My dearest Pup,
Marie had written,
You must think I am so rude to have ignored you for so long. Please forgive me by meeting me for a picnic this afternoon at our usual spot.
Your loving friend, Marie.
“Another game of cricket today,” Leo said as he attacked his plate of roasted tomatoes, bacon rashers, creamy spinach quiche and a buttery croissant. A traditional Franco-English breakfast.
“Can’t, I’ve got plans,” Wolf said, whistling as he scribbled an enthusiastic acceptance on her note.
Be there with bells on!
Love, your own Wolf.
Leo chewed on his croissant. Bits of pastry clung to his lips. “Plans? With who? Don’t tell me—is it the lovely ‘Lady’ Marianne from last night? You did seem awful cozy with a few of her dancing girls, eh?”
If “cozy” meant he’d passed out on the floor while they tried to revive him, then sure, Wolf thought. Even he was getting tired of his undeserved reputation.
It’s from your future wife, he wanted to tell his brother, but he didn’t. He had a feeling Leo had not been, nor would ever be, invited to the roof. “Make the usual excuses for me, would you?” Wolf asked.
Leo grunted and turned back to his paper. “Suit yourself. But don’t make plans for the weekend—we’re off to Chatham for a hunting party.”
“Isn’t it a bit early in the season for grouse?”
“Maybe, but I asked him to open it up and he said yes.” Leo smiled.
“Of course.” Wolf nodded. It wasn’t that he was jealous of Leopold—that would be like being jealous of the sun. One did not wonder why the sun shone in the sky; one just accepted it as a fact of life. In truth, Wolf idolized his big brother, as everyone did.
“Hey,” Leo called. He tossed Wolf a black object.
“What is it?” he asked, catching the small velvet pouch, although he could already tell what was inside. It brought a smile to his face.
“Your lucky dice. Thought you’d want them.”
He did want them. He couldn’t risk an underground sparring club for fear of being caught out. It was too close to court, and could potentially harm his brother’s chances of marrying the princess. Surely the queen would not look kindly on a bruiser as a sort-of-son-in-law. He had been missing home and wishing he had remembered to pack his lucky dice with him so he could maybe find a game or two, hit the tables, try his luck. He thanked his brother. That was the thing. Leo might be a pig to the ladies, but he was a mate.
With a little help from one of the pages, Wolf remembered how to get to the roof through the secret passageways, hidden doors, and hallways he and Marie had discovered as children. It had been their little secret when the four of them used to play together, although Leo never really joined in the games. And what was the name of the other girl, Marie’s friend? The red-haired magician’s girl. He couldn’t remember. She’d been more interested in Leo than in hanging out with Wolf and Marie. When Wolf was young—six, eight at the most—he’d found the hidden doors. He’d noticed something odd about one of the walls in the east wing. One of the wood panels looked slightly askew, and when he touched the surface, it moved. It was not a wall at all, but a door that had been left ajar.
Now, Wolf approached one such paneled wall, pressed against its edge, and felt the wood bend slightly inward as a spring compressed. The panel nudged aside a little. He wrapped his fingers around the edge and tugged it open. He smiled as he slipped inside the passage and pulled the door closed behind him.
It was dark inside the tunnel, but Wolf found the bronze rail that ran through the entire maze, making it navigable. Marie always said to keep turning right if he got lost. He followed the path and wound quickly around corners and up stairs. The passage had been built behind the backs of closets and bedrooms. It ran above dropped ceilings, and alongside stairs. He suspected the passages had a variety of uses; pinpricks in the walls made it possible to eavesdrop on the occupants of many of the palace rooms. Cool air rushed across his face as he passed one of the tiny apertures. A narrow winding stair led him up one floor, then another. The air grew hotter as he ascended. There was no ventilation in the passages. Mildew and rot filled his nose.
The air cleared when he reached the top of the stairs, which were dimly lit with blue light where an open hatch awaited. Ah, so Marie had used the old way too, he thought. He stepped through the roof hatch and into the sunlight to find the princess at their usual spot, as promised.
