by Vicky Savage
“You know what I mean.” His steady gaze holds mine. “I know him. He would not have let you leave his sight again once you were restored to him. What has happened?”
I can’t even say the words. It hurts too much, and I don’t want Father to worry about me. Staring at the carpet of saffron petals beneath my feet, I struggle to swallow the large boulder lodged in my throat. “Ryder and Erica have been … seeing each other,” I croak.
This is not what he expected to hear. I know because he rocks back slightly on his heels. He pulls me into a gentle embrace, and I lean my forehead on his shoulder, crying quietly into his shirt.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he says softly. “I had no idea. You must be terribly upset. Does he intend to honor his engagement with you?”
“That’s not the issue, Da… Father,” I pull away from him, swiping at my nose with my hand. “He says he loves me and wants to marry me. The thing is, I don’t know if I still want him.”
“But Jaden, he thought you were dead. Surely you can’t—”
I hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t even go there. I’m not ready to be reasonable yet. I feel betrayed and angry. It’s not rational, I know, but it’s how I feel. I need time to let my emotions settle before I speak with him again.”
“I understand,” he says. “Is there anything I can do?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. Just don’t tell Mother, please. I don’t want to upset her.”
“As you wish. But she’ll need to be told eventually. She will most certainly wish to begin planning a lavish wedding for you and Ryder now that you have returned.”
“You think so? Already? But I’m not legally required to marry until I’m twenty.”
“That is a correct statement of the law,” he says. “But you know your mother. She will want to see you wed before she departs this life. Are you prepared to deny her that?’
Gulp. Probably not. “I’ll figure it out soon. I promise, Father.”
NINE
After several hours on the road, the stress of the last two days wears on me. I’m fatigued and glum, not to mention dust-caked and saddle-sore. But when Warrington Palace finally comes into view, my spirits soar. Not only because my mom’s there, and because it’s filled with wonderful memories, but also because it’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.
The massive structure itself is constructed of glittering white marble in the tradition of fine old English castles, with its share of turrets, crenellations, and one soaring round tower with a greened-copper roof and a graceful spire reaching heavenward. Ivy crawls endlessly along the northern walls, and scores of glistening windowpanes reflect the pearly-silver light of the dome, as if the palace emanates a celestial illumination. The castle is centered on the side of a fertile knoll and is surrounded by peaceful gardens, playful fountains, and blossoming trees. It feels like coming home, although it’s more like the home of my dreams.
An enormous metal gate now stands at the foot of the promenade leading to the palace entrance. This is something new. It appears the entire palace grounds are now surrounded by a twelve-foot wrought-iron fence with guards posted every few yards. Father waves at the sentries guarding the gates, and they open them for us immediately. We’re obviously expected.
Before we reach the hitching rail next to the front entrance, the massive palace doors swing open, and out step Uncle Harold and my cousin Osrielle. I have to smile when I see them both in all their Domerican finery.
Father and I dismount and make our way up the sweeping white stairway toward them. Ralston trails closely behind. Osrielle rushes to hug me. “Cousin! I’m very happy to see you. It was so sad when we thought you were dead.”
I give her a big hug, and then hold her at arm’s length to have a better look at her. She’s the picture-perfect Princess in her blue satin dress and white sash. The toes of her prim satin slippers peek out from under the hem. Her corn-silk hair cascades down her back, held in place by a crown of silver twining vines. “Oz, you look beautiful,” I say. “It’s good to see you too.” Back home, Oz, always the tomboy, dresses mainly in jeans and New York Yankees sweatshirts.
Uncle Harold holds out his arms for me. He wears a dove-gray cutaway coat and a yellow brocade vest, perfectly tailored to hug his rotund midsection. His plump face is more doughy-white in this existence than it is in Connecticut. His thin lips almost disappear in his smile.
“Dear Jaden. How fortunate we are to have you home,” he says in his quiet, soothing voice. “This is truly a day for rejoicing. Blessed be the Chosen.”
I give him a warm hug. “Thanks Uncle Harold. Nice to see you too. Is Mother inside? I’m anxious to see her.”
“Come in, all of you,” he says, shaking hands with Father and Ralston. The light glints off of an enormous diamond pinky ring on Harold’s right hand. He’s always loved his bling. Turning, he links his arm through mine and leads us all inside.
Applause startles me as we clear the threshold. Members of the household staff form lines on either side of the broad foyer, smiling and clapping. Each person bows or curtseys as we pass. I nod at Mother’s longtime butler, Samuel, and stop to hug my maid and friend, Maria, truly happy to see her again.
Uncle Harold steers me toward the large drawing room. “Jaden, your mother has just had her afternoon dose of medication. She frequently becomes fatigued and nauseated immediately afterward, so she is lying down for a few moments. In the meantime, I have arranged for us to have tea so we can visit, and you can bring us up-to-date on your recent trials. We were horrified to hear that you were forced to live with savages for a time before being rescued by the white-robes. It must have been quite traumatic for you.”
