by J A Armitage
We wandered in silence through the garden. It was still a wasteland, forty acres of barren ground broken only by dull gray stems that protruded from the earth like stubble. It was also the most beautiful place I’d ever seen.
Lilian slipped her hand into mine. She had changed from her voluminous gown to a simple pink dress and had traded her veil for a single ribbon that pulled her hair back from her face.
“He’s married,” she said after we’d been walking for the better part of ten minutes.
I nodded and gazed out onto the grounds before us. The ballroom was on the other side of the palace, which meant it was unlikely that anyone looking out the windows would notice us strolling through the empty landscape even without the usual protection of bushes and tall grasses. We stopped underneath a young poplar tree.
I knew this tree; I’d planted it with Hedley a few years ago. The blight had hit it hard, and gray leaves now dripped from the branches like wet rags. Still, the trunk was still brown.
I wondered whether the tree would ever come back and whether a thread of life still ran through its core.
“Garritt is married to someone else,” Lilian said slowly, looking up at me. “He’s not married to me. He’ll never be married to me.”
“Not ever,” I said.
She leaned against the tree trunk. “I’m so happy.”
“You don’t look happy,” I said. “You look like you just got thrown off a horse and haven’t hit the ground yet.”
A laugh bubbled from her. “That’s about the truth, isn’t it?” She ran a hand through her hair, pulling strands loose from her ponytail.
I stepped forward and untied the ribbon. Her hair fell in a cascade of gold around her face.
“Turn around,” I said gently. “I’ll braid it for you.”
Her hair was like silk beneath my fingers, light, and smooth, and warm near her scalp. My fingers dove in and out of the waves in practiced motions, coaxing strands together to form a thick, glossy rope. She relaxed with my every motion, and I allowed my fingertips to brush against her neck and shoulders and back until the braid was completed. I tied it with the ribbon, and she turned back around to face me.
“I feel terrible,” she said as if confessing to an enormous mistake. “I’m so happy.”
“Why would you feel terrible? He’s married. He lied to you.” I frowned. “In addition to being a general all-around jerk, I mean.”
“Not about him,” she said. “Well, the money. It’s a shame to lose that. I don’t know how we’re going to manage. But even now, think about the wedding. People came from so far away, and there’s supposed to be a giant reception this afternoon and a party tonight and then a great feast tomorrow, and all the food’s been made, and we don’t exactly have food to waste right now.”
It was profoundly Lilian-like to stand in the middle of the drama of her life and still be consumed by the duties of her role.
She continued, words picking up pace like a train gathering speed. “And you cut down all your flowers--I can’t believe she made you cut down all your plants, it’s a sin--and the hall’s been decorated, and it’s just an outrageous amount of money and effort that’s all going to waste, and everyone’s been working so hard, and--”
I pressed my finger to her lips. She clamped them shut and raised her eyebrows at me, waiting for me to somehow soothe the giddy panic in her eyes.
And I knew how. Because I knew Lilian, and always had.
“Breathe,” I ordered.
She did, taking in a huge lungful and letting it out slowly while I smiled at her.
“I put those mushrooms your lady-in-waiting found in my private garden,” I said, trying to sound reasonable and measured. “So not all the plants are gone. These might even help us feed everybody. If we’re lucky, really lucky, you won’t need Remington’s money.”
She nodded, somehow willing to rely on my reassurances.
“As for the wedding feast.”
Lilian stared at me, breath suspended, waiting to see if I would dare to take the next step.
And I dared.
Stars, I dared.
I took both her hands in mine and slowly, aware of my every heartbeat, sank to one knee.
“Lils,” I said. “My beautiful, clever, fierce girl. Will you marry me?”
She stared at me, blue eyes enormous.
My stomach fell. I’d done it all wrong. Of course, she couldn’t marry me. Of course, the princess of Floris couldn’t marry her gardener. Her parents would never allow it. She would never do something so foolish. Just because this wedding had fallen through, I didn’t deserve--
And then she pulled me up, spun me around, and pinned me against the trunk of the tree.
“Yes,” she breathed.
Her soft strawberry lips covered mine. She kissed me more deeply than she’d ever dared before, and I kissed her back, our lips mingling and dancing like flowers in a sweet spring breeze. The scent of the still-fragrant earth rose up around us, and she pressed her delicate little hand to my chest and held me against the tree I’d planted and kissed me until the stars swam before my closed eyes.
19th April
As long as I lived, I would never forget the look on the king and queen’s face when we returned to the palace.
Last night, after we had kissed one another until even coming up for breath seemed futile, we had made our way back to the castle. For the first time in a long time, the guard standing outside the queen’s chambers let us in without a fuss.
It was clear when we entered, hand-in-hand, that we had interrupted an intense conversation. Queen Rapunzel was sitting on the sofa, and King Alder was pacing back and forth in front of her.
“Darling,” Queen Rapunzel was saying. “I daresay Lilian isn’t too devastated. Whatever just happened down there, it seems things have not been quite rosy between her and that duke.” The last words were filled with a disdain I’d rarely heard the queen direct at anybody. “Of course she’ll be upset for a while, but--”
Lilian cleared her throat. Her parents both jumped. They took in Lilian’s face, then mine, and then their gazes traveled down to our entwined fingers.
