help you walk again, which is what you desire as well.”
“Her insistence isn’t genuine,” he said.
“Perhaps not, but does it matter at all at this point? If this man can help you, can get you to ride once more… can allow you to make love to me.” He lifted a brow and his eyes lit up. “Then I believe meeting with him tomorrow morning and allowing him to help you is for the best.”
He raised his hand to my face and pressed his thumb on my lips. “To make love to you,” he whispered. His eyes traveled downward. “If for that reason alone, I shall learn to walk again.”
I rattled my head, laughing. “You are incredible.”
“I shall interpret that as a compliment.”
I slept in his arms that night. It was the first time in my entire life that I had truly felt safe, and at home anywhere, and with anyone.
The Challenge
I escorted Norvack to the east ballroom as directed at five a.m. sharp. When we entered, all the furniture had been moved aside and against the golden walls in place of a large set up of devices in the center that included all of the things needed for his physical therapy. One device which specifically stood out was a set of parallel bars made of metal attached to an elongated block of wood that had been sanded and shined. Norvack sullenly rolled over to it in his specially made wheel chair, pouting in the manner of a child. He clutched one of the bars in his right hand and gripped it tight, jerking it a little.
He swallowed a few times and clenched his jaw, hard. “This is going to help me walk again?” he asked in a sarcastic tone.
I walked over to him and lay my hands on his shoulders, squeezing a little to release the rising tension in his neck. “I assume so, yes.”
He rolled away from me almost immediately and to the other side of the bars. And then he sat back staring at them, rattling his head back and forth in anger. “I can hardly stand. How am I to…?” He paused and looked across the room at the other necessary items. He ran his tongue over his teeth and spun around in a fury.
I thought of going to him and then stopped myself, trotting over to the window instead, looking out onto the field. I saw one of Norvack’s men coming around the bend with his stallion, riding alongside it. They stopped for a moment and the man pulled something from his pocket, feeding the stallion. Then he pat his mane, and they trotted along to the stables in glee.
I stood back and pointed.
“Your horse does not appear as skittish as you claim,” I said. He turned aside and scowled. “One of the men from your court seems to handle him just fine.”
“Perhaps he’s been well fed this morning.”
I dropped my head. “Hmm, yes, perhaps the oats are keeping him from knocking one of your men to the ground with his right hoof.”
He grumbled. “Or… perhaps it’s me.” He rolled over to the window, looking out alongside me, watching as his stallion was to be properly placed in his pen. Norvack tightened his face, a line appeared between his brows. And then he mumbled, focusing on the wheels of his chair. “Perhaps I am the skittish one.”
I looked at the crown of his head, tempted to run my fingers through his hair to sooth him, but I managed to stop myself, just barely raising a hand to him.
I curled my fingers inside my palm and dropped my arm. “You are going to ride again,” I told him confidently.
He wiped his hand over his mouth and closed his fingers around his lips, muttering. “You can’t be certain of that.”
“I am,” I snapped. “I wish you believed in yourself even as half as much as I did. You would be quite better off.”
“I would rather not fill my mind with unrealistic expectations, Cinder girl,” he said, whirling away from me again, practically racing across the room.
“They are not unrealistic expectations, Norvack. You--” I strolled over, swinging my arms this way and that, and reached for the arm of his chair, spinning him around to face me. He dropped his mouth in shock and slight annoyance. I rested my hands on my chest and looked upward for a split second, then met his darkening eyes again. “My determination was a draw to you, was it not? Rooted in me since I was a child. You saw me in the square, stealing, bartering, doing whatever I needed to survive on my own in that tiny, rundown village. I was resolute, indomitable. And you are the same! You were determined to return to Denmark post academy, you did. You were determined to have me by any means, and now you do. Why not take all of that determination, all of that will and need to return home, to have me, and put it into relearning to walk again?”
“I am determined,” he said. “It’s no longer in question. But such determination does not prove a positive outcome.”
“You don’t. know. that.” I gradually raised and lowered my shoulders. “You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
“I am hopeful, which is more than I can say for you.”
He sat back and looked up at me, his eyes seemed to twinkle in the looming sunlight. “Were you always so ‘hopeful’ my favorite girl?”
“Are you joking?” I slapped
my hands against my legs and snorted. “I lived in an old cottage and ate rats for dinner for God’s sake. I was grateful to see another day alive, grateful if the Sheriff wasn’t trying to have me hung or beheaded for one reason or another in the square. I had no reason to be hopeful back then.”
“Did marrying me change that for you?”
I laughed. “What an arrogant question.”
“It’s honest.”
I waited, thinking. “The luxuries and security, I am grateful for it all, but it did not make me hopeful. Your accident… and when I learned of what happened to you, and that you had managed to survive such vicious attacks from the king and his men. That made me hopeful. It made me believe that almost anything is possible.”
“Almost, anything. You have introduced a disclaimer.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I say ‘almost’ because it’s true. Not everything is possible, I am not naïve enough to not understand it. But I remain hopeful that if all things are not possible, then most are.”
“And my learning to walk again qualifies as most.”
“Precisely.” I beamed. “You are going to get through this. And I am going to be here for you forev…” I stopped. “For as long as you need me.”
“I will need you forever,” he said. “I finished the sentence for you.”
“Forever is a long time.”
He shrugged and grinned. “It’s forever.”
A sudden burst of emotion filled my chest. I wished to take him in my arms, but abstained and went back over to the window to keep from looking into his lustful eyes.
Seconds later, the physician, Dr. Emmanuel, entered with the queen at his side. He was a tall, lithe and balding man with tiny patches of grey hair circling the shining crown of his head. He wore wire spectacles and a long black cloak, almost in the manner of a priest or monk. Or worse, a necromancer. His nose was red and bubbled at the tip, his brows were thick and bushy, contrasting his thin lips. I stared skeptically, wondering if this odd looking man could in fact help Norvack heal as claimed. He greeted the prince with a nod and bow, then walked over to shake his hand. I stepped forward and he greeted me by taking my hand and laying his head over the back of it.