The drawing room has been laid out with all the makings of a formal high tea. Two maids hover near the sideboard, placing paper-thin china teacups on saucers. Silver trays arranged with pyramids of tiny tea sandwiches have been set out. Baskets overflowing with scones are flanked by cut-glass bowls brimming with butter, clotted cream, and assorted jams. A selection of sugar cakes and fruit tarts is arranged in a starburst pattern on a large round platter, and a golden dish piled high with chocolate truffles completes the mini-feast. The maids curtsey as we enter and shuffle to the side, whispering and staring curiously.
“Please, everyone, be seated,” Uncle Harold says gesturing to the overstuffed sofas and chairs nearest the sideboard. “I should like to offer a small prayer of thanks, and then the ladies will be delighted to serve you.”
“This looks great, Uncle Harold,” I say. “Thank you so much for arranging it, but I really want to see my mother. It’s been a long day, and I’m not very hungry. I’ll just have tea in my room later.”
A look of worry creases Uncle Harold’s face. “I do not think it wise to excite your mother at this time, Jaden. Her condition is quite delicate, and she needs her rest. Come, sit for a while. It will be best for all.”
“I appreciate your concern, Harold, but I think seeing me might be just what Mother needs. And I really need to see her, too.” Maybe I’m being selfish, but my boyfriend’s just broken my heart and I a need a hug from my mom. “I promise I’ll be careful not to tire her out. Enjoy your tea.” I kiss Father on the cheek. “Oh, Uncle Harold, is Drew coming for dinner?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says softly.
“Great. I’ll see you all then.”
The family quarters of the palace are in the east wing on the second floor. I sprint up the stairs, hurrying to the end of the long hallway. The queen’s suite is the grandest in the palace, with a mile-long balcony and a gorgeous view of the countryside. Mother’s door stands slightly ajar. I wait outside, listening for a moment, in case the doctor is still with her. I hear no voices, so I slowly push the door open. Her curtains are tightly drawn, and the only light in the darkened room comes from a small bedside lamp. Mother lies asleep on top of the coverlet, but someone else is there also—in the chair on the opposite side. He’s slumped across the bed, head resting o
n his arms
The scene feels a little awkward, so I step back outside the door and knock loudly. The man’s head jerks up and, to my astonishment, I realize it’s General LeGare. He springs to his feet and bows low.
“Princess Jaden.” He’s tall and young and tough-guy handsome, with line-backer shoulders and a shaved head. He’s dressed in full uniform today, medals and all, his sword propped against the chair.
“General. What are you doing here?” I ask.
He carefully skirts around the bed and bows again. “Queen Eleanor sometimes has a difficult time with her medication. I sit with her in the afternoon to make certain … Well, to comfort …” He stammers and looks fleetingly at Mother. His usual badass arrogance seems to have vanished completely along with the giant ruby stud he always wore in his ear. His face holds only worry and something akin to sorrow.
“You sit with my mother? Every afternoon?”
“Yes.”
I take a step toward him and put my hand on his arm. I always disliked LeGare because he seemed so self-important, and because he wore his affection for my mother on his sleeve. At the moment, I feel a sharp pang of sympathy for him, knowing the pain he must be going through.
“Thank you, Charles.” It’s the first time I’ve used his given name. “Thank you for taking care of Mother. Not just now, but before too. I know you must love her. You’ve always put her welfare above your own.”
He looks at me with watery eyes. “I am grateful that you’ve come home, Princess. I believe now that you are here Eleanor will be more at peace. And now all of Domerica can rest easier knowing you will carry on her wise and capable governance.”
His words are so unexpectedly kind, I have to swallow back my emotion.
Kissing my hand, he says, “I will leave you two. The queen was overjoyed to receive the news of your imminent homecoming. She has been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
LeGare softly closes the door behind himself as I move to Mother’s bedside. Her face is pale and waxen, but still amazingly beautiful. A long graceful hand rests atop her slender waist. I lift it and gently touch it to my cheek. Mother’s eyes flutter open, and a tender smile curves her lips.
“Jaden.” Her voice is a wisp of its former self. “My lovely girl. My heart has wings to see you, darling. If only the rest of my body could soar as well.” A tear slips from the corner of her eye.
I lean in and kiss her. “Mother, I love you so much. I’m sorry for all the pain and suffering I’ve caused you.”
“Shhh. The things that bring us the greatest joy also bring the greatest sorrow, my dear. It is a simple fact of life. You’ll know more about that when you have children of your own. I regret that I will not be here to know them.”
“Mother, please don’t talk like that. You still have plenty of time left,” I say, knowing it’s a lie.
“Well, perhaps enough time to see you married, at least. Is young Blackthorn with you?” She raises her head slightly to peer around me.
“He’s not here right now. He had some pressing business, but he’ll be here soon.” Lie number two in about as many minutes. It’s getting to be a habit with me … more like a way of life, actually. I don’t particularly care for the way it makes me feel.
