Four

HEIR APPARENT

With Prince Bowen’s arrival imminent, I became most curious about this royal brother, who was rumored to rival King Ranolf in looks and far surpass him in female conquests. Queen Lenore, however, was put out that Bowen’s messenger had only a vague notion of when his master might arrive.

“How are we to arrange a suitable homecoming if we are not apprised of his plans?” she fretted, after passing yet another fruitless day waiting for her brother-in-law.

“Bowen has a long history of disregarding others,” King Ranolf said with a scowl, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. “He’s likely to halt his journey altogether if struck by the urge to hunt along the way.”

“From what I’ve been told, foxes and pheasants are not the only creatures that fear his weapon,” one of the younger ladies said suggestively. “Is he not likely to brandish his sword before any comely lass who crosses his path?”

The assembled women dissolved into laughter, and even King Ranolf smiled. Queen Lenore shook her head in disapproval, but I could tell by the way her lips curved up on one side that she was stifling her own amusement.

“Hang Bowen and his whims,” the king declared after the giggling had died down. “This talk of hunting has me missing the saddle. Tomorrow I’ll ride out with my men.”

So it was that the queen was left to welcome her brother-in-law alone when he appeared without warning the following day. As soon as a page announced Prince Bowen’s arrival, she allowed herself a quick glance in the mirror, then took her place in the chair before the fireplace, pointing to where her ladies should array themselves around her. I arranged the skirt of her gown so it cascaded in rippling waves to the floor.

I had just finished when Prince Bowen strode into the doorway and paused, admiring the scene before him and allowing himself to be admired in turn. He was, by any measure, an exceedingly handsome man, with the same broad frame and dark auburn hair as King Ranolf, and he bristled with the tightly suppressed energy of one who prefers action to conversation. As he approached us, however, his appearance called to mind a poorly executed painting: possessing a certain grandeur from a distance yet revealing a shabby technique upon close inspection. His eyes, which twinkled flirtatiously at Queen Lenore’s attendants, were watery and tinged with pink. His skin was weathered from hours spent in the saddle, and though he was only in his late twenties, a good decade younger than the king, he already appeared to have lived a harder life.

“Beloved sister,” Prince Bowen announced, reaching for Queen Lenore’s hand and bowing low over it. His lips brushed lightly across her skin.

“Brother.” Her mouth curved into a smile that was not reflected in her eyes. “How was your journey?”

“I rejoiced at each mile that brought me closer to you.”

“I see you have perfected the art of flattery.” Queen Lenore nodded toward the chair beside her. “Come, tell me of your travels.”

She caught my eye and motioned toward the door, where a footman had entered with a pitcher of wine and two crystal goblets upon a brass tray.

“Mrs. Tewkes sends word that she is preparing Prince Bowen’s usual rooms,” the man said.

“I will tell the queen,” I said, taking the tray and clutching at the edges to stop my hands from shaking. I had developed one important attribute of a handmaiden, the ability to read my mistress’s mind, and I could see that Queen Lenore was uneasy entertaining her brother-in-law alone. Why?

Prince Bowen was finishing up a tale.

“And that is why the women of Romany have such a reputation,” he concluded with a rascally grin.

Queen Lenore laughed politely, while the silliest of her ladies gasped with mock horror or threw their hands over their mouths in exaggerated modesty.

“Mind, you’re not to tell my brother I’ve been filling your head with such scandal,” Prince Bowen admonished Queen Lenore. “He would not approve.”

“You expect me to keep secrets from my husband?”

“How could you, my lady? Lips as sweet as yours were made to tell only truth.”

Queen Lenore caught my eye and smiled gratefully. “Ah, here’s the wine.” She nodded at me to pour it. I crossed the room and set the tray on top of a large wooden trunk that sat directly under the window. I was aware of Prince Bowen’s eyes on me as I walked, and I fumbled with the pitcher’s handle. It slipped in my hand, and wine splashed onto the tray.

“Have a care, girl!” he cried out. “Leave some for us to drink!”

My face flushed with embarrassment, I left the wet tray on the trunk and carried the glasses over, serving Prince Bowen first. His hand reached around mine as he took the goblet, imprisoning it for a moment.

“Straight off the farm, are you?” he asked.

The insult stung, but I stared straight down, silent. Better he think me slow than insolent.

“I can feel it in your hands. Rather rough for a lady’s maid.”

Queen Lenore reached for her glass, and I pulled away from Prince Bowen’s grasp.

