While Beauty Slept (12 page)

“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.