Rilla frowned. That didn’t seem right. Benoit, the footman at her family home, always asked the identity of a guest before even letting them in. Rilla gulped, apprehension slowing her steps.
“Is he a huge man?” she blurted. “Tall and broad, with a dark blue beard?”
Wilfred shot her a condescending look, his stubby nose pointing to the ornate ceiling. “I’m sure I would remember if Lord Bluebeard came to call upon you, My Lady.”
Rilla allowed herself to breathe. “Yes, I suppose you would. He’s rather hard to miss.”
They walked through the beeswax-scented hallways in silence. Rilla admired the oil paintings of legendary heroes, royal ancestors, and ancient deities. The thought of how Wilfred even knew of Lord Bluebeard crossed her mind. He was an important political figure back in Serotin, so she supposed his influence spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
She followed Wilfred into a drawing room. It was cozier than she’d expected, with its plush, green, velvet chaises and love seat, but something smelled off. Rilla looked left and right, but no one was in the room. The clomp of a heavy foot sounded from behind. She turned and found Lord Bluebeard looming over her, his eyes burning with blue flame.
Her pulse quickened, and a moan escaped her lips. Her gaze darted to the exit. Wilfred closed the double-doors, his painted face a mask of serenity and satisfaction.
“Wait, no!” she shouted at him, but the doors closed on her voice.
Lord Bluebeard grabbed her by the hand and forced her onto a small couch, then tried to sit next to her. Rilla’s insides rippled with a combination of fear and disgust. She yanked her hand away and shot out of her seat and darted across the room towards the doors. After pulling the staff from her bodice, she hesitated. Fighting him here would damage the royal furniture.
She turned the handle, but it was locked. Her gaze shot to the window. She could leap out, even if it meant ripping her skin to shreds on broken glass. Bluebeard blocked her path. Rilla dodged to the left, willing to run from wall to wall all day if it meant this brute would not touch her. She would avoid the half-ogre who beat his servants, kept slaves, and bought her like a farm animal to breed her until she died.
“Don’t you dare try anything,” she snarled, despite her racing heart. “There are guards everywhere, and I am the guest of the Crown Prince.”
“You dare refuse me?” Lord Bluebeard laughed. It was a harsh, bitter sound. “No force in this world can keep a man away from his rightful wife. Not even that impudent puppy, the spare heir no one bothered with until his brother got turned into a frog!”
“We aren’t married,” Rilla yelled. “Not now, and not ever. I don’t care what you paid for me. I wasn’t for sale, never was, and never will be.”
“Cendrilla,” he said, his tone softening to a sinister croon. “I am giving you one last chance. Leave this castle at my side and marry me. Do this, and I will forgive all transgressions against me.” He spread his mighty palms. “All of them.”
Rilla sucked in a long, surprised gasp. They stood, staring at each other like chess pieces across the board. There was a long silence, and Rilla used it to wonder what exactly he meant. Did he mean all her transgressions or was he referring to Jack, too? Would he release Jack from slavery and leave him in peace, despite him having killed Lord Bluebeard’s brother and kissed his intended bride? Jack’s safety was paramount to her, and she wondered if she would indeed be willing to trade herself for his freedom.
A loud commotion outside the doors stopped her from asking for clarification. In an instant, a furious Prince Armin burst into the drawing room, flanked by guards. With his imperfect hair and still-bruised face, it seemed he’d rushed to her aid while in the midst of dressing.
Lord Bluebeard curled his lip at the Prince and bowed, shallow enough to convey disrespect.
“Lord Bluebeard,” Prince Armin said through gritted teeth. “After your conduct last night, I find it inappropriate for you, the Ambassador of Steppe, to enter the palace without an appointment.”
“Your Highness, I am here to discuss matters with my betrothed.” His voice was laced with irritation. “With all due respect, your royal authority does not extend to interfering between a man and his contracted wife.”
“The discussion is over,” Rilla spat. “And we’re not married.” She strode to Prince Armin and turned to face Lord Bluebeard. He looked murderous.
