10. Ofelia
10
Ofelia
T here were so many courtiers crowding the view of the courtyard that we were not even able to see the king. I found this to be a relief, in some way. My stomach was all tied in knots, and my thoughts were like a river cluttered with twigs and leaves, about mother, about the king, about my father , whoever he might be.
Yet my chance to see the king came all too quickly that evening, when all were called to the Hall of Ceremonies. This chamber was grander and more decadent than any room thus far. The vast ceiling portrayed a morning sky fading from day into night and then back into sunrise, like one could spend an entire day just walking the length of the room. One wall was covered entirely with large windows, proudly displaying the sunlit gardens. Fading sunshine spilled through the room, turning the parquet floors gold.
To celebrate the king’s return, all courtiers were to wear silver clothing that day. The maids had given us new gowns and shoes, the color of moonlight. My hair was adorned with pearls like twinkling stars, but at my request, they left Lope’s alone and found her a silver coat and breeches. She’d kept her hair in a plait, and seeing her look like herself again—well, it gave me a bit more courage.
We were crammed into a room full of people in their silver costumes, all of us pointed toward a set of golden double doors. Courtiers craned their necks, murmuring eagerly to themselves.
Any moment now, the king would walk through. That alone was terrifying, to see the man whom the gods had favored. But... the thought that I could be meeting my father. The thought that perhaps he knew where my mother was now.
I clung to Lope’s arm. She was steady, she was never-changing. And I needed all her steadfastness in this moment.
“What if I make a fool of myself?” I whispered to her. “What if he laughs me out of the palace? What if our search leads us nowhere?”
Her thumb gently swept against the back of my hand. I looked up to meet her gaze. For a split second, the world was still and peaceful, and all I could see were her dove-gray eyes. They were so full, so easy for me to read. Love , I thought. This has to be love. It has to be me.
Please , my desperate heart whispered as if she might hear it. Please say it’s me.
“My lady,” she said, “I know you. You are not quick to give up under any circumstances. I don’t think anything, even a king, will be enough to stop you from finding your mother.”
I wished I was as strong as she thought me to be.
Trumpets sounded, ringing through the hall. At their music, the hundredfold nobles fell silent. Standing on my tiptoes, I could see a soldier on either side of the doors, each dressed in the finery of a courtier, except for the silver breastplates over their blue uniforms.
The first soldier beat the staff of his halberd against the floor. “Vive le roi!”
“Long live the king!” we replied.
The second soldier repeated the gesture, the boom of the halberd like a clap of thunder. “?Que viva el rey!”
“Long live the king!” we repeated.
As the doors opened, the world grew silent, like everyone in the room was holding their breath at once. I stood as tall as I could and tried to nudge people aside so that I could see him .
Suddenly, like the crowd was one great wave, they moved as one, bowing and curtsying. I followed along, and when I stood, I turned my attention, like all the others, toward a wall covered in jewel-toned tapestries.
“Friends!” came the voice of a man. Warm and welcoming. “How glad I am to be with you again. Please, dance, enjoy yourselves. I am happiest when I see you rejoicing in the pleasures of my court. Carry on!”
At the sound of his command, the courtiers scattered, some admiring the gardens, some sampling the wines carried on trays by servants, others lining up in the middle of the room for a minuet.
Musicians started up a joyful melody, with strings and harpsichord and a strumming lute.
The courtiers began to dance, arms raised in perfect arcs, sweeping their legs, twirling, leaping, bowing. With Lope by my side, I walked around the group of dancers, trying desperately to catch a glance of him.
There—past the sea of silver dancers, a strange flash of gold. I could think of only one person who’d be allowed to stand out in this crowd.
With Lope’s hand in mine, I wove through the throng of onlookers, inching closer and closer to the king. My breath was whirling and tight as a storm in my chest. Again and again, I prepared my words in my mind as I focused on the gleam of gold ahead of me. The king. My father.
Your Majesty , I’d say, bowing, my mother is Marisol de Forestier . What would come next would be either a fairy tale or a nightmare.
The nobles grumbled and gasped as I pushed past them, each of them also craning their neck to catch their own glimpse at His Majesty. With each person I bumped aside, I could see more and more of the man in gold.
Until there he was.