“One can have both a modest upbringing and gracious manners,” Queen Lenore noted.

“Wise words, and a wise choice. Simple girls are less likely to turn your husband’s head.”

“Is this how you would speak of your brother before his wife?” Queen Lenore asked stiffly.

Prince Bowen laughed. “I beg your forgiveness. Too much time at decadent foreign courts has given me a taste for lewd humor.”

He drained his glass and motioned me to refill his goblet. “Do you know why Ranolf summoned me here with such urgency?”

Queen Lenore’s face tightened. Prince Bowen’s visit had been discussed among the ladies as a social call; this was the first I had heard of the king’s sending for his brother. Apparently the news was a surprise to the queen as well.

“Wives are not privy to all their husband’s decisions,” she said.

“God help us if they were!” Prince Bowen laughed.

We heard footsteps approaching, and a slim young man in a long cloak and muddy riding boots stepped inside.

“Beg your pardon, my lady,” he said with a bow. “My lord, I was sent to inform you that your rooms are ready, if you wish to change.”

“Thank you, Hessler.”

This, then, was Prince Bowen’s valet, Isla’s future husband. I could see how she would have been dazzled by him, with his clear blue eyes and tall, elegant bearing. Were it not for his servant’s livery, I would have mistaken him for a gentleman. His eyes searched the room quickly, then lighted upon Isla, who smiled shyly but with evident pleasure.

Prince Bowen stood from his chair and wagged a finger in my direction. “Enough gawking, miss, my man is already spoken for.” I blushed, mortified at being singled out, and Prince Bowen’s eyes flashed with amusement.

Ducking his head toward Queen Lenore, he said, “I must make myself presentable before Ranolf returns.”

“Until supper, then,” she said, rising to see him off. “Isla, you may take your leave as well. I am sure you and your intended have much to discuss.”

After Prince Bowen strode off, followed by Hessler and Isla, the queen collapsed into her chair, spent of her charm.

“Ladies, you may see to yourselves,” she said. “We must welcome our guest and his men with suitable ceremony tonight.”

The ladies-in-waiting chattered brightly as they left the room, relishing the opportunity to preen before a new group of potential admirers. The queen and I remained alone. She had not moved.

“My lady?” I asked cautiously.

“It has always been this way between us.” She sighed. “Bowen flirts and flatters, yet does everything in his power to lessen my influence with the king.”

“Shall I leave you to rest?”

“Yes. Please tell Lady Wintermale that I am not to be disturbed for the next hour. After that you may help me prepare for this evening.”

“Yes, madam.” I placed the glasses on the tray and picked it up. As I walked toward the door, she called out my name, and I paused.

“How did the prince strike you? Speak plainly.”

Taken aback by her familiarity, I tried to order my thoughts. My immediate reaction was to tell her that Prince Bowen made my skin crawl. But he was the king’s brother. I had to consider my words carefully.

“He appears very confident. A man accustomed to having all eyes upon him.”

“So he is,” said the queen. “Yet he remains a younger brother without a title, and these are treacherous times.”

I was not sure how to respond. Isla and the queen had an easy rapport, but they had grown up together. How could I presume to offer advice to a noblewoman? I simply nodded, my face impassive.

“With no heir, the king and I find ourselves in a precarious position,” she continued. “Bowen is next in the line of succession, and he is young and vigorous. He may covet the title before we are ready to release it.”

My heart sank at the thought of arrogant Prince Bowen ruling over us. But he was the rightful heir.

“Elise, will you inform Mrs. Tewkes that my digestion is unsettled? I would like to be served plain chicken and bread this evening.” She looked so distressed that I wished I could embrace her, the way my mother had comforted me when I was a child. Of course, such an intimate gesture was unimaginable. Queen Lenore was a porcelain figure, to be set on display and admired from afar. She would shatter if I touched her.

She looked up at me with worried, exhausted eyes. “Do not be fooled by the fine manners. At court, enemies hide in plain sight.”

Mrs. Tewkes and the kitchen staff prepared a splendid banquet to celebrate Prince Bowen’s return. I peeked into the Great Hall as the festivities began and was awed by the opulence before me: silver platters piled high with roast quail, cured ham, and other delicacies; cut-glass goblets catching and reflecting the candlelight; the sparkle of gemstones adorning the ladies’ wrists and headdresses. Prince Bowen was huddled with a group of knights, their raucous laughter provoking a frown of disapproval from his aunt Millicent. Wrapped in a voluminous black cape, she was the only woman who had not clad herself in bright colors, and she drew my eye as a raven would amid a gathering of songbirds. Perhaps that was her intention. Millicent was never one to blend meekly into a crowd.

