“You truly want to be alone, Isabelle? You cannot think only of yourself now—think of the child.”
“What child?” she said.
“Your child, of course. Do not tell me you don’t know you’re pregnant, Isabelle. The sisters confirmed it when they healed you.”
She was pregnant—of course. She’d known, of course, but she did not want to accept it. It was why she’d kept throwing up all the time, why she felt so uncomfortable in a corset, why her breasts were so large and swollen. She was carrying someone’s child…how terrible that she did not even know who the father was. It could be Leopold’s, or it could be Hugh’s…the thought disgusted her. She would kill herself before she allowed herself to bring his child into the world.
“My men assured me that Louis-Philippe died before he could make you his wife. If you have this baby out of wedlock, you will be shunned from court and every great house across the Continent. No one will marry you. So I have taken you home to Orleans, where you belong. I am offering you my hand in marriage, and a chance for you to remain with your lands and estate. Come, my dear—haven’t I been kind to you? I will accept your child as my own; perhaps it is mine anyway.”
“No, no, no,” Isabelle sobbed. She was going to escape, she was going to get away from him, from this.…How had this happened…? She was going to live in Cévennes with beautiful Louis, and have a beautiful life together.…
“Come here—I have missed you,” Hugh said, and he put his slimy hands around her, and he kissed her lips—and it felt disgusting and repulsive, but also familiar, too familiar—too much like coming home.
The Prussians would bury their dead in their home country. But before they took Prince Leopold away, his body would lie in state in a chapel at St. James, so that the court and the many members of the public who loved him could pay their last respects. When the crowds had left and the chapel was empty, Aelwyn arrived to say good-bye. She looked down at his face, so serene in eternal rest.
Marie was sitting in the first pew, and bade her friend come and sit with her. They sat and looked at the body of Leo together.
When Aelwyn heard that Marie had returned to the palace, she knew she had made the right choice not to keep the glamour. The night of the garden party, she had destroyed the illusion stone—and with it, the temptation to be something she was not. Her father was right to be wary of the glamour spell, and Sister Mallory was correct; a false victory was a hollow one.
“We made a mistake,” Aelwyn said. “I am sorry.”
“I am sorry too, for I made you do it. I’m sorry, Winnie, for pushing you, just like on the night of the fire.”
“It is not your fault,” Aelwyn sighed. “Not all of it.” Her father had been right to send her away four years ago, and the queen had been right to be paranoid and to fear her. Because on the night of the fire, the night that she had almost killed the princess, a dark, awful place in Aelwyn’s soul had wanted it. All her rage and frustration at her position had manifested that night, and when she saw the flames burn and lick the building, and the princess trapped in the smoke…
Aelwyn had been glad, had felt triumphant. See, I can do this. I can make things burn, I can destroy, I can show you all.…
The power is at my command.…
She had seen the evil in her heart. It had been right of her father to send her away to Avalon, to understand that she must learn to control her power and emotions. She must accept her position and find the good in her…for there was good in her…unlike Leopold.
“I am glad he is dead,” Aelwyn said. “He was evil, Marie. He was a sorcerer—he was poison through and through. Everyone loved him, except for you—you were the only one who was immune to his magic. You saw through him, ever since we were children.”
“A sorcerer…you’ve known from the beginning, haven’t you? Since I told you what he did at Lamac—you said, ‘But only a powerful sorcerer can unleash Pandora’s Box.’”
Aelwyn nodded. “I knew. I saw it in him when we met again—Leopold was not just a sorcerer, but a sorcerer’s son. Lord Hartwig was a hidden mage, he had to be—he lived in obscurity and only recently infiltrated the Prussian throne. He was Leo’s father. It was why Leo had wanted the portraits of the royal family destroyed, because anyone who looked closely could see the resemblance.
“It was then I began to believe that the rumors of the Prussian queen and her guard were just a cover—to throw suspicion on Wolf, so that no one would see. No one would know the truth. Hartwig raped the queen—and she bore Leopold. It was why Queen Theresa cried all the time; it was why she killed herself. Wolf is the true prince, the true king. Leo used his magic to make Wolf seem like the wrong one, the bastard, so that no one would pay attention to him. Because if they did…anyone would see that it was Leo who was wrong.”
“He must have secretly borrowed Wolf’s spell-key days before to set the spell,” Marie said, understanding everything now. “He knew we had found it as children, and he used the secret passageways to get into the dungeons where the wine was kept.”
“Yes. The wards would never have allowed him to bring the Pandora’s Box into the castle, so he had to find another way. But if the tools for a weapon were already here, all he had to do was cast the spell.”
“The ruby spell. He turned the wine into barrels of magefire to destroy us all,” Marie said. “But why? We were going to be married—he had the empire at his feet.”
“Hartwig was not Prussian at all,” Aelwyn said. “He was a French warlock. He survived the Battle of Orleans, and nursed a lifelong grievance against the empire. Leo was his son. Like his father, Leo never wanted peace. He only wanted a way into the palace—a way to be welcomed by Eleanor. The wedding was just a cover for his true intentions. Hartwig was killed at Lamac. He was Leo’s father, and trained him as a boy. He shaped him to be a weapon, and fed his mind with anger and fury. Leo wanted revenge—everything destroyed—the empire turned to ashes, and war brought down on all our heads.”