He and Marie were called “friends of the blanket,” for they had known each other since birth. The story went that as babies, their nurses had placed them in the same crib. He supposed they would all soon be family now, once the marriage was settled; but back then, years ago, when he was just a young pugnacious boy and she was a sickly little girl, they had been friends.
Marie was sitting on a checked cloth with a picnic laid out with a few of his favorite things. His spirits lifted to discover she remembered the old days as well—the picnic was set with their favorites. Peach pie, a pitcher of cold lemonade, bacon butties, French cheese, a bar of chocolate. She was alone except for a member of the Queen’s Guard, a rough young man who gave Wolf a stern look as he approached, as if the soldier would have no trouble pitching him off the roof if he tried anything. Wolf wanted to tell him to relax, he was a friend, not an enemy. The war was over, wasn’t it?
“Dog droppings!” Marie said, looking pleased when she saw him.
“Helmet head!” he said, pulling her hat down over her eyes and making her giggle. He was the only one who could call her that, because she knew he meant it fondly. When she’d worn a helmet, he had drawn lions and bears on it, the symbols of their houses. “Here,” he said, offering her a bouquet of red and pink wildflowers that he had ordered from the shop that morning. They were her favorite kind, and she lamented that the palace gardener would not cultivate them, dismissing them as common and weed-like.
He flopped on the blanket and helped himself to a sandwich. He was glad to see her looking better. The last time they had seen each other was four years ago, right before the empire had declared war on his father’s kingdom. She had been just a girl then, but now she was practically a married lady, and he was still…well, he was still a brawler. Maybe not much had changed after all. Marie was thin and pale as usual, but she had a flush in her cheeks, and her eyes were bright. She was wearing a pretty white linen dress, and her hair was dark and loose under her white hat. She looked enchanting, like a girl from a painting, and he told her so.
“You’re too kind,” she said. “And you of all people don’t have to blow kisses to me, you know. I’ve heard what you’ve been up to.” She shook her head and adopted a stern tone. “Too many nights at private clubs! How much debt have you racked up this time? How many hearts have you broken?”
“It’s good to see you too, I missed your scolding,” he laughed. From the roof they could see all of London, all the new development and construction, the city expanding in all directions. They did not speak of the war, or their long separation. Instead they talked about books and music, like they always did, and their plans after the season was over. Marie thought she would be going to Versailles as usual for the fall, but she did not know. So many things were changing so fast, and she was uncertain if Leo would uphold the usual traditions once they were wed. She thought they might set up house in a wing at Kensington, where her mother had lived as a girl.
“So you really mean to marry my big brother at the end of the season?” he asked lightly, taking a big bite of peach pie.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“No,” he sighed, “I suppose not. None of us do. I’m sure Father will tell me who I’m supposed to marry soon enough.” He stretched his legs lazily and let out a little burp. Marie was like family—not quite a sister, but a distant cousin. They shared a great-grandmother or two somewhere up the line.
“Well, you are a second son, so perhaps it doesn’t matter so much who you ma
rry,” she teased.
“Thanks for reminding me,” he growled, pitching crumbs toward the pigeons that had gathered at a discreet distance from their picnic.
“Why so gloomy? Have you met someone and had your heart stolen, for once?” she asked. When he did not answer, she laughed. “Ah! So there is a girl!”
He shrugged, even as his thoughts wandered to the girl on the boat. How did Marie know he was thinking of that girl? Marie had always been too smart for her own good. “I suppose I have met someone,” he allowed.
“What happened?” she asked, pulling her knees up to her chin under her skirts and regarding him thoughtfully.
“I asked her to marry me.” He grinned.
“Wolfie!” she gasped and rapped his knee with her fan. “What would Oswald say!”
“He would whip me like when I was a kid, I suppose.”
“Well, I’m sure you didn’t mean it,” she said with a laugh, but when she saw his face her tone changed. “Darling! What happened?”