I made my way to the Lower Hall for the servants’ dinner and took a seat beside Isla and Hessler, curious to know more about the man who might one day rule the kingdom.

“Congratulations on your upcoming marriage,” I told him after we had been introduced. “Have you made plans for your wedding?” Though I genuinely wished Isla happiness, I had begun to dread her departure. Without her help, I worried that my clumsiness and ignorance would be on full display.

“We will be saying our vows in a few days,” Isla said. “The queen has made all the arrangements.” The placement of her arm suggested she was touching Hessler’s leg under the table.

“Where will Prince Bowen be traveling next?” I asked.

“He has been courting a daughter of the king of Grenthia, so I imagine he has plans to return there.” Isla turned to Hessler. “Has there been a formal announcement of their betrothal?”

He shook his head quickly. “The girl’s father has objected to the match. We will not be going back.”

I was impressed by his discretion. Gossip is rampant among servants, especially those who bask in the glory of their patron. But I had heard nothing of Prince’s Bowen’s courtship—or his rejection.

Hessler refilled Isla’s wineglass and addressed himself to her. “Have no fear. We’ll be well taken care of. My lord is resourceful.”

It was not long before they were exchanging the affectionate glances and whispers of a couple who wish to converse in private. I finished up my food quickly and returned to the queen’s chamber. As I expected, she had left the Great Hall early, avoiding the post-supper entertainments.

“Madam,” Lady Wintermale was protesting as I entered. “Prince Bowen was preparing to sing a song in your honor. To leave before he has done so . . .”

“I have no interest in Bowen’s false adulation,” Queen Lenore snapped. I had never heard her speak with such bitterness.

Lady Wintermale’s face froze in an expression of scandalized dismay.

Queen Lenore sighed, then waved her hand, pushing her hard words away. “Forgive my outburst. I spoke without thinking.”

“You must not forget they are brothers,” Lady Wintermale said urgently. “Bowen has always been a rogue—I know that as well as anyone, after all my years here. Yet he remains heir to the throne. A situation for which you are directly responsible.”

“As I am forever reminded.”

“Hate him if you must, but conceal it with honey. You may depend on his mercy one day.”

Mercy was not a quality I sensed that Prince Bowen possessed. Was that the reason I found myself so uneasy in his presence?

“Please, rejoin the festivities,” Queen Lenore urged. “Make my apologies.”

Lady Wintermale nodded, her silent stare bristling with words unspoken. After she had swept out, I moved away from the wall and asked the queen if she wished to prepare for bed.

“I have asked the king to join me this evening,” she said. The king’s and queen’s bedchambers adjoined each other, connected by a door concealed behind a hanging tapestry. In the weeks I had been an attendant, the king had availed himself of it on only a handful of occasions.

“Shall I fetch a nightdress?” I asked.

Queen Lenore smiled, her expression tinged with sadness. “Alas, it is not that sort of visit. I will receive him as an adviser, not a wife.” She fidgeted with the rings on her fingers, twisting them in circles, and I realized she was nervous. How had it come to this, that the queen was afraid of speaking to her own husband?

She sat in the chair before her dressing table, and I took my place behind her. Carefully, I unclasped her necklace, a three-tiered marvel formed of delicate gold flowers so lifelike they might have been blooms dipped in liquid metal. She smiled when she saw how my gaze lingered upon it.

“It was a wedding gift from my mother,” she said. “I planned to pass it on to my own daughter one day.”

Many maids would have offered false comfort, reassuring their mistress that her prayers for a child would be answered in time. But Queen Lenore valued my honesty. I had no words to lift her melancholy, so I simply took the necklace and placed it gently on her dressing table. Then I released her thick, rich hair from its pins and ribbons. The fashion at court in those years was for hair to be braided and tied in elaborate arrays, but Queen Lenore looked most beautiful when her dark locks hung simply around her face and over her shoulders. Seen like this, without jewelry, she could have been a maid of eighteen rather than a woman who had already passed her thirtieth birthday.

I brushed her hair until it shone, sending both her and me into a trance with the rhythm of the strokes. The knowledge that I was able to release the queen from her cares for these few moments brought a rush of satisfaction, and I smiled at her reflection in the mirror even as her image smiled back at me. The sound of a door opening jolted us both from our reverie, and we turned to see the king walking in, alone. He held up his hand as his wife rose to greet him.

