Lions in the Garden

  I exhaled and tapped my fingers against the glass. If Daliborka Tower was abandoned, the rest of the grounds were the exact opposite. Along the gates were guards—tripled in number—maybe even more. In fact, more of the king’s army stood at the gates than I’d ever seen before.

  Was it because of the wedding? Or because of what was happening in town?

  I pressed my forehead against the glass to see the front gate.

  Hundreds of peasants gathered at the black wrought-iron fence. The crowd had increased in number as the day turned to night. The yelling and screaming was, presumably, in protest of my upcoming nuptials to Radek. From what I’d gathered, Marc and I had become a symbol of hope to them—we broke the conventional mold. We had brought about change in an unchangeable world.

  The peasants were angry that I was being forced into marriage. They were furious over Marc’s imprisonment. At one point, about an hour ago, the crowd had chanted: “Sýkora, Sýkora!”

  The cheer had brought a sad smile to my face. If I could hear them from Saint Vitus Cathedral, then my father could hear them as well. I hoped the sound worried him. I hoped it made him squirm.

  “Lady Nováková?”

  I closed my eyes.

  Marion stood at the door. “It’s time. If you would follow me, we can begin the ceremony.”

  My chest tightened. What was I going to do?

  “Lady Nováková?”

  I exhaled.

  “Perhaps if you’re nervous, you can gain strength from your Protestant flock,” Marion said coolly. “They are cheering for you at the gate.”

  “Perhaps I will.” My train dragged behind me like deadweight as I followed Marion to the top of the staircase. He moved behind me and gathered the fabric in his arms as we walked down the stairs.

  We paused in an empty hallway, but the crowd’s cries drifted from beyond the wall. Branka and two other women—one I recognized as the young servant girl named Leticia—pushed through a side door. My faithful nursemaid’s hands went to her mouth. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” I mumbled.

  Leticia handed Branka a delicate golden tiara that glittered with jewels. Branka placed the tiara on the crown of my head and secured it to my scalp. “Are you ready?”

  “No.”

  She hugged me.

  “You have to get out of the castle,” I whispered.

  Branka ignored my plea and ushered me down the corridor. Marion had disappeared and it wasn’t until I heard his trumpet blare from the other side of the double doors that I finally grasped what was actually happening.

  “It’s time,” Branka whispered.

  “But I—”

  “Walk down the aisle with your head held high,” she said. “Everyone in this church knows you do not want to be here. They know you do not love Radek. Don’t let them win by showing yourself defeated.” She kissed me roughly on the cheek. “I love you.”

  I leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

  She pulled back and blinked.

  I nodded at her. “Please, I need your help.”

  The double doors opened and I was ushered away from Branka.

  The cathedral was lit with soft golden light from hundreds of candles decorating the nave. Lanterns hung on the edges of the pews, and the aisle was littered with pink flower petals. The long, narrow aisle stretched out in front of me like a death march.

  The music started and I peeled my eyes from the towering ceilings and the dozens of intricately carved arches that lined the side walls. Rows of dark wooden pews filled the church and were crammed with people. Every neck turned in my direction.

  “Go.”

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  Marion waved me forward with his trumpet. I took my first step. My brain shouted at me to run away. I stopped halfway down the aisle, but my eyes scanned the crowd and located my father sitting high up in the royal balcony beside King Rudolf II.

  My father’s eyes tightened, and I continued.

  Radek waited for me at the end of the aisle. His smile stretched from ear to ear. He wore all white—dressed in his Vienna finest—with a blue sash across his embossed gold buttons. Combed blond hair was smoothed back from his face. The hairstyle made him look younger than he was. It made him look harmless.

  I walked down the never-ending aisle, ignoring the whispers as I passed the crowded pews. From inside the cathedral, even with the organs playing, the peasants’ shouts could still be heard. Their cries reverberated off the stone walls. I inhaled. Their shouts gave me the strength to finish my walk.