“Good.” She closes her eyes and sighs. “Perhaps we can discuss your wedding date when he arrives,” she mutters.
“I’m going to let you rest now,” I say. “I want you to feel well by dinnertime.”
“Yes. The medicine fatigues me so. The effects usually wear off within a few hours. Thank you for coming straight to me, darling. I was concerned that Harold might try to keep you from me. He’s been so protective.”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me from you, let alone Uncle Harold. I’m glad he’s been taking good care of you, Mother,” I say, kissing her again. “Rest well.”
LeGare hovers patiently outside the door. “Is she all right?” he asks with careworn eyes.
You mean other than the fact that she’s dying? “Yes,” I say. “She’s sleeping, but you can go back in. I’m sure she’d like that.”
My next stop is the princess’s room, my room now. The sight of Mother was like taking an express elevator from mildly depressed down to the depths of despair. I need a hot bath or a nap or a frontal lobotomy, some way to escape all this internal turmoil. Mother seems so weak. I don’t want to think about what the coming weeks will bring, and worse, what I’ll do when she’s gone.
How the hell am I supposed to take over as Queen? Not only that, Father was right, she expects to plan a wedding for me. How do I deal with that? Even if I still want to marry Ryder, do I want to do it now? Is this really the life I’d choose?
Opening the princess’s double doors, I’m relieved to find that the room looks exactly as it did when I left—warm, bright, and welcoming. Gaily-colored flowers spill from cut-glass vases. The fake fireplace has been turned on, and the crystal logs dance cheerily with red and gold light. I expected to find the place musty, cold, and vacant, but with a household staff of hundreds, that’s not likely to happen.
I ease down into one of the brocade-upholstered chairs in front of the fireplace and tug off my boots. Someone knocks lightly. “Princess?”
Hurrying from my chair, I throw open the door for Maria. She’s the closest thing to a girlfriend I have in Domerica, and I hug her warmly.
She beams at me. “I could not believe it when they said you were alive. Blessed Mother of God, it is a miracle.”
“Come in and sit down,” I say, pulling her by the hand. “How have you been? Is everything good with you?”
She takes the seat opposite my chair. “Oh yes. All is well with me. I am engaged now, too.” She holds up her left hand, displaying a slim golden band set with a small round diamond.
My heart dips at the thought of my own teetering engagement. “It’s beautiful,” I say. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.” I look away and swipe at an accidental tear.
“Are you all right, Princess?”
I sigh. “Yes. I’m tired, and I’ve just come from my mother.”
“Oh. I am so sorry she is ill. But what can I do for you? Do you wish to bathe, or would you like to rest?”
“Both, I think. Bath first, then a nap before dinner.”
“I will run the water and get your robe,” she says kindly. “May I brush your hair out for you before you bathe?”
“No,” I say, pulling my shorter braid over my shoulder. “I’ve cut it, so it’s not nearly as hard to handle. I’ll take care of it. But do you have any of that detangling tonic from Cupola de Vita.”
“Of course. I’ll set it out for you.”
Freeing my tightly plaited tresses, I run my fingers down their length while Maria fills the pool-sized tub with steamy, hot water and aromatic bath beads.
“Would you like help undressing?” she asks.
“No thank you, but if there’s any of Ralston’s famous chamomile tea still in the kitchenette, I’ll take a cup of that.”
“I believe there is. Let me get it for you.”
Shedding my dusty clothes, I step into the soothing bath. Aah. I’d forgotten how wonderful it is to have luxurious accommodations and servants attending to my every need. This part is nice, at least. And it could be the norm from now on… should I decide to stay.
TEN
I awaken from my nap to a gentle tapping on my door. “Who is it?” I call.
“It’s Oz, and I’ve brought some friends.”
I’m thrilled when I open up to find Oz holding a Skorpling in each arm. “Ethel! Fred! Come here. I’ve missed you so much.”
Fred jumps from Oz’s arms into mine. “Jay, Jay,” he cries in his munchkin-like voice.
Ethel seems a little shy and disbelieving. She holds out a tiny, furry hand. “Jay?” she says softly. I lean down so she can better see my face. She strokes my cheek gently. “Jay.” Crawling into my arms, she nestles her fuzzy head under my chin, making little mewling noises. I think s
he may be crying. My heart nearly cracks in two.
Skorplings are rare and remarkable creatures. They look like a cross between a monkey and a kola bear, gray, furry, and lovable. Besides being remarkably cute, they have a limited amount of speech, they smile, and they’re tons of fun.
“Come on, Oz,” I say, and we all pile on top of my bed. Fred jumps up and down on my pillows, but Ethel stays glued to my neck.
Fred wears a miniature green brocade coat, and Ethel’s got on a matching doll-sized dress. “I like your new dress,” I tell her.
“Jay home,” she says in her tiny musical voice, keeping her face hidden in my hair.
Fred positions himself behind Oz, and begins playing with strands of her corn silk tresses. She laughs. “I love Fred and Ethel,” she says. “Father allows me to play with them for an hour each day.”