“Sit, sit,” he urged.

She walked to the bed, where the king took a place next to her. His hand lingered a moment on her hair. He must love her still, I thought, if he could touch her so. But his face betrayed no tenderness; he watched Queen Lenore as if she were any other subject come to make a plea before him. I wondered if I should leave the room but did not want to draw attention to myself by asking. In truth, I did not want to go; I was desperately curious to know what Prince Bowen’s return portended for all of us. If power was the true currency at court, as my aunt had warned, then I must know whose hands would command our fates. I slid into the corner behind the dressing table, where my figure would be partly obscured by shadows.

“Forgive me for retiring early,” Queen Lenore said. “I am too tired to join in the revelry.”

“It’s all as it was years ago,” the king said. “Bowen preening before the blushing young ladies as Aunt Millicent scowls with disapproval. You’ve seen it a thousand times before.”

They smiled at each other, understanding flashing between them. I was accustomed to seeing them in public, presenting the united front of rulers joined by marriage. But this was the first time I had heard them speaking a private language of shared memories. It did not seem right that I overhear such a conversation, but they appeared unmindful of my presence. Raised in privilege, both had been surrounded by servants and attendants since birth, never knowing what it was to be truly alone.

“Bowen told me you summoned him,” Queen Lenore said. “I had not known that his visit was your doing.”

The king shrugged. “I’ve told you often enough our situation is precarious. And now Marl deRauley has been heard questioning the line of succession.”

I had not heard the name before, but from the king’s tone this mysterious figure carried some weight in the kingdom.

“Such talk must be stopped, and soon,” the king continued.

“How?”

“Bowen must be acknowledged as my heir.”

Queen Lenore’s fingers picked at the embroidery in her skirt, even as the rest of her body remained still.

“I know he is a man of many vices,” the king said wearily, the weight of the decision evident in his grave expression. “I wish better for my subjects. Still, he is my brother. We have no choice.”

Queen Lenore nodded slowly but her expression did not change. This could not have come as a surprise. I felt a pang of compassion for her plight, knowing that her own failure to conceive a child had brought Prince Bowen to the throne.

“Millicent says he will be the ruin of this kingdom,” she said quietly.

“Nonsense!” the king exclaimed. “They’ve never gotten on, ever since he was a boy. He’s the only person in the family who has ever stood up to her.”

“She told me of a portent. . . .”

“Aunt Millicent’s ramblings are of no importance!” the king exclaimed. “I have already summoned all the nobles in the kingdom to an assembly, where I will publicly welcome Bowen as my heir.”

“No!” The vehemence in the queen’s voice was so uncharacteristic that I almost rushed to her side to offer comfort. “Why did you not tell me? Surely there is no need for such haste.”

“The messengers already have been sent,” the king said firmly. “It is done, and we must congratulate Bowen as if we could think of no greater successor. He may surprise us all, you know. Once his claim to the throne is acknowledged, his marriage prospects will improve. With the right woman, he may well settle down and reform his ways.”

“It’s the rare husband who grants his wife the power to transform him,” the queen said.

“Rare, yet not unheard of.”

King Ranolf reached for his wife’s restless fingers and stilled them. Gently, he pressed the back of her hands to his lips, then brushed them against his cheek. The gesture was so unexpected, so tender, that I caught my breath. Instantly, a much-loosened bond tightened between them, and I watched, moved almost to tears, as the queen’s body softened at her husband’s touch. He gazed at her, his eyes offering silent comfort, and she smiled in reply, the expression transforming her face into one of radiant beauty. I had not seen many affectionate marriages in my life, but Petra had told me the king and queen had once loved each other deeply. I hoped it was not too late for them to recapture their past happiness.

Just as a good servant can anticipate her mistress’s demands for food or drink, she also knows when to disappear. I edged toward the door leading to the sitting room and pulled it closed after me. I thought of going down to the Great Hall to peek at the dancers but was afraid I might be called to prepare the queen for bed. I sat on the floor near the door, which was thick enough that I could hear only muffled voices inside.

I must have drifted off, for I jumped to attention when a log crackled in the sitting-room fireplace. I had fallen asleep with my arms wrapped around my knees, my head leaning forward, and my neck ached from the unnatural position. The candles in the sitting room had burned out, and the fire was close to dying. Pressing my ear against the door, I heard nothing from the bedchamber.

