3. Delilah
CHAPTER 3
Delilah
A t first I thought I was insane for going to a St. Constance service. I was not a religious person, and what did I care about the Norjavan patron saint?
But I had an urgent need to get out of the palace. Even though Alexander acted no different, I felt constant eyes on me, saw the little smirks, the hushed whispers that meant people were discussing the King’s scandalous behavior with the gleeful relish only saved for other people’s pain.
What was even worse was that I had forgotten to turn off my news notifications like Alexander had told me to, which meant I was getting the headlines about his infidelity directly to my phone.
PLAYBOY PRINCE NOW PLAYBOY KING
CROWNED KING CROWNS SECRETARY
GOLDEN BOY CAUGHT WITH COCK OUT
I had even gotten a few emails on my official palace account.
Any comment, Queen Delilah?
I turned the volume down, my face burning.
Was I just the only moron who had thought my husband might actually be faithful to me?
Of course, because I always had awful timing, I was leaving by the front doors just as Julia and Jewel were coming in.
They were giggling together.
“Did you see her face ? The silly bitch didn’t guess ?” I heard one of them squeal but they stopped, just barely, when they saw me.
“Lovely ceremony yesterday,” Julia said.
“And you looked very dignified,” Jewel added, not bothering to keep the smirk off her face.
I felt angry tears start to my eyes, and I only stupidly whispered “thank you,” then brushed past them and ran down the lawn, letting the tears fall when I was in the long beautiful gardens. They were always perfectly maintained, immaculate green hedges and draping roses over beautiful hand-made trellises.
How could I stop Alexander from cheating on me?
I walked wonderingly down to St. Constance’s chapel. Daily services were held on the palace grounds beyond the beautiful rose gardens and beside the big sparkling marble fountain.
St. Constance’s was an ancient but still very beautiful building made with soft gray stone stacked neatly together and a large modern attached apartment where the Archbishop lived.
The service was fairly sparsely attended, but that suited me in my present mood. I thought it would be a boring formal service like I had attended in my home country, but Magnus broke off his readings as soon as I arrived.
“My dear Queen Delilah, so happy to have you here. Do you know all these fine devotees of St. Constance? Libby I am sure you know, but do you know my trophy husband, Roger?”
Roger was a broad, thickset man in his early 40s, brown-haired and heavily bearded, with twinkling eyes and a smile.
“I wish you’d stop saying that,” Roger said, but you could tell he wasn’t mad. “Makes me feel like you ordered me from a catalogue.”
“I could have had any man I wanted,” Magnus said, folding his arms and stroking his luxurious white beard, as Libby winked conspiratorially at me. “The competition was extremely ferocious. I chose you because you were the most decorative.”
“That’s true,” Libby said. “He is only outshined in ornamental value by my own husband, Henner.”
Henner was quite a homely man in his 40s, with a bristlebrush auburn beard that stuck out all over, and there were a few other palace employees there, too, including a man named Davies, who was tall and athletic-looking, with thick black hair. He bowed his head respectfully when we were introduced.
As I sat down, I began to feel a little more relaxed. For once, I didn’t feel like I was being judged or looked down on.
“What do you know about St. Constance?” Libby asked.
“Well, nothing really,” I said.
“She was abbess of this chapel from 1804-1854,” Magnus said. “And in that time she ran the country like the captain of a clipper ship. Her particular interest was the unfortunate and the downtrodden and she was zealous in their defense.”
“Some might say overzealous,” Henner said. “One time she heard about a nobleman cheating his workers out of their wages and she marched down to his manor and whipped him until his blood ran red in the streets and he was begging for her mercy.”
“She was a great woman,” Magnus put in. “They don’t make them like her anymore. What we usually do in the service is read some prayers and remembrances of her, then celebrate her memory with a bit of food.”
He gestured over to the sideboard, which was fairly groaning with a sumptuous banquet, including a glistening golden pheasant and a mountain of delicate pies and pastries.
“Maurice is of course another devotee,” Libby said, the smile in her voice.
“Read on, my dear ma’am,” Magnus said.
“O St. Constance,” Libby read from her prayer-book. “Steel our hearts full of righteous anger for punishing the evil-doers.”
I looked down at the prayer-book I had been handed, which had a portrait of St. Constance making a snakeskin purse out of a snake that had eaten one of her pet mice.
“She’s the patron saint of vengeance,” Magnus said. “We invoke her help to stiffen our back bones to do what’s right.”
“She’s a bitch,” Roger grinned. “But we love her that way.”
I felt a little spark, just a tiny little spark, of joy.
The service was not overlong, and soon we were digging into the delicious food Maurice had provided. I had been too sick to my stomach to eat much breakfast or lunch, but I suddenly felt hungry and sat down thankfully beside Libby.
“It’s—it’s relaxing being here,” I said haltingly. “Things at the palace are—a little uncomfortable.”
I felt stupid even as I said it. I had almost been thinking like they could be my first friends in the palace. Now they would all assure me what a great guy Alexander was. He was their King, after all.
Or they would be so sorry for me that the pity would overwhelm me and I’d be too ashamed to come back.
But they surprised me.
“May St. Constance strike down all cheats and liars,” Magnus said firmly.
“Amen,” added Libby.
I felt conflicted. Was Alexander just a repulsive cheat and a liar?
But maybe he wouldn’t do it again. . .
Maybe I could be hotter, better, more fascinating and he wouldn’t. . .
As we all ate, I looked around at the chapel. Inside it did need some repairs. There had been a mural that went all around the walls at some point, but time had treated it so poorly that the colors had faded, and I could barely tell what the pictures were supposed to be of.
“I’d love to help you restore them,” I said, and Magnus looked hopeful.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” he said longingly. “Really do St. Constance justice.”
“I could help you with that,” I said nervously, but then with more confidence.
I was a good artist. I knew I was. Finally, here was something I knew I was good at. I had even taken courses in restoration.
“I don’t want all the same stuff,” Magnus said thoughtfully. “Could you modernize some of it, maybe? I have a list of some sins I want to add.”
“Whatever you like,” I said, feeling confident for the first time in ages. I don’t know if it was St. Constance’s gimlet eye looking down at me, but I felt a tiny spark of hope.
“Come here anytime you want,” Magnus said firmly. “You are welcome here and we can decide together how to organize the new mural.”