“So we owe our lives to that French boy, to Louis-Philippe,” Marie said thoughtfully.
“Not quite,” Aelwyn said with a smile. “I cast a spell of my own.”
“When?”
“At midnight, in the garden—when I saw the duel. I thought, here is my chance. Here is my chance to make everything right. I made certain that the bullet would hit its mark. Leopold never saw it coming; he didn’t know that the wards were down, and the royal blood was unprotected.”
“I thought you loved him.”
Aelwyn sighed. She had been attracted to him—to his bright and fearless ambition. His focus and his anger had appealed to her, too, because rage and resentment were her lot as well. “I was drawn to Leo. I was attracted to his hunger, his weakness; but later, I saw him for what he was. He reminded me of Lanselin, whom I loved in Avalon. A vain and foolish boy, who would put his selfish desires over the peace of the kingdom.”
“Did he know you were me?”
“I don’t know…I suspected…I don’t know.”
“I am not sorry he is dead,” Marie said. “But he deserves our pity. It could not have been easy, growing up with such an awful secret. Hartwig must have corrupted him with his hate. Queen Theresa was still his mother, and he often spoke of her lovingly. And Wolf adored him.”
“You are truly merciful,” Aelwyn said as she knelt before her. “I serve you, my queen. You have my loyalty. I am your friend, you have been mine…”
“Winnie, you don’t need to apologize,” said Marie.
“There is more, my princess,” Aelwyn said, bowing her head. “I must beg for your forgiveness. My father admitted to me that he has been poisoning you since you were young. He made you think you suffered from the wasting plague. Your mother, the queen, began to suspect as much.”
“I knew there was a reason I was afraid of your father,” said Marie. “Although I did not think he was trying to kill me.”
“He never tried to kill you. It was to make sure your will w
as strong enough to triumph over a weakened body—strong enough to lead an empire. Testing your strength was a precaution to protect the empire, to protect the realm from weakness inside and out. I’m sorry, it is upsetting news, and it was to me.”
Marie laughed without bitterness. “Strangely, I am not upset. I am just relieved that I do not suffer from illness after all.”
“You have proven you are the strongest ruler this empire will know,” Aelwyn said. “You will be queen. I will bond to the Order and serve as your Morgaine.”
Aelwyn swore fealty to the princess. As she did, she remembered her father’s words that morning. We serve the realm by choosing the monarch. I chose Henry over Charles. I saw the future: I saw this empire standing tall and proud. I saw Camelot lasting a thousand years. I prevented wars, famine, death; instead, I gave this land peace, prosperity, and a succession of worthy sovereigns.
Your mother and I planned it from the beginning.
When her time to exit came upon her, Eleanor understood what the empire needed: we each needed an heir. One to rule, and one to serve.
She had a dream once, that her daughter would betray her—that her daughter was a traitor. And so we devised a test. We knew Aelwyn’s power of illusion and Marie’s desire to have a different life. We decided we would announce Marie’s engagement to Leopold to set it in motion. Nothing happens in this empire without our knowledge, but we left it to you both to save the kingdom from ruin. If both of you failed, then I would step in, but we would be lost; we would have to try again somehow. Our time was running short.
Eleanor had two daughters seventeen years ago.
One from the seed of her long-dead husband. And the other from the seed of her most trusted advisor.
One to rule, and one to serve.
They were sisters—twins—best friends born into separate destinies.
After telling her the truth, the Merlin had withdrawn into himself. She had shifted forward in her seat, one last question burning in her mind.
“Father, have you seen the future in the glass? It will not show me mine,” she had asked.
He’d sighed. “I have seen many futures. Each one shows that now is the time for my death. Eleanor will not live the year, and neither will I. But I have seen you taking the vows and taking your place by the throne. For you have chosen the monarch, have you not?”
She had. She thought she had chosen to rule herself, but when she’d seen Leopold in the courtyard, she’d known what had to happen. The death of the prince meant Marie had to return, and she could not take Marie’s place. That had never been her true place in the castle, her true position. When she had sent the bullet flying to its mark, she had chosen Marie to be queen and sovereign.
Sweet, compassionate Marie, who would rule the land with a gentle hand and an intelligent heart.
Aelwyn had chosen the monarch, and chosen well.
Lady Constance had arrived for tea again that afternoon. She wanted Ronan to tell her everything that had happened at the palace on the night the prince was killed. Ronan told her what she could, but did not relish the news. Wolf’s brother was dead. She did not know what it meant for her, but she feared what it would bring.
“And I have good news,” she said. “Lady Julia thinks Marcus will propose to you again. This time you must accept.”
“I must?”
“Your mother and I made an agreement,” Lady Constance said. “Shall I speak plainly?”
“Please do.”
“I was to help you land a titled lord. You are a rich American girl, and his family goes back generations. I help set up the match, and voilà.”
“Wait—my mother promised you a fee?” Ronan goggled.
Lady Constance shrugged. “It’s a typical practice during the season. How else did you get an invitation to the royal ball? I gave you one of my slots.”