  Radek met me at the first pew and took my hand. I followed the duke and the music stopped. We faced each other as the priest began the sacrament. I couldn’t meet his eyes—all I could see was Radek’s vicious beheading of the Protestant pastor—so I focused on the vein in his forehead. It throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat.

  I’d managed to walk down the aisle without collapsing, but it grew more difficult to stay on my feet. A humming filled my ears and the priest’s voice sounded muddled, like it was coming from underwater. My corset was too tight and the dress was too heavy. I wavered on my feet. Was I in shock?

  The priest delivered his speech in Latin, but I was too disoriented to recognize any of the words. Some small part of me had been certain that Marc would have swooped in by now and rescued me from the castle like a princess in a fairy tale. But how? He was injured and locked in a tower.

  Even if Henrik had managed to break Marc out of the dungeon, he couldn’t come here. It was too dangerous. One show of his face would have incited a riot. He would have been killed on the spot.

  I swallowed, but my mouth was too dry. A cold sweat beaded my forehead. My hands, now in Radek’s, felt clammy.

  How could this be happening? Why had I come back to the castle? We should have stayed in the forest. We could have been to Moravia by now. Or Spain. Anywhere but here.

  My breathing quickened to short, panic-filled gasps. I felt like I was being choked.

  The priest took the communion wafer and held it over his head in the beginning of the Eucharist ritual. He broke the thin piece of bread and recited the familiar Catholic passage of how Jesus had broken bread with his disciples during the Last Supper.

  Radek and I accepted the communion wafer and followed it by drinking the wine. I was breathing too heavily. My head felt light. Radek reached for my trembling hand and squeezed it.

  Maybe Marc was free. Maybe Henrik had saved him. I imagined them racing away from Prague, seeking the safety of the forest.

  “It is,” Radek said to the priest.

  I turned to Radek. Why had he spoken?

  The priest looked at me. “Ludmila Isabella Nováková, do you state before the eyes of God and the eyes of the people of Bohemia that it is your conscious and free choice to enter into this holy sacrament of marriage with Radek IV, Duke of Prucha?”

  The church was silent except for the peasants’ shouts. Their individual cries had combined into one loud call of insurgency. The sound echoed off the vaulted ceilings and their screams reverberated throughout the cathedral. How could the others ignore those cries?

  Radek smiled kindly at me.

  I glanced at my father, seated in the royal balcony beside the king. Rudolf’s face was turned to the back of the church—toward the sound of the peasants’ cries. Was he worried about the rebellion? Did he even care anymore? Rudolf turned back around and caught my eye. His face softened and he nodded.

  My father raised an eyebrow.

  “Lady Nováková?” the priest asked.

  I glanced over my shoulder at the famous Golden Gate. It was closed. Marion stood in front of it with his trumpet in hand.

  Marc wasn’t coming.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  The priest smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He knew what part he played in all this. “That is it,” he whispered to Radek. “You are married.”

  That is it.

  The words danced around
in my head without meaning.

  That is it. That is it.

  The priest raised his arms to the congregation. “I now pronounce you, Radek IV, Duke of Prucha, and, you, Lady Ludmila Isabella Nováková, husband and wife.”

  I exhaled, but it sounded like a sob.

  The priest bowed deeply to the king sitting in the balcony. “To King Rudolf II, the Holy Roman Emperor and King of Bohemia, and to the people of Prague, I am pleased to present to you, the Duke and Duchess of Prucha.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The Duchess of Prucha.

  Radek’s hand slid to my elbow as he rotated me around to face him. The audience cheered from the pews. My body felt numb—like I was no longer in control of my movements. A puppet. But whose? Radek’s? My father’s? The House of Habsburg’s?

  His hand glided down to my lower back. The tips of his fingers reached lower than my waist as he drew me against him. I realized I had to kiss him. He lowered his mouth and pressed his lips against mine. His tongue felt foreign and uncomfortable. Play the part. I kissed him back and he deepened the kiss to the tune of the crowd’s roar.

  The duke released me with a grin. “I love you.”