I opened the door a crack. A candle by the bedside still burned, and in the dim light I could see Queen Lenore’s face peeking out from under the covers. Next to her, with one arm wrapped around her body, lay the king. I could tell from the pattern of their breathing that they were asleep. I pulled the door shut and curled under a blanket in the doorway, protecting their sleeping figures from any disturbance. When Isla returned and roused me, close to dawn, the king was gone.

In the week leading up to the assembly, Queen Lenore’s silent reveries became more frequent, forcing me to repeat myself two and three times before she paid mind. When she was not wrapped up in her thoughts, I often found her conferring with the king or Isla, her face taut with concern. Did I sense the danger of the scheme being put into place? Or is it hindsight that makes me pause and reexamine those mysterious whispers, the looks I could not decipher? I do know that the king and queen’s hushed complicity made me nervous, and I felt the disorientation of one who spins her head back and forth in a search, only to become dizzier than ever in the attempt.

At the time I put the queen’s distraction down to her dread of the assembly, which would confirm to the world that she was a barren failure. Who would welcome such public humiliation? Her fears could hardly have been eased by Prince Bowen’s boorish behavior; he comported himself as if the castle staff were already his to command and openly mocked his aunt Millicent when she chided him on his unbecoming conduct.

“He said a man of his appetites wouldn’t take orders from a dried-up old maid,” Petra told me, eyes wide at the memory. “You should have seen her! She berated the king for not keeping Prince Bowen in check, yet he did nothing. Sat there with his face frozen as stone.”

I thought such incidents proved that King Ranolf had accepted his fate. More concerned with the occasional leering glances Prince Bowen directed my way, I remained ignorant of the true cause of the queen’s agitation, just as I underestimated the king’s pride.

Driven, perhaps, to escape her brother-in-law’s increasing influence inside the castle, Queen Lenore began passing hours outside, in the garden. It was during one of these excursions that I once again glimpsed a flash of movement among the shrubbery, a glimpse of white that was gone almost as soon as my eyes lit upon it.

I flinched, and Queen Lenore stopped beside me.

“What it is, Elise?”

“Did you see that?” I whispered.

“See what?”

The garden lay silent around us. Queen Lenore would think I had taken leave of my senses if I began babbling of ghosts, but I was too terrified to take a step farther.

“I thought I saw someone. Up ahead.”

To my surprise, the queen smiled. “Ah, it must be Flora.”

Unsure if the name referred to a castle legend or a real, living person, I waited for her to explain.

“The king’s aunt. Millicent’s sister.”

I remembered Petra’s offhand mention of a sister when she first told me about Millicent, but I had never heard her spoken of since. Was she the mysterious occupant of the locked room in the North Tower, the one whose mournful song lingered in my memory?

“She has become quite a recluse, I fear,” Queen Lenore explained. “She tends to a small herb garden here, but otherwise she keeps to her chambers. According to Ranolf, she had a nervous collapse years ago. He thinks her quite mad.”

“Is she?”

“I find that any woman who acts contrary to expectations risks such accusations,” she said. “What the truth is, I cannot say. I have hardly spoken to her for years.”

My curiosity piqued, I raised Flora’s name with Petra later that evening. She shared what she knew of the castle gossip; the sad decline of the king’s aunt was blamed on a sudden illness, a doomed love affair, even witchcraft. The only person who knew the truth was Millicent, and I would never dare address such questions to her.

The day of the assembly began inauspiciously, with drenching rain and a damp chill that seeped through the castle walls. I felt a pang of sympathy for the downstairs maids, who would spend the day on their knees, wiping the floors clean of muddy footprints. To my great surprise, the queen announced I would be dressing her for the day, as Isla was otherwise occupied. It seemed odd that the queen’s attendant would have a more pressing engagement on such a momentous day, but Isla had appeared tired and wan recently. I supposed Queen Lenore was allowing her some rest before her wedding.

My first duty was to fetch the queen’s ceremonial robe from the laundresses’ room off the Lower Hall, where it had been given a thorough cleaning. Hastening up the wide central staircase with the garment laid across my arms, I hurtled into a figure who suddenly veered from his path into mine.

It was Prince Bowen.

He had arrayed himself in a costume suitable to the occasion: a tunic of deep blue velvet, leather boots polished to a gleam, jewels adorning his fingers and the handle of the sword that hung at his hip. Flanked by companions who mirrored his haughty manner, Prince Bowen regarded me, amused.