King Alder’s eyebrows shot up. The queen’s mouth dropped open a little bit, and then, to my utter amazement, a smile crept onto her features.
“It seems we’ve overlooked even more than I thought,” she said, still smiling but also looking as though she’d been stunned. “Am I right in thinking you two have some explaining to do?”
So we did. We sat on the sofa opposite the queen and told them everything: how double-faced the duke had been, how Lilian had been willing to marry him anyway to help the kingdom, and how Hedley had come to our rescue at the last moment with evidence of the duke’s fraud. And we told them about our feelings for one another and that I’d asked Lilian to marry me, and that she’d said yes.
“But we still need your blessing,” I finished, squeezing Lilian’s fingers tightly between mine. My heart raced, and the king and queen’s bewildered expressions did little to soothe the way my stomach swayed like treetops in a high wind. “It’s never been done before, a princess marrying her gardener. I know I don’t have much to offer. I don’t have anything, really.”
My heart pounded. I was a fool for thinking this was possible.
But I couldn’t give up now. Not with Lilian here next to me, her hand and her hopes all tangled up with mine.
“I know I’m not a duke or a prince or even a knight. I don’t have money or land or a title. And of course, I’m not asking to be king someday. Lilian is more than capable of ruling on her own. All I want to do is support her and make sure she knows she’s loved every single day. That’s all I can offer. I know it’s not much.”
The queen’s features softened. “But that’s everything.”
She glanced back and forth between us, her eyes lingering on Lilian’s face.
I dared to look, too. Lilian’s cheeks were flushed, but she was clear-eyed and held her head hi
gh. She met her mother’s gaze.
“Darling, that’s all we’ve ever wanted for you,” the queen said. “To be loved. To have a partner who can stand by your side the way we’ve stood by each other.”
She reached for King Alder’s hand, and he took it without even seeming to notice he had.
“We thought you liked him,” King Alder said. He still looked as bewildered as I’d ever seen him. “Sweetheart, we never would have encouraged your marriage if we’d known what he was like. We chose him because he seemed kind and considerate. He seemed like the kind of man who could serve Floris at your side.”
“It’s almost as if we shouldn’t be arranging royal marriages anymore,” Queen Rapunzel said lightly, but in a way that made me think this was a conversation they’d already had more than once.
King Alder glanced at her. “Yes,” he said. “It is almost like that.” He looked to Lilian. “It seemed to work in the past. Your grandparents adored one another.”
“It might have gone better if the duke was the kind of person he pretended to be,” Lilian said gently. “I was willing to marry him, even if he wasn’t Deon.” She glanced at me. “I would have tried my best to be a good wife and to care for him, even if I already loved someone else.”
“But darling, if you already loved someone else, there was no need to find you a husband,” the queen said. “We just… We didn’t know.”
Lilian frowned. “Mama, he’s been my best friend since I was born.”
The king cleared his throat, eyebrows furrowed like he was still trying to think this all through. “You two have always been more like… well, like siblings.”
Lilian tried to suppress a laugh, which only came out as a snort. I pressed my lips together and silently shook my head.
“Not siblings,” I said. “Never siblings.”
The queen stared at us. “Why on earth didn’t you say something?”
I hesitated. But she seemed genuinely puzzled. So did the king. He was watching us like he was waiting for one of us to start speaking a language he understood.
“Your Majesties,” I said, cautiously. “I’m a gardener. Lilian is a princess.”
The queen’s eyebrows drew together. They had been coated in gold, but hours after the interrupted wedding, hints of gray were beginning to peek through.
“What does that have to do with anything?” she said.
Lilian looked to me, but I couldn’t make sense of these people in front of us, either.
“My darlings,” the queen said. “I was a forest hermit before I became a princess. You can marry whomever you like.”
I stared at her. It couldn’t be that easy.
A broad smile spread across her face. “You love each other. You respect each other. And we all know Deon is exactly who he claims to be.” She leaned against King Alder and smiled at me. “You’ve always been our family. I can’t imagine anything more wonderful than to make you part of it for real.”
“And of course, you should be king eventually,” King Alder said as if he’d been puzzling over this question through most of the conversation. “You’ve already had the best education Floris can offer. You’d be an excellent king. Much better than that pretender from Thornton.” He scowled at Lilian. “Did he really harass your maids?”
She nodded. I silently promised myself to never, ever mention that he’d also tried to shove Lilian around.
“We were thinking,” Lilian said. “All the guests are already here, and we’ve spent so much money on the celebration. I already have a dress. Could we just… go ahead with the wedding?”
The queen considered this for a moment.
“Tomorrow.” She glanced up at King Alder. “We can have the ceremony in the morning and go straight into the other celebrations afterward.”
The king had taken only a moment to consider, and then a broad smile had spread across his face.
“Tomorrow,” he agreed.
He turned to me and leaned over, offering me a hand. I took it, and he shook my hand, his grip firm and warm as an embrace.
“Welcome to the family, Deon,” he had said, clasping my hand in his. “Welcome, at last.”
