King of Devotion

by J A Armitage

  Of course, it hadn’t. And I had better hope with all the power of my lucky stars that Jonquil would never know I’d tried to magic the tulips back to life. If he thought I was an arrogant upstart now, I couldn’t even imagine what he’d think of me if he knew I’d thought, for even a second, that I might be the equal of the creator of the dragontree.

  I dumped the rotting bulb into a rubbish bin and hurried out of the warehouse. I had things to do, and pretending to be some kind of mighty plant wizard was an even worse waste of time than pining over the princess of Floris.

  The sweet, dark, taste of the cook’s smoked salmon spread across my tongue, and my body welcomed the food. Breakfast felt like a lifetime ago, and this lunch was a late one. Somehow, I’d managed to carry it all the way from the servants’ dining hall to my private garden without getting stopped by someone on my staff.

  Every moment I had to myself between now and the Flower Festival would be a stolen one. Stolen—and necessary. I needed every spare second to work on my own entry into the festival’s biggest contest.

  There were dozens of competitions throughout the course of the event, with prizes awarded for things like biggest pumpkin, most beautiful themed garden, and best-tasting orchard fruit. The highlight of them all, though, was the flower contest, and I intended to win.

  This was my chance to prove that I deserved my job—to the other gardeners, and to myself.

  I layered salmon and cheese onto the next fat slice of bread and tore through the makeshift sandwich as I contemplated the tasks ahead of me. This wasn’t just an exercise in selective breeding: My entry into the flower competition required careful pruning, excellent timing, …and a little magic.

  Even an ordinary person like me could purchase water infused with the essence of draconite, as well as fertilizer made from unicorn droppings and decayed lotus leaves. All these little additions were allowed in the flower competition, even encouraged, and I wasn’t about to dismiss anything that could give me an edge.

  I heaped soil around the base of my flowers and pruned their extra buds with a small pair of silver scissors. I hummed as I worked, playing against the melodies of the songbirds that called my private garden home. Time slipped away, and for a while, I didn’t think about the rest of the competition, about Jonquil, about my responsibilities as Head Gardener, or even about Lilian. The world narrowed to the size of my hands as they dug and clipped and arranged.

  I was only roused by the peals of the palace bells striking out a cheerful melody. It was six o'clock; the household was being called to take a moment to express thanks. The ritual had been started by Queen Rapunzel shortly after her marriage to the king, and those bells had guided the course of my childhood. I stopped what I was doing, as always, and savored a deep breath.

  During our childhoods, Lilian and I had often stopped playing when the bells sounded, long enough to shout our thanks back and forth to one another. We had tossed the words around like a ball: I’m thankful for lemon tarts! I’m thankful for hummingbirds! I’m thankful for strawberry jam! You’re always thankful for strawberry jam, Deon, show a little imagination!

  Now, I touched the thick green stem of the flower before me.

  I’m thankful for my job.

  I’m grateful for my place at the palace.

  I’m grateful for Lilian. Please let him be good to her.

  The last bell faded to silence, and I realized the light in the garden was taking on the golden hue of early evening. It wouldn’t be true dusk for another couple of hours, but springtime evenings seemed to stretch out in Floris as if the sun itself wanted to linger over the beauty of our gardens.

  I put my tools neatly back in the small shed in the corner of my garden, then made my way out and toward the palace. The sweet aroma of jasmine and the subtle beeswax scent of wisteria danced around me as I walked down a paved path under a long arbor.

  A few elegant figures came down the path toward me, the women’s skirts, the same pale purples and whites of the wisteria overhead. The men were both clothed in rich fabric, the king’s a deep emerald silk and the others in ruby and sapphire velvet.

  I stepped aside to let them pass, my heart pounding. I bowed as the king approached, then took in the people with him: an older man and woman, both wearing silver circlets, and a handsome man a few years older than me, whose ruby tunic revealed a trim shape and aristocratic posture.