“I know you,” he said. “One of Lenore’s girls.”

I nodded, bowing my head submissively.

“A meek one, eh?” Prince Bowen said, addressing his friends rather than me. “Perhaps there’s more here than meets the eye.”

He reached forward and pressed his palms along either side of my head, assessing me as if I were a dish he was about to devour. Then he took hold of my shoulder, forcing me to follow as he maneuvered my body into an alcove off the landing, one of the countless openings that provided access to the cramped, dimly lit servants’ passages. The muscles in my shoulders tightened as Prince Bowen pushed me against the clammy wall. Footsteps away, courtiers and guards passed to and fro, but I was hidden from view.

“Yes, there’s something here I quite fancy,” he murmured, moving his fingers along my cheeks, then my chest. I shivered as he thrust against the curve of my breasts. Mistaking my reaction for pleasure, he flashed a self-satisfied grin.

“Just as I thought. You’re young but hardly innocent.”

His hand shoved aside the robe I was holding and forced my skirt between my thighs.

“My lord,” I begged, terrified. “I am an honest girl.”

“Ah.” His hand did not cease its examination of my trembling body. “All innocents are ruined in the end, my dear. Why not have the deed accomplished by one skilled in such matters?”

I did not know if his words were meant as reassurance or threat. I did not care. Horror gave me the strength to heave my shoulder into Prince Bowen’s chest, and the sudden jerk was enough to break his hold. I tore up the stairs, terrified he would order his men to drag me back. I could hear raucous male laughter from below, mocking my every panicked step. Suddenly a hand reached out to clutch my forearm, and my feet slid to a halt. Before me stood Millicent, her face twisted in an expression of disgust.

It took a moment for me to realize that her anger was not directed my way. I turned to follow her gaze and saw Prince Bowen bow with exaggerated reverence. Summoning his men with an impatient wave, he disappeared down the staircase, out of sight.

“What has he done?” she demanded sharply, eyeing me up and down.

“Nothing, madam,” I murmured. I would gain little by disparaging Prince Bowen to his aunt.

“He’s a brute.” She practically spat out the words. “He could have made something of himself once, yet he refused to heed my counsel. More fool he.”

The intensity of Millicent’s distaste encouraged me to speak frankly. “How am I to avoid another such encounter? He can summon me to his presence whenever he pleases.”

Millicent let out a sharp laugh. “You will be safe from his groping soon enough. Fear not!”

I did not see how she could make such a promise, but her confidence helped shore up my own strength. Once again, it seemed, Millicent had chosen to be my champion. Why? What interest could one of the highest-ranking women at court have in a maidservant’s struggles? I was ignorant then of the ways courtiers stage their conversations for public effect. Millicent had intended her harsh judgment of Prince Bowen to be heard by the dozens of servants and nobles walking past. By slinking away from a confrontation, he had allowed his aunt to claim victory in this skirmish.

The weight of Queen Lenore’s robe had begun to make my arms ache. “I hope you will agree that my mistress should not be bothered with this matter,” I said. “Her thoughts are burdened enough.”

Millicent smirked, as if she were privy to a secret that she took great pleasure in hinting at but not sharing. “As you wish.”

She gave a quick nod of dismissal, then swept away, the rap of her cane echoing down the hall. I managed to compose myself before approaching Queen Lenore in her bedchamber, but it took some effort to fully calm my shaken body. I dressed her in a deep green velvet gown and looped her hair into an intricate pattern woven through with strings of pearls and rubies. Isla could have done the same in half the time, yet I was proud of the result. Shameful as this gathering might be for the queen, she would not appear a woman defeated.

I brought forward her looking glass, and she peered at her misty reflection.

“You’ve done well.”

For a moment our faces were caught in the glass together: a regal, beautiful woman beside a girl determined to show a poise beyond her years. Already I looked different to myself, displaying an outward confidence I did not yet feel inside.

Queen Lenore’s hands passed across her skirts once, then again. Her face was impassive, but I knew the meaning of her fluttering fingers. She was afraid.

“Well then, Elise,” she said, collecting herself. “Are you ready?”

“Am I to come?” I asked, taken aback.

“Yes. I may need your assistance.”

My fear of Prince Bowen nearly overcame the pull of duty. How could I stand at the queen’s side, a few paces from the man who had attacked me? I came close to blurting out what had happened on the stairway, until I remembered my place. My duty was to support the queen, pushing my own feelings aside.