He hung his head. His proposal had been sincere, but he shrugged as if it were nothing, as if he asked girls to marry him every day.
“She said no,” he sighed.
“That silly girl,” Marie said angrily. “Why on earth did she refuse you?”
“Oh, I can imagine there are many reasons.” He frowned. The rejection had stung more than he’d expected. If only she had said yes—and she had been so close to it, he could tell. At that moment, he’d felt as if he were standing at a crossroads, that his destiny could change on a whim—on her word. He would have run away with her if she had accepted him. And what he wanted more than anything in the world was someone to run away with, he realized at that moment—to be someone else, rather than second-in-line to the throne. It was not to be, and his face darkened gloomily.
Marie returned a hand to his knee and shook it back and forth, as if to shake him out of his terrible mood. “You’ll find another girl. There’s always another girl.”
He put a hand on top of hers and grinned. “Maybe I already have found one,” he teased. He liked teasing Marie; she got so mad at him. It was fun.
She tossed a croissant at him. “Now you’re the one being silly.”
They ate the rest of their meal in companionable silence, until Marie spoke again. This time, her tone was not teasing, but serious. “Isabelle dissolved her hold on Leo the other day. She didn’t look very happy when she signed the papers. Wolfie, tell me the truth. Are Leo and Isabelle truly in love, as everyone says? She is so very pretty.”
“If you like vipers,” he said. “She has nothing on you, my dear. Do not worry.”
She sighed. “I always thought Leo would marry a great girl.”
“He is,” Wolf said, turning to her in surprise. “Don’t be so hard on yourself! My brother is a very lucky man, he always has been.” He meant it. Marie would be a good wife to Leo: kind, devoted, helpful, smart. Leo was a great man—generous with his subjects, a forward-thinking statesman, a formidable opponent on the battlefield, a hero to his men—but he had none of the qualities in a person that made life bearable, even—dare he think it?—happy. “You are an absolutely remarkable girl,” Wolf said, looking into her fair gray eyes with deep sincerity.
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” she said, looking pleased.
“Like I said, I am just being honest,” he said. “Yes, absolutely remarkable—you must be the only girl in the empire who isn’t in love with my brother. Why is that, do you think?”
“I’m immune to his charm?” she laughed.
“Mmm,” Wolf said thoughtfully. She’d drawn the short stick in the bargain, truly. She was a princess, however; she understood the way the world worked. Love was not a priority for the likes of them—it was a luxury they could not afford. Perhaps she would find a way to make peace with the marriage.
“Oh well. At least now we’ll see each other more often,” she said, brightening.
“Count on it. Every Christmas and Easter at least.” He raised a champagne glass and clinked it against hers. “You’ll never get rid of me at your table.”
“Princess? It’s time to take your tonic,” her soldier said, looking intently at Marie.
Wolf raised an eyebrow. There was something just a bit proprietary and familiar in that man’s tone…but he supposed someone who was with Marie day and night would naturally feel that way about her.
Marie nodded. “Yes, thank you, Corporal.”
“You’re welcome, Your Highness.”
“Protective chap, isn’t he?” Wolf asked, as the soldier went back to his respectful distance. “He doesn’t look like a city boy—where’s he from?”
“His family’s from the north—Ayrshire, I think,” Marie said, blushing unexpectedly.
Wolf squinted at the soldier and saw a meaningful glance pass between him and his friend. Ah. So Marie was in love as well. Wolf mused on how he felt about that. He felt a little uncomfortable, sure, and more than a little pained for her. He hoped it was mere infatuation, for her sake. He could not imagine Leo would stand for being made a cuckold. His brother would expect his wife to remain faithful, even if he was not. If Marie knew what was good for her, she would put this young soldier aside soon enough. Or not. The wags did say that Wolf closely resembled a dashing Bavarian knight who had served his mother. Not that it had ever mattered. Not that his father, stodgy King Frederick, had ever shown any indication of listening to vicious rumors.