Now, it was tomorrow. And in moments, I would walk through the throne room doors, take my place at the front of the room, and marry the love of my life.
Reed nudged me. I’d asked him to be my impromptu best man, and while he’d been utterly bewildered at the news that I was about to marry the princess, he’d agreed and was now right at my side.
“The lilies are taken care of,” he said. “Being in the shed didn’t seem to hurt them any. Glad you hid a few from the duke.”
“I’m just glad they survived.” I stretched my arms, trying to relieve the nervous tension building in my neck and shoulders. At least, the suit the palace had provided me with actually fit today.
“A couple of dark days isn’t enough to kill anything,” Reed said. “Least of all, a lily that makes it own light.”
“Sir?” someone said.
It took me a moment and another nudge from Reed to realize the assistant had been talking to me. He bowed and gestured toward the door.
“It’s time to take your place.”
I took a deep breath, and Reed and I walked into the throne room. All the guests from yesterday were there, dressed again in their wedding finery, but now, Hedley and Hyacinth sat in the place of pride on the front row, next to where the king and queen would sit when they arrived. Hyacinth smoothed her hair and beamed at me, and Hedley gave me a slow grin.
Music floated through the air, and the doors at the back of the room opened. Flower girls entered, but they didn’t carry baskets of petals. Instead, each little girl carried one of my Gilded Lilies in a silver pot. The flowers’ petals had just opened for the day, and each blossom cast rays of dancing golden light onto the girls’ faces. People gasped and murmured as they walked up the aisle.
When they arrived at the front of the room, the girls placed the lilies on small marble pedestals that surrounded the altar in a crescent shape. The littlest girl, one of Queen Rapunzel’s ladies’ children, stumbled as she tried to lift the pot. I darted forward and steadied her, and together, her chubby hands next to mine, we set the lily on its stand.
The little girl grinned up at me and ran to her mother, who was waiting in one of the front rows.
Lilian’s ladies-in-waiting came next, each one in a beautiful gown of pink and gold.
And then, as the music changed to the swelling tones of the Tulip March, Lilian appeared at the end of the aisle.
I had seen her in her gown yesterday. I knew the way her shoulders floated above its loose sleeves. I had already witnessed the lines of the bodice skimming her beautiful curves. There was nothing new about the gossamer veil that covered her face or her golden necklace with its glass heart resting between her collarbones, or the shimmering slippers that peeked out from the hem of her voluminous skirt.
I had seen it all before, and still, she took my breath away.
She grinned at me, and it was nothing like the fixed smile that had graced her features before. Her parents walked behind her, both of them sharing in her joy. The queen’s enchanted wig shone beneath a delicate lace veil, and King Alder gently touched the small of her back as they reached the end of the aisle. The king kissed the top of Lilian’s head before taking his seat, and the queen stopped to kiss my cheek before joining him.
Lilian took her place next to me and lifted her veil. The golden light from my lilies frolicked first across the fabric, then across her creamy skin.
“Dearly beloved,” the officiant began. “We are gathered here today to join together this man and this woman in marriage.”
I met Lilian’s eyes, and his voice seemed to fade away. For a moment, time stood still, and there was only this spectacular woman standing before me--this woman who had been by my side throughout my whole life, as my friend, my companion, my confidant, and now, my bride.
Her smile shifted to a smirk, an
d she gestured toward the officiant with her eyes. I could almost hear her voice in my head: Pay attention, Deon.
I did my best.
We had selected new readings last night, hurriedly combing through old books and reminding each other of poems we had loved over the years. One of Lilian’s ladies recited a verse from a book of flower poems, and Reed delivered a passage from a novel Lilian had read to me once while I’d worked in the gardens. The words cascaded over me like water.
And then, Reed stepped forward with our rings. We’d picked these last night, too, in a last-minute dash to make this ceremony our own. King Alder had taken us to the royal treasury and showed us cases upon cases of jewelry that had been in the family for centuries. We’d chosen them together. Lilian’s gold ring was shaped like a flowering lily, with a sparkling diamond in the center of the bloom, and mine was a strand of leafy vines twining eternally around one another into a perfect circle.
The officiant asked if anyone had just cause why we couldn’t marry. The room stayed blessedly silent. And then, following his directions, we said our vows.
“I, Deon Gilding, take thee, Lilian Acacia Calanthe, for my wedded wife,” I repeated. My heart pounded, and I felt as if I was about to stumble over the words, but Lilian’s gaze on mine kept me steady. “From this day forward, I promise to be there for you always as a strength in need, a comfort in sorrow, a counselor in difficulty, and a companion in joy. Through all the seasons of our lives, in good weather and in bad, I vow to tend to our marriage with the love and care of a gardener blessed by the gods.”
My voice caught. I’d forgotten those words were in the traditional Florian vows. Impulsively, Lilian reached forward and grabbed my hand.
The officiant smiled at us. I took Lilian’s ring and placed it carefully on her finger.
She repeated the vows, her voice clear and strong. “I vow to tend to our marriage,” she finished slowly, placing a gentle weight on each word. “With the love and care of a gardener blessed by the gods.”