“Splendid.” The prince gave her a small smile, then turned back to Lord Bluebeard. “In the future, you are not to enter this palace without an invitation. Is that understood?”
Lord Bluebeard glowered, but held his peace.
Prince Armin turned toward Wilfred, who was standing in the hallway his face even paler, despite the heavy makeup. “Escort Lord Bluebeard out of the palace and pack your things. Guards, see that he performs his final duty.”
When Lord Bluebeard left, shooting Rilla a filthy glare, her knees buckled with relief.
Prince Armin held her arm. “My Lady, your maid saw you leave with that servant, and then noticed her colleague lock you in this room with Lord Bluebeard. She informed me right away, and I came as soon as I could. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Thank you for your rescue.” She smiled at him, glad to have allies in this new world.
The prince beamed. “Excellent. Come with me to the garden. We will have lunch there.”
Rilla walked arm in arm with Prince Armin through a beautiful, walled garden. At this time of year, the weather was mild, and the sun shone overhead, providing a comfortable heat. Branches, budding with fragrant flowers swung overhead, serenaded by buzzing bees. A pond sparkled in the sunlight. Several frogs basked on stones near the water in clusters, except for one. He was on the other side of the pond, staring into the grass all alone.
Rilla’s heart twinged, realizing that it was Prince Alec.
Prince Armin looked at her face and sighed. “So you’ve heard the tale. It’s true, unfortunately. My parents lost their first born. I lost my brother, my playmate, and my role model. I will gain a crown I never wanted and was never meant to have.” His shoulders slumped. “I rather think my entire family would give up the Kingdom if it meant we could have Alec back.”
“Did he ever have a true love?”
Prince Armin shook his head. “None that we know of. We seldom marry for love. It’s usually for political gain.”
Rilla remembered the miller, whose son had been changed into a goat. The miller had planned on taking the young man to the enchanted realm to change him back. “And there’s no chance of getting an enchantress to break the curse?”
“Perhaps if he was cursed in a fit of anger, but this one was a conditional curse. The Earl of Sturm witnessed the event and reported the witch’s words back to us. Only fulfilling the condition of the curse can break it.”
“Which was a kiss from his true love.” Rilla cast her eyes over the depressed frog. She hoped the creature couldn’t hear their conversation from the distance they were standing. It would be awful to make Prince Alec’s condition worse by gossiping about him.
“Exactly,” Prince Armin said. “So instead, we give him the best life possible for a little frog. We can’t hope to find a woman open-minded enough to fall in love with an amphibian she’s never met.”
“It’s a tall order,” Rilla said, not knowing how else to respond.
They made their way to an octagonal glass gazebo, where a table for two was set with gold-edged china, and matching gold cutlery. A maid curtseyed as they entered. Prince Armin pulled out Rilla’s chair. She blushed, having never been treated like a lady before meeting the prince.
“I do hope this is the last we’ll see of Lord Bluebeard. His devotion to you is rather off-putting.” The Prince pushed in Rilla’s seat and walked around to take his own.
Rilla grimaced. “I think the word fixation is more apt.”
Prince Armin chuckled. “Perhaps you’re right.”
The maid was pouring wine into beau
tiful, crystal glasses, when a footman appeared, his eyes wild.
“Y-your Highness,” he said through labored breaths. “I apologize for the interruption, but representatives from Tundra are at the gate, demanding to speak with you. Their Queen has taken great offense at the execution of her subjects last night.”
“Her subjects?” Rilla blurted, flushing at her own audacity.
“The trolls.” Prince Armin’s face froze into a neutral expression. “They come from Tundra.” A muscle twitched over his clenched jaw. “Will you excuse me, My Lady?”
Rilla nodded and watched him storm out. The footman followed. She was left with the maid, who was staring at her with wide eyes. Rilla closed her eyes and rubbed her temple with her fingertips. The sharp, citrus aroma from the wine churned her stomach, and she was suffused with a wave of heat and dizziness. It was only now that Lord Bluebeard’s words had sunk in. Quite possibly, she’d lost her chance of earning Jack’s freedom. Her head drooped. Knowing Lord Bluebeard, his promise of ‘forgiveness’ would only last as long as he kept her alive. And when he finally killed her, he would go after Jack again.