  I smiled back and forced out the words I was supposed to say. “I love you, too.”

  The king rose from his throne and everyone in the chapel sank into a bow. Radek held my hand as I kneeled in my wedding gown.

  I stared at the red fibers in the aisle’s rug. I’d kissed only two men in my life—Marc and Radek. When Marc had kissed me, the world had stopped. A fire had spread through my veins and ignited an explosion inside me. My knees had even buckled.

  When Radek kissed me, I had to remind myself not to cringe. I felt only disgust for him. He was a cold-blooded murderer, and now he was my husband.

  The king, with my father following him, proceeded out of the balcony and exited the church. Radek helped me to my feet. Nobles and members of the court clapped as we walked hand in hand down the aisle. I hated all of them. I hated what they stood for. The way they arrogantly led their lives.

  I hated myself because I was no better.

  We walked outside. Torches glittered off the colorful mosaics adorning the mural above the cathedral’s Golden Gates, but I hardly spared them a glance. What had I done?

  I sought the darkness of Daliborka Tower, but it wasn’t visible from the church. Why wasn’t the ground bustling with activity? Why wasn’t the castle in chaos? I knew the answer—Henrik hadn’t saved Marc. Ruzena had never gone to Henrik with my dagger. She’d probably kept the garnets to spite me.

  Feelings of despair turned to panic. Now that I had officially married Radek, there was nothing to stop my father from killing Marc. Would they send in a guard in the middle of the night as they had with Branka? And even if they didn’t send in an assassin, Marc was still scheduled to hang in the morning.

  “Are you all right?” Radek asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you certain? You look pale. If you’d like, we can skip the party and go to bed. I know you’ve had an emotional few days.”

  To bed.

  I allowed a fake smile to spread across my face. “We can’t miss our own celebration.”

  He kissed me quickly. “Then let us celebrate.”

  Radek’s latest revelation had stunned me into silence. I’d forgotten probably the most important—and sickening—consequence of marrying Radek: We would share a bed.

  Thinking of what that entailed revived fresh fear. Fresh panic.

  “This way, my love.” Radek led me to the ballroom.

  It was the same hall where Radek had announced our engagement and where the crown jewels had first been revealed. The same room where I’d whispered with Marc. My eyes sought out our pillar as if it were a sacred object. A piece of Marc. It was wrapped in white ribbon like all the other pillars. My mood darkened. There was nothing special about it—not anymore. Not without him here by my side.

  The king was seated on his throne, dressed in his usual all black with the Order of the Golden Fleece emblem around his neck. He was dressed for a funeral instead of a wedding. I suppose it was an accurate portrayal, because I felt like I was dying a slow death. My father was at the king’s side talking to Marion. Radek led us toward our official seats of honor for the night—two purple velvet chairs next to the king.

  The crowd from the church followed us into the ballroom. Servants carried trays with desserts and drinks. Hundreds of glasses of champagne surrounded a life-sized ice sculpture of King Rudolf. Skirts twirled across the dance floor as a ten-man orchestra played in the corner.

  The reception had begun.

  Radek sat beside the king, and I collapsed on the end chair. I couldn’t stand much longer with the weight of the dreaded wedding dress.

  I was in no frame of mind to speak to anyone longer than an acknowledgment of their obligatory congratulations. I bit my tongue as they uttered fake blessings. After my outburst at the town square, I’d become the most hated member of court. The lords and nobles blamed me for the growing anarchy outside the castle’s walls. I threatened their idyllic way of life. Radek hadn’t lied when he’d gloated to me—I was alive only because of him. I hated him more for that. I’d rather be dead.

  “Do you want anything?” Radek asked.

  Marc’s release.

  “A glass of champagne,” I whispered.

  Radek caressed my cheek. “That is a perfect idea.”

  He motioned to one of the servants and I had a glass in hand within a blink of an eye. I swiftly downed the drink and ignored the burning sensation as the bubbly liquid slid down my throat.

  “Careful,” Radek said. “You have to sip it or I’ll be carrying you upstairs!”