The king soon arrived, ready to escort his wife downstairs. On his head sat the royal crown, worn only for the most important ceremonies, and his shoulders were swathed in a red velvet cape edged with fur. Together the king and queen presented an image of such nobility that it seemed impossible they were about to acknowledge the end of their rule. King Ranolf might remain on the throne for another twenty years, but this announcement would forever diminish his authority. Anyone hoping to curry favor would go to his brother, not to him—a bitter path for an elder brother to follow.

The Great Hall was more crowded than I had ever seen it. Usually the room appeared vast, for even when all the tables were pulled forward for a feast, great open spaces remained. Today, however, there was barely room for the king and queen to move through the crush of people toward their seats on the dais. The heads of all the landed families in the kingdom had been summoned, and it appeared none had declined the invitation. Members of the Royal Council sat at a long table directly in front of the dais. Other titled families received chairs directly behind them. Standing, and filling the rest of the room, were the landowners, some finely dressed and most likely residents of town, others in country clothes years out of fashion.

Heralds sounded their trumpets when the king entered the room. Pages cleared a path for the king and queen through the throng, and I followed close behind. A murmur of greetings rustled around us as we passed. As we neared the front of the room, I saw Millicent sitting with the other elderly ladies of the court. She stared intently at the queen, who passed by without turning her head.

Only one person stood on the dais as we approached: Prince Bowen, watching with an expression of grim pleasure. I wondered at the recklessness that had led him to claim his place before the king entered the room. Already, it seemed, the protocols of the palace were shifting in his favor. Would that further embolden him to do as he wished with me? Looking at his haughty, arrogant face, I felt sick with apprehension. I could still feel the violation of his hands pressing between my legs.

“Stay by my side,” Queen Lenore whispered as we walked up the steps. I took a place behind her chair and watched the mass of people filling the hall, waiting with an unnatural stillness.

“My lords,” the king began. “Ladies.” He nodded to his wife and the women of the court. “I have requested your presence here today on a matter of the utmost importance. A matter, one might say, of survival. The survival of this kingdom.”

The silence was so complete it was as if all had forgotten to breathe.

“For some time I have been aware of rumblings of discontent. An heir, my people demanded! My prayers and those of my queen joined your own, yet God did not grant us our most fervent wish. The question of succession has grown more insistent in recent years. My distant cousin, Marl deRauley, has been especially vocal in his concerns.”

I remembered the king saying the name in the queen’s bedchamber. Was it possible someone else had a claim to the throne?

“Nothing would pain me more than to see these lands descend into war upon my death,” the king continued. “My father, and his father before him, labored hard to bring harmony to our realm. I wish it to remain so. We must secure a future as peaceful as our present.”

Prince Bowen stirred in his seat, anticipating the moment when he would rise to be acclaimed by the crowd. To those watching he might appear suitably regal, but to me he would always be the man who leered with pleasure at my helplessness. My stomach lurched in disgust, and I shifted my body farther behind Queen Lenore’s chair, anxious to avoid his attention.

“My younger brother, Prince Bowen, is next in line for the succession. That is common knowledge, yet he has not been formally recognized as my heir. My doing so would settle the whispers that have plagued these lands.”

Prince Bowen was smiling. His moment had arrived.

“When I sent word of this gathering to all of you, I was prepared to proclaim my brother as my successor.”

Was prepared? Had he chosen another course?

“My intention was to urge you to accept him as your next king. Yet I find my circumstances much changed. Today I stand before you to announce something far more momentous. My wife is with child.”

I heard a gasp to my right, from the women. I looked at Queen Lenore, whose face was turned modestly downward. With child? I had been by her side for months and knew nothing of it. My mind reeled, caught between joy at the news and hurt that she had not trusted me enough to tell me.

Gradually a sound began to sweep across the room. First a few claps, then muttering rising louder and louder until it was a unified cry of delight. The wave of sound rose to a peak, filling the hall. The king rose from his seat, basking in the rejoicing, then raised his hands for silence.

“I welcome your good wishes, as does my wife. In celebration of this blessed news, I invite the members of the court to join me for prayers in the chapel. This day cannot pass without thanks to He who brought this miracle. After the service all are invited to the hall for a feast. I promise, our cooks have outdone themselves today!”

