Liane’s fake engagement had given Mother the idea of bringing Sundland and their army into the empire’s fold, and she wouldn’t let it go, especially after learning, from Duke Mattison, that the real Crown Prince of Sundland was missing, and the king was dying. It was presumed that Duke Mattison, the king’s brother, would take over the throne.
When their husbands died, most widows retired to the countryside, where they might enjoy newfound freedom and autonomy. That had never been an option for Aristea. It wasn’t a matter of if she’d remarry but how long she could delay it. For now, Mother was indulging Aristea’s mourning period. It wouldn’t last forever. If she must marry, she’d rather it be to a man of her choosing, perhaps from Heinrich’s former faction, preferably close in age to herself.
As crown princess, Aristea should have a choice. But the fraught political climate meant every move she made was scrutinized, leaving her paralyzed at times, terrified of making the wrong move. Unlike her sister, Liane, who had freedom. Liane chased vengeance and took lovers without repercussions. Mother always let her do as she pleased because she wasn’t the heir. Now, as the goddess’ avatar, she’d escaped their gilded cage and was flying free, unburdened by political intrigues.
It wasn’t fair.
Aristea stuffed those thoughts down. She would claim her power, in her own way. She wasn’t like Liane. Nor was she like her younger brother, Mathias, who was a jokester and peacekeeper. His charm had won him many fans at court, but he’d distanced himself from court politics by joining the army, and now he was risking his life to uncover the elven plot.
They each had their roles to play, and hers was to become empress. But you’re nothing without a man by your side. No one would bow to you alone. Heinrich’s vicious jabs haunted Aristea from beyond the grave, like old scars that wouldn’t heal. He was dead and he’d been wrong, she reminded herself.
Outside, courtiers meandered through the rows of hedges and flowering bushes. They swiveled their heads to watch her as she passed, whispering behind their hands when they thought she was out of earshot. She took note but pretended not to notice. Some were bold enough to greet her, and she smiled but didn’t linger, her gaze fixed on the old oak tree where she and her siblings used to play. Its large boughs drooped, wilting from the summer heat. Her lady’s maids followed behind her, their shoes pattering on the cobbled paths.
Aristea was never alone. Guards, maids, courtiers—all their eyes watching, judging, circling like birds of prey. Normally the fresh air calmed her, but today even the sound of her lady’s maids breathing was agitating. She needed to be alone, to clear her head before the lunch with the duke.
“Leave me,” she said.
“Your majesty...” Yvette started to protest.
“I want to be alone,” she reiterated. Yvette bowed, and they all backed away, giving her the space she’d requested.
Aristea breathed in the fresh air, perfumed by lavender bushes. If her siblings had been with her, they would have run off into the nearby hedge maze. But Aristea wasn’t like Liane, who followed her own rules, or Mathias, who floated wherever the wind blew. Aristea was a rule follower.
But there were no rules against wandering closer to the fountain. Her ladies and guards were well within sight, and she was perfectly safe inside the garden. She inched closer to the fountain in question, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder to see if they’d noticed.
She was so preoccupied with seeming nonchalant that she didn’t notice the branch dipping into the walk until it caught her veil and it pulled taut. Aristea tumbled forward and would have fallen onto her face, making a spectacle of herself, but someone grabbed her arm. But her forward momentum was too great, and they both toppled over.
Her would-be rescuer managed to switch their positions, and she fell on top of him. They were both tangled up inside her veil, and they thrashed about, pulling it free. This exposed her face and rumpled her blond hair, which fell from the pins that had held it back so that her hair now partially covered her face. This was her divine punishment for bending the rules, surely.
“Are you hurt, Aristea?” His familiar voice sent a wave of shock through her.
Aristea pushed aside the curtain of her hair and, for a moment, was transported back in time as she looked into the face of the first boy she’d loved. He wasn’t a boy any longer, but a man. He’d grown out a neatly trimmed beard, and his hair was a bit thinner at the temples, but it was still him, Jonathan Sommerfeld.
Heinrich had banished him from court not long after they’d been wed. She’d foolishly confessed to having feelings for him. Nothing had ever happened, of course. Her purity couldn’t be compromised. They’d danced a few times at court balls and shared a few impassioned glances. It was innocent, young, and naive love. By the time she’d wed Heinrich, it’d meant nothing to her. But it’d enraged Heinrich. She’d never seen Heinrich angry before then. Their first year of marriage had been sweet and tender. But that night, he’d grabbed a vase off the mantel and shattered it at her feet before she could calm him down by swearing Jonathan meant nothing to her. After that, Heinrich had arranged for Jonathan to marry the daughter of some allies, and Jonathan had been living in the countryside in informal exile.
Her breath caught and her tongue was tied. She recalled vividly the last moment she’d seen him. It had been the day before he’d left to marry. Oh, how she’d shed tears over her careless confession that’d ruined his reputation.
Guards, having witnessed her fall, rushed over and helped her up. Then her lady’s maids were swarming, urging her to put her veil back on and straightening her hair. Aristea waved them off, and they backed up a few steps—not enough to give them the privacy she truly craved, however.
Aristea sat on one of the nearby benches and tried to catch her breath. Her heart was racing. And she’d rather die than make a further spectacle of herself by fainting.
Jonathan approached, leaning heavily on his cane. Jonathan had been born with a clubfoot and had relied on a cane to walk since he was a boy. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Forgive me, Aristea.” The familiar use of her given name sent a shiver through her. No one, apart from her family, called her that. It warmed her to see that their familiar childhood bonds remained. She wanted to apologize, and she also wondered what’d brought him back to court, but the question came out as, “I’m sorry, what are you doing here?” She’d blurted it out and felt the blush crawl over her entire body. If she could’ve torn off her mouth and thrown it away, she would’ve.
He rubbed the back of his neck and wouldn’t look at her directly. “I’ve been hoping to speak to you,” he said, his gaze burning as it searched her face. “But perhaps I shouldn’t have—” He turned as if to walk away.
“No, don’t go.” She reached out for him on impulse before letting her hand fall to her side, feeling like an impulsive child. The lady’s maids had stepped back, but they had a full view of them both. And their allegiances were dubious at best. They were daughters and sisters of powerful men whom Heinrich had placed in her household to keep their eyes on her. And she had no doubt that they reported every move she made back to their fathers and brothers. She needed to be careful.
He turned toward her, face inscrutable. “Your majesty?”
She lamented the return to formal address, but it was a necessary evil. “What is it you wanted to say?” she asked, against her better judgment.
He leaned heavily on his cane, his grip white-knuckled. “I told myself I would come and give my condolences for your loss. But now that I’m looking at you face-to-face, I don’t think I can. I’m glad he’s gone...”
Her lady’s maids gasped. It wasn’t treason, but it felt close to it. It was impetuous at the least. And she shouldn’t allow it, but it secretly delighted her.
“I will remember this,” Aristea said. It could be construed as a threat or as praise. And judging from the small twist of Jonathan’s lips, he understood her meaning. He’d said what she’d been thinking all along. Though she dared not say it out loud, she was grateful he was brave enough to say it.
“Your majesty, it’s time to meet with Duke Mattison,” Yvette said.
