“A pleasure to meet you, your majesty.” Her voice was high and sweet, with the barest hint of a lisp.
Jonathan had been married nearly as long as you, Heinrich’s voice whispered into her ear. And had a daughter. Maybe even a son. But your worthless, barren womb couldn’t do that. If only you’d had a son, or two, there wouldn’t be any talk of sedition. They’d gladly let you be empress until he came of age. But you couldn’t even do that. You couldn’t do the one thing a woman is good for.
Aristea didn’t respond. She was frozen in place for too long, and the girl looked at Jonathan as if she’d done something wrong. That’s when Aristea plastered on her porcelain smile.
“It’s lovely to meet you. May I know your name?” Aristea asked, the words catching in her throat.
The girl beamed, revealing a gap-toothed smile. “Elisa!” she declared proudly.
The longer she looked at this blue-eyed child, the more she saw the resemblances to Jonathan, the upturned nose, the sprinkle of freckles on her face. And though it hurt her heart to admit, she looked as Aristea imagined her and Jonathan’s children might have looked. Or would she have robbed Jonathan of fatherhood as well? Her hand drifted to her flat stomach.
“Why are you wearing all black?” Elisa asked.
“Because my husband died.”
“But Granpa says he was a wicked man, and the empire is better with him dead.” She placed her hands on her hips and declared this with all the seriousness a small child could muster.
Aristea choked back a laugh. It was a relief to hear it spoken so plainly by a child who saw the world in black and white.
Jonathan tugged Elisa to look at him. He still hadn’t stood up from his kneeling position. “I asked you not to speak of that. Remember? We talked about it. Sadness is a big feeling, and we all feel it in our own way, especially when it’s someone we care about.”
Aristea bit her tongue to keep from correcting him. Did he think she grieved for Heinrich? That couldn’t be further from the truth. But saying something now felt inappropriate.
“Did you wear a black veil when Mama died?” the girl asked, tilting her head.
Jonathan smiled as he pushed back her hair from her face. “No, I didn’t. Women wear veils. But I did wear black for a long time.”
“Mama died so I could live,” Elisa explained for Aristea’s benefit.
Aristea couldn’t think of anything to say other than, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok. Papa, Gran, and Granpa love me extra in her place.” She shrugged, but there was sadness in her expression.
“Now, why don’t you go and play with the nurse while we wait for Granpa, hmm?”
“Ok,” she said and took the hand of the nurse, nearly dragging her toward the fountain.
Jonathan watched her as she climbed up onto the lip of the fountain, his face one of utter love and devotion. Aristea had so many questions. Did he come to love Elisa’s mother, or did he wear black out of duty like her?
“What do you think of my secret weapon? Duke Krantz can never say no to his granddaughter.” Jonathan looked rather proud of himself for his plot.
Aristea shook her head. “You didn’t have to do this for me. I would have found another way.”
He turned to face her fully. “But I wanted to.”
The air felt charged as they stared at one another for several beats.
They were interrupted, however, by a sudden splash. They turned to see Elisa, one foot in the fountain, being bodily dragged back from the edge.
Jonathan rushed over and then winced in pain. Aristea beat him there, and Elisa stood with crossed arms.
“Nurse never lets me have any fun.” She pouted.
“You shouldn’t do dangerous things like that; I’m sure Nurse told you not to?”
“I did,” the nurse said wearily.
Elisa looked dejected.