  “Your Majesties,” I murmured.

  I waited for them to pass, but King Alder stopped and nodded at me.

  “Deon,” he said with a characteristically kind smile.

  He was a robust man still, only in his forties, and Queen Rapunzel beside him was radiant. Her bright golden hair was concealed today by an elaborate lace-and-silk headscarf that fluttered prettily down her back, but her face glowed as brightly as ever.

  She held out a hand to me. I was supposed to take the hand and bow over it with a delicate air kiss, but the queen had never allowed formalities between us. She squeezed my hand instead in warm greeting.

  “Deon,” she repeated. She turned to their guests. “Your Graces, this is Mr. Deon Gilding, our head gardener and someone very dear to us all. He’s in charge of the palace’s preparations for the Spring Flower Festival.”

  “A momentous task indeed,” the older man said.

  I didn’t need introductions: This could only be Duke Markus, the former Duke of Thornton, and Lilian’s future father-in-law.

  “I hope I can represent Floris well, Your Grace.” I bowed deeply.

  “His displays are going to be beautiful,” Lilian said.

  So far, I had avoided looking at her. Now, I couldn’t keep my gaze from flitting toward her face. A single glimpse was enough to reveal a few important facts: she was smiling at me, she was nervous, and she was arm-in-arm with her betrothed.

  Her future husband and my future king, Duke Gerritt Remington, nodded politely at me. “If these gardens are any indication, it’s little wonder our Spring Flower Festival is the highlight of every Florian’s year. Princess Lilian showed me the hedge maze this morning, and it was nothing short of an experience.”

  I thanked him with a bow. The hedge maze had been on the palace grounds since before I’d arrived, but I had worked with Hedley a few years back to fill it with surprises: a statue clothed in a gown of climbing ivy here, a cluster of whistling bluebird bells fluttering in the air there, and in the center, a stunning display of Floris’s native flowers arranged in an old fountain, the sprays of white bridesbloom and lavender sweetchain tumbling down its layers like water.

  Lilian smiled up at Duke Remington. “I’ve always thought that,” she said. “The festival being the highlight of the year, I mean.”

  It was such a tiny bit of common ground, but watching her find it with someone else made my stomach clench.

  I’m grateful for Lilian, I reminded myself. I want her to be happy.

  I just wished she could be happy with me.

  She did, too. The way her gaze caught on my face right after she spoke made our agreement on the subject clear as day. But I was a commoner—not just a commoner, but her servant. The idea of the crown princess of Floris marrying her gardener was laughable.

  Having Lilian’s love but being unable to act on it felt like I’d been whisked away to the most beautiful scenery on earth and then forced to appreciate it from behind the bars of a cage.

  It was a cage I would have to accept. Royalty had to marry within the aristocracy. There had always been rumors that King Alder and Queen Rapunzel had broken that rule, but I had never given the gossip any credit. Queen Rapunzel was every bit the monarch, and King Alder was too honorable to have opposed his parents’ wishes and gone against the laws of the land.

  Anyway, royal marriages weren’t just about laws. Thornton was Floris’s strongest duchy, with a militia that put the rest in the land to shame. And the duke’s family had wealth that rivaled the king’s.

  There were a dozen reasons Lilian should marry Duke Remi
ngton, and the only argument against it was the wistful look in her eyes.

  “I hope the palace plans to display some Thornton roses,” Duke Remington said, jerking me from my thoughts. He offered a warm smile. “I am, of course, not impartial, but I think the varieties from my home province are some of the most beautiful in the country.”

  “No garden would be complete without Thornton reds,” I said with a slight bow. “And I wouldn’t dream of leaving out some of your cabbage rose cultivars. The salmon blushed is a particular favorite of mine.”

  The duke’s smile widened. “Mine also. Some call the bloom ostentatious, but I’m of the opinion that there is no such thing as too much when it comes to roses.”

  Thorns and stinging nettles, I was at risk of liking the man.