  I craved the cloudiness the drink would provide, but I couldn’t afford to be intoxicated. I’d need my wits about me. “One more glass, please. I promise I’ll sip it.”

  As Radek motioned to the servant again, I searched the crowded ballroom for any sign of Ruzena. The servants were mostly male tonight because of the heavy trays that needed to be carried—but I had no way of knowing if she was here or not. Maybe she was in the kitchen. Would she have the audacity to show her face?

  My father shook Radek’s hand. “May I dance with your beautiful new wife?”

  “Of course, Václav!”

  I couldn’t refuse with all of the eyes on me. Cold hatred filled me. My father extended his hand and I reluctantly allowed him to lead me to the dance floor.

  “You had me slightly concerned, Ludmila.” My father ushered me into a turn.

  I didn’t respond. I continued to search for Ruzena over his shoulder.

  “I was uncertain if you were going to say yes at the altar,” he said. “It was thrilling entertainment. I was on the edge of my seat.”

  “I didn’t have much choice in the matter, did I?”

  “There’s always a choice, Ludmila.”

  “Right, and if I had said no, then Marc would be dead and Branka would follow soon after.”

  He nodded. “That’s a safe assumption, but you still had the choice.”

  “I’ve done everything you asked. You won, Father. Will you let Marc go?” I wasn’t above begging. “Please.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Of course you can; you’re the chancellor. Just pardon him.”

  “Let me rephrase. I won’t.” He spun me in a dizzying circle, which was made worse by the added effects of the champagne. My father’s yellow-tinged face filled my sight. “What you said in my study was correct. The boy’s arrest wasn’t about you. Not really. If I were that concerned with your love affair with a dirty peasant, I would have had him killed.”

  I cringed at the callousness in his voice.

  “That would have been easy enough to arrange.” My father inclined his head at Rudolf as we whirled near his throne. He waited until we were out of earshot to continue. “But the blacksmith’s son has become a symbol to them. A spark of hope to the Protestants
outside these walls. They see him as a hero—”

  “He is a hero.”

  “Perhaps. But one I cannot afford to tolerate. I can still hear their pathetic cries from the gates—it’s been two days! Which means this really is the beginning of it. I won’t allow this rumbling of dissent to transform into something more. Too much is at stake. If I were to free him, the blacksmith would lead the Protestants in a revolt against the Crown.”

  “They are already rebelling.”

  “They are stirring like an angry hornet’s nest, but they are not stinging. Not yet. And once I give them a visual—not unlike the one I gave you in my study—their hopes will be crushed. Once they see the boy hanging from the end of a rope, they will understand that they can’t succeed against us. They will realize that even the hero who loved the chancellor’s daughter and saved her from a vicious gang of thieves—even he still lost to the Crown because he was a Protestant. His death will crush their hope.”

  I pulled away from my father in disgust.

  “You are one of us, Ludmila; you always have been. Even more so now that you’ve taken the title of the Duchess of Prucha. You are a Catholic.” My father’s voice sank to a whisper. “And together, we will stop this Protestant Revolution.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  My father’s words haunted me for the remainder of the party. The king, leaving for Moravia, excused himself shortly after the dance with my father. Rudolf blessed our marriage in front of the boisterous crowd. He gave me a nod and retreated from the ballroom, but the king’s words replayed in my mind. “You are your mother’s daughter.”

  What would my mother have done? How would she have fought back? How could I rescue Marc and stop those poor Protestants from being slaughtered? Or feed the starving people of Prague? I’d riled up the crowd in the town square, but I’d done that out of fear for Marc’s safety. What had I really done to stand up against this oppression?

  Nothing.

  I’d shied away from my father’s threats and gone along with his demands. People were starving and being murdered in the streets, and I hadn’t fought back. Even now, as I danced with Radek in my wedding gown, I was an imposter. A fake. I was teeming on the inside with rage and ideas of rebellion, but on the outside I smiled and drank champagne. I was sickening.