The maid coughed, breaking Rilla out of her thoughts. “Would you like me to serve lunch, My Lady?”
Rilla paused. Should she be sitting here, enjoying the Prince’s hospitality when she had possibly started a war between Tundra and the United Kingdom of Seven? She should stand by Prince Armin, explaining to the people from Tundra that the trolls had been trying to kidnap the Prince, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault but theirs that they were executed. The confused gaze of the other woman made Rilla think again. What use would an undereducated, too-tall servant girl from Serotin be in such negotiations? She nodded, and said, “Yes. I’ll have lunch now, please.”
In matters of politics and current affairs in both the Seven Kingdoms and Known World, Rilla was woefully ignorant. As the servant served the vichyssoise, Rilla asked, “Do you know anything about trolls?”
“Yes, My Lady,” the maid replied. “The Snow Queen of Tundra is rumored to be a witch. The trolls are most definitely her subjects, so people are quick to believe the witchcraft rumors.”
“I was the one who set the trolls up to die,” Rilla murmured. “Do you think she’ll want to punish me?”
“Goodness, I should think not,” cried the maid. “You saved Prince Armin. I expect the Queen’s miffed because we took matters into our own hands, instead of sending the trolls to the Tundra embassy.” She blushed. “Not that I know anything, but I’ve heard a thing or two, working here.”
Rilla’s relief was interrupted by the appearance of yet another footman. This one was young and wearing a loose-fitting uniform, identical to Wilfred’s, but he lacked the ridiculous cosmetics.
“Ivan!” hissed the maid. “You know you shouldn’t be here.”
The young footman pulled at his collar and gave Rilla an awkward bow. He turned back to the maid. “Wilfred’s been sacked. They asked me to fill in as footman until they find someone else.”
“What do you know about being a footman? You belong in the stables.”
The boy blushed and stared down at the scroll he was carrying. “You need not say it like that, Bette.” His gaze darted to Rilla. “Not in front of the lady.”
“Well, it’s true. You’re a failure at everything else.”
Rilla bristled at the maid’s harsh words. She cleared her throat. “Ivan, is it?”
“Yes, Madam, Miss, Lady,” said the boy.
“I think you’re doing a fine job. Especially seeing as this is your first day.” Rilla gave him an encouraging smile.
“Yes, er…Miss Lady.”
“You say, ‘My Lady,’ when addressing the higher-ups,” the maid snapped.
“Is that scroll for His Highness?” asked Rilla.
The footman furrowed his brow and stared at the item in his hand for a few seconds. Then he started and said, “No, My Lady.” He held out the scroll. “It’s for you.”
“Oh, thank you.” She furrowed her brow and broke its seal.
“The magistrate’s clerk delivered it a few minutes ago,” the footman replied.
Rilla’s head snapped up. Magistrates were only used for legal disputes or judging criminal cases. Surely someone hadn’t witnessed the light blasting out of her hands and informed the authorities. If they had, it would be armed soldiers delivering summons, not an inexperienced footman. She yanked the scroll open and looked at the words written therein. Her gaze zoomed onto a single line: “Plaintiff: Lord Bluebeard.”
The Trial
Rilla dropped the scroll on her plate, spots forming in front of her eyes. Bowing her head, she sucked in deep gulps of air. She thought she was free of him. The journey to the capital and stay in the palace was supposed to protect her from his reach. Her head dropped to her chin. How far did Bluebeard’s reach extend? For a half-ogre living in a land where known trolls were executed, he certainly wielded a lot of power.
“Are you well, My Lady?” asked the maid.
Rilla shook her head. The warmth of the sun shining through the gazebo windows now felt like a hot, suffocating shroud. She wished Prince Armin could help, but he was busy trying to prevent a war.
“Should I call someone?” The footman edged toward the door.
Rilla’s eyes widened. “Yes. Do you have a quill and ink?”
The maid scurried out of the gazebo, leaving Rilla reading and rereading the scroll.