He sat in a golden throne, watching the dancers serenely from atop a dais. On either side, he was flanked with guards, their hands against their rapiers.
Between the current of dancers, the spectators, and the throne, the floor was empty, like there was some invisible wall keeping the courtiers from coming too near to the king. Some were so brave as to extend their hands, to wave, to blow a kiss—but no one dared enter that sacred space surrounding this gods-blessed man.
I took one final look at the soldiers and their rapiers, twinkling in the light. Crammed in among the crowd of nobility, I turned to Lope, both of us pressed up against each other. She gripped tight to my arms, as if to keep me from falling over.
“You don’t have to speak to him,” she said. “We can just... enjoy the party. Or write him a note.”
I knew it was foolish. I knew it was dangerous. I didn’t think the soldiers would run me through with their blades in front of all the partygoers, but... Mother always said the ways of this court were different. And perilous.
I shut my eyes and thought of her. On bright mornings, we would sit in the garden and bathe in the sunshine, and she would brush my hair and sing me folk songs. She let me watch her paint portraits and landscapes; whatever I asked of her, she could paint it. Some days, she’d ask for my thoughts—if a shade of green was too bright, if a person’s pose looked natural. In every bit of her life, she made a place for me. She was even willing to give up whatever fear or grudge she had with this palace, all so we could be safe again.
“I need to find her,” I told Lope, nodding. “He may be the only one who can help us.”
Her face was severe, but her gray eyes seemed to smile. She had always looked at me like that—with the eyes of a lover. My heart ached; I tipped closer, hoping—
“You are exceptionally brave, my lady,” she said.
Something invisible pricked my heart. My lady , still. How could someone write such poetry about me yet still refer to me so coldly? Had I been mistaken? Were her sweet words meant for another?
“Please let me stand beside you,” Lope continued. “To keep you safe.”
I pulled back from her, rubbing the warm place on my arm where her hand had once been. “I’m going to look like a fool up there, Lope. I won’t ask that of you.”
“I do not fear looking foolish,” she said. “It’s you I fear for.”
Her protectiveness for me—was it out of love? Or merely duty?
“All right,” I murmured.
Facing the party again, the bright decadence, the golden light that seemed to be emanating from the throne as if the sun itself were sitting there—it was like I was facing my own future. Beneath the glow of the chandelier, the throne’s silhouette was cast six times on the parquet, almost like the points of a compass or the halos artists would paint around the heads of the gods.
Like a needle through a pleat of silk, I pierced the crowd of nobles and stepped one foot onto the empty parquet, the sanctum around the throne.
Behind me, people gasped and whispered, a shocked hush settling over the court. I heard one woman tell me to get back in my place, but I could not. I would not.
I took another step toward the throne. Now some of the dancers had noticed. They halted their movements, glaring at me.
Another step. The dais was ten feet away now. I still could not quite see the king but in profile, thanks to the soldiers on either side of him. The soldier at his right shoulder, blocking my view, caught sight of me and gripped his rapier.
Oh, gods , I thought, please help me, wherever you are.
As I walked closer, the guard murmured something into the king’s ear, and he leaned forward, turning to catch a glance—at me .
A dark eye. Pure white hair, bright as moonlight, resting in waves over his shoulders. The king tipped his head, whispering something back to the guard.
In a blink, the soldier was walking toward me. Lope shoved herself in front of me, her arm barricading me from the man.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, looking me in the eyes, “His Majesty requests an audience with you.”
An icy wind swept through me. “He— me ?”
He offered his arm to me, stepping between Lope and myself. “Right this way.”
I reached around him. My pulse quickened as I saw the fear in Lope’s eyes. “Please, let her come with me—”
“His Majesty’s orders. Just you.”
“If she needs me, I’ll go with her,” Lope said.
Now the courtiers’ whispers had turned to murmurs and jeers.
“If you want to see the king,” the soldier said, “do as His Majesty requests.”
I wanted her beside me. I felt like half of myself without her. And seeing her so distressed anguished me. But this could be my final chance to find an answer as to my mother’s whereabouts.
“I’ll be right back,” I promised Lope.
She withdrew her hand, standing back obediently. She even bowed her head to me, a servant following a courtier’s orders.
Perhaps I had misjudged her tenderness toward me.