There was another smattering of applause, and then the crowd parted to allow the king and queen to leave the room. I found myself staring at Prince Bowen, who sat utterly still, his mouth pressed in a rigid line. Though relieved beyond measure that he would soon be gone from the castle, I was chilled by the ferocity of his gaze. Shaken, I turned away and caught sight of Millicent, her face set in a self-satisfied smile. She knew, I realized with a flash of understanding. She knew that the queen was with child, and she knew how this announcement would unfold.

Blind to the ways that a lust for power can entrap a man of strong will, I could not understand why King Ranolf would choose to publicly humiliate his own brother. The king had established his dominance, but he had created a dangerous enemy. One who would never forget what had been done to him.

I joined the rest of the court for the chapel service, mouthing words of thanksgiving even as my mind reeled. Sitting directly behind Queen Lenore, her head bowed in prayer, I could not ward off my feelings of betrayal. How had I missed the signs of my mistress’s condition? Why had she not told me?

When the queen requested leave to retire afterward, the king dismissed her with a kiss on the forehead. Upstairs, the queen and I found ourselves alone in her rooms. I stood behind her to unclasp the brooch that fastened her cape. Knowing it my duty to conceal my own hurt in favor of my mistress’s happiness, I offered my congratulations on the blessed news.

Queen Lenore reached up and wrapped her hands around mine. “Thank you, Elise.” Her voice was so warm, her gratitude so genuine, that my childish anger withered.

“You cannot imagine how difficult it was to remain silent. But I had been disappointed so many times before, I did not want to raise false hopes until I was sure. Isla and I even kept the news from the king, until Bowen’s return forced my hand.”

Isla. She would have known if her mistress had no cause to use women’s cloths for some months. Their shared secret was yet further evidence of their bond, one I could never hope to replace once Isla was married.

Married. To Prince Bowen’s manservant.

“Isla!” I exclaimed. “What will she do?”

Queen Lenore looked at me sadly. “She has followed her future husband, as I insisted she must. She packed her things earlier, in readiness for a hasty departure.”

So there was to be no castle wedding for Isla, no leisurely leave-taking from the woman who was both her mistress and her friend. My sometime rival was gone, leaving me responsible for all the queen’s needs. I can still remember the terror that washed over me at the magnitude of the task ahead. Though accustomed to carrying myself as one older than my years, I found that the thoughts racing through my mind were those of a frightened child: I am not ready! I need more time!

“This should be a day of great happiness,” Queen Lenore said quietly. “Yet I fear that my husband has made a terrible mistake.”

I remembered Prince Bowen’s face, the hatred that blazed from his eyes. Was it my place to warn my mistress about what I had seen? It is hard to believe I was once so fearful of speaking my mind. But I was young, and inexperienced, and I believed that proper etiquette dictated respectful silence over honest conversation. So I said nothing.

“I did protest.” The queen almost whispered the words, as if assuring herself she had been in the right. “I told my husband we must inform Bowen of the news in private, to prepare him beforehand. But there is no convincing Ranolf once he has made up his mind.”

She sighed, worn out by the day’s events. “Would you like to bring down your things? Best you got settled in now, before the feast.”

A lady’s maid slept in her mistress’s chambers, ready to be of assistance at all hours. For the last time, I made my way to the servants’ quarters under the eaves. As I pulled together my few possessions, I set aside a slim volume Mrs. Tewkes had given me, a collection of prayers I had long since memorized and the only book I had ever owned. I placed it on Petra’s bed, remembering the nights we’d huddled together with a precious candle stub, sounding out the letters as I praised her progress. Her desire to learn was only one of the qualities I cherished in her, and I determined that despite our different stations and paths I would not allow our friendship to fray.

It was only later that night, as I lay in an alcove off Queen Lenore’s bedchamber, that I began to revel in all I had achieved. Leaving the company of jealous chambermaids was no great sacrifice; I now slept within footsteps of the queen herself. Soon there would be a baby in these rooms, and perhaps another after that. I had soared to a position of great prestige in only a few months and found favor with the kindest of mistresses. I smiled to myself in the dark, thinking how my mother would have marveled at my change in circumstances.

In one hand I clutched Millicent’s wishing stone. I prayed—to God? to Millicent?—for the health of Queen Lenore’s baby, for an heir who would brighten the future of the kingdom. Most of all I prayed that Prince Bowen would never return. How ignorant I was, to think that distance would weaken his ability to do us harm. The prince would have his revenge. And I would learn that every wish granted comes at a price, one we cannot foresee until it is too late.