CROWN COURT OF THE CITY OF METROPOLE, KINGDOM OF CLEMENT
PLAINTIFF: Lord Bluebeard, Ambassador of The Kingdom of Steppe,
- Against -
Cendrilla Perrault, spinster of Moissan, Serotin
Plaintiff designates Metropole Crown Court as the place of trial.
To the above-named defendant,
YOU ARE HEREBY SUMMONED TO APPEAR IN THE CROWN COURT, KAPITAL PLAZA, TO DEFEND THE ACTION OF WHICH PARTICULARS ARE BELOW.
A lawsuit has been filed against you for not fulfilling a betrothal contract that was entered into between your guardian and the plaintiff. Under the terms of the agreement, Lord Bluebeard paid your guardian two thousand, five hundred gold crowns in exchange for your hand in marriage. The plaintiff has indicated he is not willing to accept a refund.
Therefore, immediately upon service of this summons, you must appear in the crown court to answer to the charges. Failure to do this will lead to your arrest, a judgement by default taken against you, and you will be liable for the costs of this action.
Archibald Voight
Voight and Voight Solicitors
Via Eunomia
Metropole
Clement
Another cough interrupted her trance. The maid stood by her side, holding a small, wooden box. She removed the lid and took out the writing implements. On the back of the scroll, Rilla wrote a quick message to Lord Florian, begging for his help. Her fingers shook, making the ink form ugly blots, but now was not the time for worrying about penmanship.
The more she thought about the contents of the scroll, the faster her heart thrummed in the bodice of her dress. She handed the scroll to Ivan. “Please, take this to the Lord High Steward as quickly as possible. And tell the Prince what has happened. My life could be at stake.”
Ivan balked at the missive and stepped back.
The maid tutted and took the scroll. “I will hand it to the nearest qualified footman. He’ll know to deliver it to the Lord High Steward as if his life depended on it.”
She spun on her heel and sprinted out of the open door. Rilla’s breathing slowed a little to see the maid taking her request with such diligence. She hoped Lord Florian could come to her before the tribunal. How he could help, she wasn’t sure, but having the highest-ranking government official by her side had to count for something.
“My Lady?” Ivan’s voice was low and uncertain. Rilla looked up. “The court clerk said you had to come right away, or armed guards would bring you to the Crown Court.”
“Fine,” she said with a
sigh and stood. Her legs shook under her skirt, and she was glad it skimmed the floor. Inhaling a deep breath, she held her head high and said, “Lead on, Ivan.”
As they walked through the ornate halls of the palace, Rilla wondered if this was to be the last time she would see its interior. If Bluebeard lost his temper and announced that she’d been the one to cause the magic blast, she wouldn’t be seeing anything anymore.
The guards opened the double doors of the palace and bowed. Ivan led Rilla across the courtyard, through the iron gates and across the Kaptial Plaza. In the sunlight, the limestone facades across the square shone like polished marble. She spotted the Crown Court, a large building with the same majesty as the palace. Statues of sword-wielding fairies stood on podiums, like avenging angels, and Rilla wondered how long she would have to wait until someone called her before the magistrate. She glanced around the busy square, hoping to see the official coach of the Lord High Steward, but shook her head. The message wouldn’t have time to reach him yet.
When they arrived at the entrance, an usher was already waiting for them. The man wore a plain black gown over his black jacket and breeches. He was a short, stout man, who had to tilt his head up to speak to Rilla.
“You must hurry and get inside, everyone is waiting. Foolish girl, this will not help your case at all.”
Rilla’s face blanched as she let that settle in. She thought she’d have time to gather herself, but she was already late. And she had no idea how Lord Bluebeard had organized everything so quickly. Lord Florian would never reach the court in time to help. Her heart sank. Once again, she was on her own, and the thought of facing Bluebeard and the judge made her want to run and hide in the forest.
The usher marched them to the courtroom where her tribunal was being held.
At the far end of the room, the judge slouched behind his high podium. His long, white wig slipped farther and farther down his red gown as his head drooped. On both sides of the judge sat similar court officials, all robed and wearing wigs.
The Academy (Perrault Chronicles Book 2) Page 3
