Chapter 18
The morning Aristea was scheduled to meet Jonathan, she spent too long debating between her black gowns.
It was a frivolous waste of time, and yet as Jana held up two options, she couldn’t choose.
There was no real difference; one was a brocade with lace trims at the sleeves, the other a silk overskirt with a panel of brocade down the center.
But she wanted to make a good impression on Duke Krantz, and only him.
Seeing Jonathan after finding out he was a widower had nothing to do with her indecision.
He was the facilitator of her plans, and future empresses didn’t marry widowers, especially those of low rank.
The Dukes’ Council wouldn’t sanction another marriage for her unless it were with someone like Duke Mattison, a man of royal blood whose ties to another royal house could strengthen the empire.
Princesses didn’t marry for love; Aristea knew that better than anyone.
But despite all logic, she fussed over her appearance, having Yvette redo her hair coronet half a dozen times before she was satisfied.
They headed out for the palace gardens. Many of the nobility strolled through the gardens in the warmer months.
There was plenty of shade here and fountains to relax by.
She often walked the garden paths between appointments, her entourage of guards and attendants following behind her.
Nothing about what she was doing was out of character; the courtiers she passed nodded politely, and no one gave her any strange sideways glances.
And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling she was doing something scandalous.
The plan was to meet somewhere inconspicuous, as if they happened to run into one another while both strolling through the garden.
No one would suspect anything untoward about it.
And if they lingered to talk in a public place, who would question it?
And if they happened to run into his former father-in-law, that was innocent enough.
And yet her heart raced the closer she got to their meeting place.
It was the same rendezvous location where she’d “accidentally” bumped into him during their brief teenage romance.
Back then, it was never planned. She just kept going there, and he kept showing up.
They’d hardly talked; it had been for a chance to see him.
Maybe it was the memories that made her heart race.
The nostalgia of their long-gone past was making her silly and girlish.
She reached their destination and wiped her sweaty palms on her gown.
A fountain with a depiction of Cyra pouring water from a jug splashed.
Mother had commissioned it for the five-year anniversary of the end of the civil war.
Low hedges surrounded it, and there were marble benches facing it, where people might lounge.
Aristea hadn’t been to this spot in years, as the memories were too painful.
She’d imagined it often, though, turning the corner and finding Jonathan there.
The thought of visiting their secret spot and him not being there made her heart ache.
But as she turned the corner, she saw him seated on the bench, his bad leg stretched out in front of him and his cane resting against the bench as he massaged his leg.
When he saw her, his face lit up and he rose to greet her.
A few nobles were strolling along the other side of the hedges.
They didn’t turn to look, but if they had, they’d have seen how he looked at her, and rumors would swirl.
Her chest tightened. That smile and that light in his eyes—could she mistake it for anything else?
Could she delude herself into thinking his intentions were merely friendly?
She considered turning around and heading back to her room.
There must be another way to win over Duke Krantz.
But her traitorous feet remained glued to the spot as Jonathan ambled over to her.
She noticed how he winced as he walked and leaned heavily on his cane, As a teen sometimes his foot pained him and she felt a stab of guilt for making him walk out here to meet her on one of his bad days.
“Are you in pain—” she asked as he said, “Your Highness, lucky running into you here.”
They both lapsed into silence, staring at one another awkwardly.
The group she’d noticed on the other side of the hedges turned and entered the fountain area. They must have caught at least part of the exchange because their heads swiveled in Aristea’s direction.
“Your highness.” They curtsied to her.
One of the women said to Jonathan, “Hope you’re not too stiff after last night’s party.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
The woman trilled a laugh at his comment, and the group fluttered away.
The women wore bright pastels, and the men had flourishes of color in their clothes as well.
Aristea felt suddenly self-conscious of her black, as if she were lurking about in the bright garden like an ominous raven.
It’d been many years since she’d longed for an average life.
One where she could be a girl in a pretty dress, flirting with other courtiers.
The courtiers passed them by, and when she and Jonathan were relatively alone—apart from her entourage, who lingered behind her—he moved closer.
The swarm of butterflies in her stomach took flight.
This close, she could see the shadow of stubble on his face and the dusting of freckles across his nose.
And she was transported for a moment to the naive young woman she’d been, wanting to run her fingers across those same freckles.
“There’s someone I wanted you to meet before we go and find my father-in-law,” he said.
“Oh?” she asked.
He turned and gestured behind him. A little girl screeched and ran from behind the bushes, her golden pigtails tied up in ribbons bouncing as she ran.
Behind her, a tired-looking nurse gave pursuit.
The kid’s precocious nature reminded her of Liane as a child.
She’d given their nurses trouble, constantly climbing and scraping her knees, getting into mischief.
Then reality came crashing in as the girl reached for Jonathan. He knelt with one hand braced on his cane to match her height. He smiled at her and smoothed her curls with familiar affection. The child couldn’t be more than six years old.
“Darling, this is Papa’s friend I told you about. Will you greet Her Highness?” Jonathan asked her.
She nodded her head enthusiastically and unwrapped her arms from around Jonathan to perform a childlike curtsey.
“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.