“He will wonder where I am.” She shook her head. “A woman’s duty lies in obedience to her husband’s will.”
“He is not yet your husband. And you may not wish him to be after you’ve listened. But it will be your choice. If you hear what we have to say and wish to be reunited, then consider us powerless to stop you,” I promised. She looked uncertain, so I decided to put it in terms Elin would understand: “Knowledge is all we offer. And knowledge is the lantern that illuminates the path to wisdom.”
She considered my words. “I suppose,” she admitted, “if you love a bird, you should set it free and see if it will fly back to you.”
I did not know if she was the bird or Simeon, but I did not bother to ask, for she reluctantly gathered her things and followed us back down the hallway.
Otto spoke to me in a hushed whisper as we went down the stairs. “We won’t all fit on the horse. I’ll go let a carriage. You should stay here, tucked away. Simeon is somewhere nearby and it will be much better if he doesn’t see you.”
Before he departed, he paid the innkeeper a few more coins to allow Elin and I to sit in the buttery. No one would think to find us there, tucked in amongst the barrels of wine and ale and beer, he said. But I could see Otto looking at the window. At the door. The habit of a soldier. Or perhaps the mind of a mapmaker. Charting our exits. The alertness, that careful awareness, reminded me that I, too, had reason to be afraid.
Elin and I settled on two barrels, for there was nowhere else to sit.
“This is unnecessary,” she told me but, with a mind primed already to obedience, said nothing further.
Outside, through the one small, high window, I could hear that the courtyard was busy. Coaches leaving. Men throwing about trunks and strapping them aboard. Doors opening and shutting. When it felt that we had settled, lulled by the noise, I turned to Elin. “We’ve made a mistake,” I told her. I tried to think of the right words to make her understand.
“I know you must be upset that I went off.” She put her hands in her lap. “But he is to be my husband. I must listen to him. I know it is a flexible application of my moral duties, but I do believe it is for the greater good.”
I leaned toward her, thinking of all the ways one can be harmed without visible evidence. “Has he…” The words were uncomfortable in my mouth. “Did he take your maidenhead?”
She blushed, a deep crimson, and shook her head. “We kissed.” She said it as if this, too, were shameful. “He wanted to marry straightaway, but I insisted we at least do it properly, on the coast, as he had promised when he first came to collect me. He has been remarkably patient with me. In a hurry, yes, but patient all the same.”
“He has not hurt you, then?”
She sat up straight, in surprise. “He has been nothing but kind! He has shown me no aggression.”
I shook my head, to myself. “Why would he, when you are sweet and lovely and go along with every little thing he says? But what of later, when you have a want or need of your own, something that he does not want or need, or worse, contradicts his wants or needs. What would happen then?”
She frowned at me. “I do not understand why you would say such things. Happiness is not a thing to be scratched at.”
I took one of her fragile little hands in my own, a gesture that felt awkward, even as I was making it. I had never done anything like this with her before. But I felt the need to offer some kind of comfort, however weak, however middling, as I recounted to her what I had learned. I told her without withholding the details, working chronologically,from Otto’s first suggestion to Hemma’s shocking disclosure: the subterfuge and planned secret. The incest. Simeon’s true nature. All the while, I kept one eye on the blank frame of that small window, worried Simeon’s face might appear at any time. I wished Otto would hurry.
While I spoke, Elin’s expression had remained unchanged, as if she were filtering the information to herself slowly, receiving only a fraction of the words. When I was finished, she stayed silent and tilted her head, thinking. “Mayhap someone like him will change?”
Beneath my frustration, I felt a stir of recognition. Had I not attempted a similar bargain in my own mind? Hope for an imaginary future allows you to overlook the horror of the present. Maybe, Simeon would reform. Maybe, he would tame his most base inclinations. Or, more realistically, maybe, Elin could learn to live with them. Maybe she could still be a princess, still get, at the end of each day, to call herself a woman in love.
“No,” I said, as simply and clearly as I could. “Not with you. Not for you. Not like this.”
“But,” she asked, “what am I supposed to do?”
“Come home with us and we will figure it out.” It was a false kind of reassurance—I had no more idea how we would move forward, extricate ourselves from this mess of a situation, than she did. But I did know I needed to get Elin away from Simeon, and time was of the essence.
I realized that the noise from the courtyard had gone quiet. It was a hawklike instinct, my body aware a moment before my mind. Something in me coiled.
“Darling,” Simeon said, appearing in the doorway. He spoke directly to Elin. “There you are.”
“Simeon!” She stood from the barrel.
“Your Highness,” I managed. My voice was not steady.
He ignored me. “I had to sell my fur to get us some more money,” he told Elin. “It feels good to shed excess, doesn’t it? A small sacrifice for our life together.”
“Simeon—” Elin said, again.
“I think it best if you go upstairs,” he told her.
“Stay here,” I instructed.