Wolf was the second son. He would never inherit the throne. In a way, it would never matter who his father was.
Not with Leo around.
In the weeks since Marie had first been introduced to Leo, since that first abrupt conversation, things had not progressed nor developed for the better. Now that the season was truly upon them, with the royal ball imminent, the two of them had to spend a lot more time together to move the courtship along. The prince was just as charming and sparkling as ever, and although it seemed every girl at court had lost her heart to him, Marie felt as indifferent as before. Was there something wrong with her? Why did she not find him handsome? Or even humorous? While everyone at court praised his good looks and rapier-sharp wit, she continued to find him false and dull.
Even Aelwyn thought she was being too harsh on him. The sorceress had taken to joining Marie at meals. Their old friendship was renewed over many glasses of mulberry wine, and the sense that they wanted to cling to each other as everything changed around them. Aelwyn would soon bond to the sisterhood, and Marie to Leopold. Aelwyn urged her to try and accept her fate, as she had. It was a running joke between them that Leopold was going to marry the wrong girl. If only it was Aelwyn who was the princess…if only…
Try as she might, Marie could not soften her feelings toward him—could not find a semblance even to her dear friend, Wolf. When she looked at Leo, she saw darkness and despair, a miserable gray future in which she was shackled to him for the rest of her life.
That evening she was suffering through another long and ponderous state dinner in which the health of both nations was toasted, along with the health of the monarchs and the young royals. She sat with Leo on one side and a rather entertaining young man on the other. He was one of the princes from Spain, as London was now full to bursting with the glamorous, young, and titled who had come to the city for the season.
When dinner was over and the servants had cleared the table, it was time for the ladies to depart for the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen at the table to their cigars and brandy. Leo came to her chair to bow and kiss her hand. “Don’t,” she said.
“Excuse me, my lady?” Leo said, surprised. He looked uncertain as to whether or not to take her hand, now that she was holding it up in a “stop” signal.
Don’t touch me. Don’t tell me how beautiful my eyes are, how soft my hair is, how you love to hear my voice. Don’t. Don’t pretend you are falling in love with me. I know you are lying, and every word you say hurts even more. Let us just be friends, if we can start there.
Can’t we? Can’t we at least be friends? Get to know each other a little? Before the wedding, and the bedding, when I will have to take you as my lord and husband?
But all she said was “Don’t.” Her eyes dropped, and her hand fell to her lap as well.
“You are tired, my dear,” he said, and patted the back of her chair instead of any part of her. At least he had divined that much.
“Good night,” she murmured.
He bowed and waited as she stood, following the ladies into the drawing room. Once inside, she took a cordial and downed it in one gulp. Aelwyn raised her eyebrows, but she did not say anything to her friend. Marie played one hand of bridge, listening to the idle chat and speculation about the upcoming royal ball. “I heard the sisterhood is working on a charm spell—that it will be like winter inside the palace!” one said.
“Oooh, I hope it doesn’t get too cold!” another gushed.
“I do! Mama said I could wear the white mink!”
Marie smiled at them benevolently. She, too, loved the London Season. As a child, she had been enamored of the glamour and magnificence of the legendary Bal du Drap d’Or. During her debut year, she had not taken a particular affinity to any of the young men who had come courting, and had been thankful her mother had not pushed her to marry any of them. But the time had come now, and the whole city was buzzing with her prospective engagement. The ladies were all gossiping, talking about her as if she weren’t there.
When she felt she had stayed long enough to be polite, she excused herself from their company. She went through the elaborate bowing and curtsying ritual with the queen, and was about to take her leave for the evening when her mother stopped her.
“Marie,” Eleanor said, and her face was hesitant.
“Yes, Mother?” Then she noticed her mother was close to tears; her eyes were shining.
“I just want you to know that I am very proud of you, my girl,” Eleanor said, her voice trembling. “I know you think I am hard on you, but it is only because I need to prepare you for your future—for the day when you will reign with your husband over our people.”