  “I was particularly fond of the new raspberry freesia the palace debuted last year,” Duchess Annemie said. “The scent was sublime. Will you be showing it again this year?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” I said. “We’ll also have seeds for sale, as well as freesia oil for perfumes.”

  Her cool smile broadened a little. “How delightful.”

  “I’d be happy to send a bottle to your quarters, Madam,” I said.

  The duchess accepted the offer with grace. Behind her, Lilian mouthed, thank you, and I glanced quickly away from her.

  They moved on. I made my bows, then turned and marched away, all too aware of the sound of their footsteps receding down the wisteria path.

  27th March

  The tension outside the chamber was thick enough I could have cut it with a pair of pruning shears. The other applicants’ covert glances had gotten less and less covert every time the Horticulture Council secretary had come out to this hallway to check on me.

  The fourth time, my stomach twisted into a knot.

  “Any luck?” the man asked kindly.

  King Alder and Queen Rapunzel still hadn’t arrived for our meeting with the Council—our meeting, which was supposed to be the first of the morning, and the completion of which would allow all these other gardeners and groundskeepers and florists to present their proposals to the group that was the final authority on the Flower Festival.

  I shook my head, wishing I could disappear into my seat. It wasn’t my fault the monarchs were late, and no one would dare to blame them when they arrived. But I was a boy with dirt under his nails, not a king. The others waiting in this corridor could give me all the filthy looks they liked.

  “They must have gotten held up,” I said.

  I glanced down the line; an older man with an unkempt beard was giving me a distinctly unpleasant glare.

  “There’s no reason to keep delaying everyone else’s meetings,” I said. “I’m sure the king and queen won’t mind waiting a few moments if you allow these other fine people to have their audiences first.”

  The secretary frowned, which made his already thin lips get even narrower.

  “The Council traditionally uses its audience with the king and queen to inform the rest of its decisions throughout the day,” he said.

  “I understand that,” I said. “But surely, it wouldn’t hurt to let one or two people go ahead?”

  The secretary hemmed and hawed and finally waved at the next person in line to come forward. There was an audible sigh of relief from a few in the queue.

  I understood their frustration. The Flower Festival had us all on edge.

  I sank back into my seat and silently prayed to whatever gods might be listening for the king and queen to arrive soon and safely. In the back of my mind, I prayed Lilian would arrive with them, for some unforeseeable reason, but then I took it back and hoped she wouldn’t show up today because I didn’t think I’d be able to get through this meeting with her watching me.

  The Horticulture Council was one of the most powerful groups in Floris. Their opinions could make or break the career of any gardener, landscaper, or florist. I had some protection from their whims, thanks to the dumb luck of having been dropped off at the palace instead of an orphanage when I was a baby, but the butterflies in my stomach still performed acrobatic free dives at the thought of presenting to them.

  Now that Lilian was to be married, this job was literally all I had. I couldn’t be anything less than perfect today.

  Murmuring voices drifted through the crack under the heavy door, not loudly enough that I could make out words but enough to convey tone: a quick, anxious pattering on the part of the man who’d just gone in to present, and calm, slow cadences from Council members.

  Another person went ahead of me, then another. Each time the door opened and closed, the tension in the pit of my stomach tightened.

  Where were the king and queen? It wasn’t like them to be late. This was my first-ever meeting with the Horticulture Council, and the first time I would join the monarchs as one of their heads of staff. I was here to provide detailed information about the gardens and our plans for the festival, but King Alder and Queen Rapunzel were to lead the meeting. I couldn’t do it without them.

  By the time an hour had passed, the Council secretary’s demeanor had changed. He pursed his lips at me as he led the next person into the room, skepticism etched on his face. I clenched my hands in my lap.

  I was Head Gardener of the palace of Floris, I reminded myself silently. I belonged here, amid these gardeners and breeders from fine estates and universities and the city’s Central Greenhouse. I might be young, and I might be new, and the monarchs might be late to our meeting, but I held a title equal to theirs, and my gardens were bigger.