The soldier touched my back, guiding me ever closer to the king. All of the world seemed to fade. Somewhere far, far away, the music played, dancers’ shoes tapped against the floor, partygoers laughed.
When I looked at the king’s face, my heart fell.
The man before me was only a few years older than I was—far too young to have known my mother, certainly, and far too young to be my father. But... I thought of the strange rumors I had heard in the marketplaces growing up, the whispered stories of the gods-blessed king. The king that had been blessed with eternal youth.
Was it a trick of some kind? His son or a double or...
But he looked like the paintings. His long nose, his proud smile, the dark brown of his eyes—the same shape and color as mine. His hair was white, but not like that of an older man—it was brighter, like the color of sparkling snow.
In a daze, I bent in a curtsy.
His gaze met with mine, his eyes widening. He touched a hand to his heart. “Ofelia?”
This impossible man, this being who resembled the faerie king from my storybooks, knew my name . “I must be dreaming,” I whispered.
Of all things, the king laughed. “No, no, my dear, you aren’t dreaming. But perhaps I am.”
He extended a hand, not so that I might kiss his ring, but palm up, like he was asking for something. Like he wanted to hold my hand.
I tremulously reached out, laying my hand atop his. To my relief, I hadn’t mistaken the gesture; the king covered our hands, beaming up at me. “Gods above. You look just like Marisol.”
Joy crackled through me like a firework. He knew her. Of course he did. That sanctuary I’d always dreamed of, where Mother and I could be protected from the Shadows—it felt a moment closer.
“How do you know me?” I asked. “How do you know my mother? Do you know where she is? I—I’ve been looking all over for her—”
“Answer me first,” he said, slow and patient. “How is it you’ve come to my court?”
“Mother disappeared,” I replied. “I came after her. My—my knight is over there, sire, and she protected me from the Shadows along the—”
He flinched, giving my hand a pat. “Please, child, don’t speak of those creatures.”
The denial cut through me. I never relished thinking of them, either, but they were the monsters he claimed to protect us from. They were our greatest threat. What was this act, as though they did not plague his own kingdom?
Still—I could not afford to argue with him. Finding Mother—finding her safe —that was all that mattered.
“Yes, sire,” I said. “But you were saying about my mother?”
The king rose from his throne, standing a head taller than me. He looked back at the soldier who had escorted me thus far. “Take us to the orangery. Let the celebration carry on while I speak with Mademoiselle Ofelia.”
As the soldier walked before us, and the king gave me his arm, panic made my insides squeeze tight. Lope was standing among the nobles, one hand in her pocket, and her eyes firmly upon me. I wanted to ask for her to join us, to ask for her protection, or at the very least, her presence. But I feared too greatly saying something that would displease the king and keep me from my mother.
I didn’t know him, didn’t trust him, didn’t even believe all of the stories about him. But he seemed kind enough. And he was my last link to Mother. So I let him sweep me out of the room.
In the hallway, I piped up, “Why the orangery, sire?”
“It’s quiet there,” he replied. “And I have much to tell you.”
We walked quickly through halls, the evening light dazzling me and making me wince each time I passed a window. But I could not contain my questions until we had reached our destination. “Was Mother with you while you were gone? Is she somewhere in the palace?”
“She is well, I promise you.” He smiled down at me. “I cannot tell if you have her curiosity or my stubbornness.”
It startled me, how openly he spoke of being my blood. That he so easily accepted that I was his child.
“This is all so strange,” I admitted softly. “Mother made me think I had no connection to this place at all. She hid everything, even her name, from me...”
He stopped in front of a narrow iron door. The guard stood against the nearby wall, a few paces away to give us privacy.
“She did not tell you, then,” he asked, “that you were mine?”
His? All these years, he had been a character in my fairy tales, the king ruling an enchanted palace, someone I’d seen in drawings—pale imitations of the man before me. The sunlight set golden rays on his hair like a crown. I could scarcely believe that I was here, that the king stood before me, that he was my family, that I was a part of his marvelous story.
“Mother forbade all talk of Le Chateau,” I said. “But I always asked; I always read books and asked for more stories and imagined living here.”
King Léo lifted my hand and drew it to his lips. “My dear Ofelia—your heart has always called you to this place. And at last... you are home.”