“But you didn’t even get me to any of the best parties, or to your own dinner.”
“Your parents’ first payment only covered so much,” Lady Constance said. “I have been waiting for the next installments. But I did find you Marcus and the baron.”
“What does Marcus get out of it?”
“Oh, he’s a typical broke Englishman,” Lady Constance said gaily. “All of their assets are tied up in the land and the estate. They’re practically penniless.”
Ronan began to laugh. “Well, then he was barking up the wrong tree if he thought I could change his fortune.” They thought she was a rich American, a Van Owen—because of the dresses—because of the royal suite at Claridge…of course. It all made sense now.
“Pardon?”
“We’re broke, Lady Connie,” Ronan said. “Penniless as your friends. It’s why Mother couldn’t pay the rest of your so-called fee. But here, you’ve had some wonderful teas on my friend’s account. Perhaps I will let you take care of this one.”
Later that afternoon, Vera told her she had another visitor. When her governess left the room, Wolf entered. He was paying her a proper call at last.
“You came back to me,” she said, rushing to his arms, but he held himself back and gave her only a stiff hug.
“No, Ronan. I have come to say good-bye.”
“Good-bye?”
It was as Lady Constance had said earlier, that of course the negotiated treaty still stood—and there was no better way to meet its obligation than to have the prince who was still alive marry the princess. That was his job, after all—his purpose in life—to fulfill promises and responsibilities in case his brother failed to deliver.
“I am sorry,” Wolf said. “I have no choice in the matter.”
“Do you love her?” she asked, tears in her eyes.
“I am fond of Marie. She is an old friend of mine.” Wolf did not elaborate. He did not tell her about the admiration he felt for her: how smart and strong and brave she was, how she had saved the empire from destruction and war. He said none of these things to Ronan.
“Because there are other ways…kings and consorts…” Ronan said, her voice low. “I do not care. I only want to be with you. I want to be at your side, at every occasion. I will be in the shadows, but I will love you. I just want to be with you. I will be your mistress if you want, but let me love you. Let me stay with you. Please.”
Wolf shook his head, appalled. “No. I will not do to you what my brother did to Isabelle. I will not have you ruined and debauched. I will let you go. I have to let you go.”
“No—please—don’t say these things, you can’t mean them—we only just found each other…”
“It must be done,” Wolf said firmly. “You must forget about me, Ronan, and build a life for yourself. Find a man who is free to love you. Find someone who is worthy of you. You think too little of yourself, and of your worth. You’re more than just a beautiful girl from New York. You are worth more than any titled aristocrat. You can make your own fortune. I can help you, if you want. I can be a good friend to you.”
“But you will not be my husband,” Ronan cried. “Or my lover.”
“No, Ronan, I cannot,” he said. “That part of our relationship has ended.”
“Then I will leave court and go back to New York,” Ronan said. “I will marry Marcus!” she threatened. “Or the baron!”
“If you must,” Wolf said, and his face was tired and drawn, distant. This was not the boy who’d held her in the garden. That boy had also died that night. This was the prince and heir to the throne. “Think about what I am offering, and do what you need to do—but this is good-bye, Ronan.”
When Wolf arrived back at the palace, he was told by the butler that Marie had asked him to go to the small drawing room and wait for her there. When Marie entered, she found Wolf sitting on his favorite chair, his shoulders slumped. He looked just like he did when he was a little boy. Her favorite friend, she thought. “Pup,” she called. “You’re back.”
He turned and saw her at the door. A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “Helmet head.”
She t
ook a seat next to him and they both looked out at the garden. The tents were gone now, and the courtyard where Leo had been shot only a few days ago was scrubbed clean. Everything, it seemed, would be scrubbed clean…a prince was dead, but a new prince had been offered in his place.
They stared at the garden for what seemed like a very long time. They’d both had such different dreams for their lives, but their lives had led them back here, to this room, to each other.
“Did you love him? A silly question,” Wolf said. “Of course you loved him. You were going to run away with him. You were going to give up everything for him.”
She did not answer, because the answer was clear. “The American girl whom you were embracing in the hallway earlier. Her name is Ronan, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Ronan Astor.”
“You had planned to marry her, didn’t you? But now you cannot marry her—you have to marry me.” Marie sighed.
When Wolf looked up at her, his face was as gray and tired as she felt. She thought he would deny it—fight it—but instead he took her hands in his and pressed them to his lips. “I have been thinking, ever since my brother died.”
“Yes?”
“We must be kind to each other, Marie. We must forgive each other.”
“For what?” she asked, though she already knew. They had to forgive each other for not being the first: the first love, the first kiss. For not being a dream come true from a fairy tale. There was no such thing as fairy tales. Princesses didn’t turn into peasants, and princes could not run away to have adventures. She had wanted to be someone else so badly, but perhaps the secret to life was accepting who she was. She was Eleanor’s daughter, Princess Marie-Victoria of England and France. She had passed the Merlin’s test, carried the blood of generations of rulers, and was to rule an empire that spanned five continents—the most powerful empire the world had ever known.
His lips were warm and soft on her hand. When he let her hand go, she felt a pang.