  Footsteps sounded at the end of the corridor. A few people whispered among themselves. I glanced up to see King Alder striding toward me, his deep purple tunic and regal bearing making his identity apparent.

  Relief flooded my body, and I stood and bowed to the king. The polite smile he returned couldn’t hide the lines of tension at the corners of his lips.

  “Have a seat, Your Majesty,” I said, gesturing at the open chair next to me. “I told the Horticulture Council to go ahead with their other appointments.”

  He nodded and sat, his posture as straight in the chair as it had been while he was standing. “I apologize for my lateness,” he said.

  I glanced down the corridor, noting both the absence of the queen and the curious eyes that were now fixed on us from every side.

  “Where is—” I started, but the king shook his head at me. The gesture was barely perceptible but held all the force of a royal command.

  I fell silent, and we waited our turn.

  “And that brings our total number of applications to seventeen,” King Alder concluded.

  He nodded at me, and I pushed the sheaf of papers across the glossy black walnut table to Minister Acacia. She glanced through the first couple to make sure I’d filled them out correctly, then gave the Head of Council, Minister Rosemary Yarrow, a small nod.

  “I’ve also included my personal application to the Flower Competition,” I said.

  Minister Acacia raised one eyebrow. “Which division?”

  “New Varieties,” I said. “It’s the last in that pile.”

  “Noted.” She scribbled something in the lined journal in front of her. At the far end of the table, the secretary took detailed notes on an elegant brass typewriter that looked like it might be one of the newer models from the kingdom of The Forge.

  Minister Balsam tapped the edge of the table with his pen. He was an intimidating man with silver hair and piercing black eyes, and I fought to stay still when his gaze landed on me.

  “We were surprised when the palace appointed someone so young to your position.”

  I couldn’t tell whether the words were a threat or a fact. His solemn face gave little away.

  “Mr. Gilding has the full confidence of the palace,” King Alder said smoothly. “As my wife often remarks, he was born for the job.”

  Minister Balsam nodded deeply at the king.

  “Her Majesty will, of course, be correct,” he said.


  “I regret she wasn’t able to join us this morning,” King Alder said.

  The air in the room thickened with curiosity, but it was clear the king wasn’t about to give more information, and not even venerable Minister Yarrow seemed willing to ask.

  “I think it’s always nice to see new blood at the Flower Festival,” Minister Blackwood said, offering me a smile that was almost as bright as her wispy auburn hair. “We look forward to seeing the youthful touch. I’m sure you’ll bring to the palace displays.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I said. “I think you’ll be pleased. Our midnight garden promises to be something special.”

  The meeting concluded with a few niceties between the king and Minister Yarrow, whose relationship I knew to be a long one, and then we were back in the corridor with the eyes of everyone in the hall on us again.

  The churning in my stomach gave way to a flood of relief, and I enjoyed the sensation in silence as King Alder and I left. We passed through the front doors of the stately Horticulture Building doors and into bright sunlight.

  “You did well in there today.” The king smiled at me, but it seemed forced.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Did you need a ride back to the palace?”

  “No, thank you,” I said. “I need to stop by a few specialty florists’ shops.”

  He inclined his head at me in farewell. The moment he turned away, his artificial smile disappeared.

  I watched him walk down the Horticulture Building steps and toward his waiting carriage. His elegant posture held as much tension as poise, and the rigidity that cloaked his face was unnatural and more than a little disconcerting.

  Before I could think it through, I jogged after him.

  “Your Majesty?” I said.

  He glanced over his shoulder as if he’d already forgotten I was there. I frowned a little.

  “Sir,” I said cautiously, “are you all right?”

  The mask over his face faltered for a moment, and suddenly, I wasn’t talking to the most powerful man in all of Floris. I was talking to Lilian’s father and the compassionate man who’d taken me in when I’d had nowhere to go.