Chapter 3 #2
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.
His expression fell. “I should go—” He gestured over his shoulder.
They stood awkwardly for a few moments, neither saying a thing.
Yvette cleared her throat.
Aristea ignored it.
“Are you staying long—”
“Shall I escort you inside then?” he said at the same time.
They both laughed, and it seemed to ease some of the awkward tension between them.
Yvette cleared her throat again.
“You’ve been clearing your throat an awful lot, Yvette. Perhaps I should summon a priestess to examine you.”
“That won’t be necessary, your majesty. But your appointment… We cannot keep him waiting…”
Aristea had lingered too long. They said their goodbyes, and she didn’t express her wish that they’d see each other again, though the sentiment was on the tip of her tongue.
They parted ways, and she risked one last look at him over her shoulder.
He stood in place, watching her, and when he caught her errant look, he waved a hand at her.
Her blush burned hotter, and she was grateful for the veil covering her face.
By the time she returned to her room, her skin was buzzing, and she felt her heart racing.
She hadn’t even realized Jonathan was back at court.
Was it really because of Heinrich’s death?
She wished there’d been time to talk alone, but they weren’t teenagers anymore.
No more time for secret meetings in the garden.
As it was, she hardly had time for a morning stroll.
But maybe they’d stumble upon one another in the garden. She’d like that.
Yvette fixed Aristea’s hair and smoothed the wrinkles in her black gown.
Then, when she was primmed and prepped, they positioned her on her couch in her receiving room.
Once more, the porcelain doll, prepared for empty greetings and statecraft.
The duke arrived right on time, which was a point in his favor.
Whether she liked it or not, she knew her mother well enough to know this was the preamble to a future engagement, and she might as well get a read on her potential future husband.
Duke Mattison was a handsome man, middle-aged with blond hair gone mostly silver. His neatly trimmed beard, the intentional choice of silk and brocade, and the jewels on his fingers marked him as a man of wealth.
He bowed low upon entry and extended his hand with a flourish.
“Your majesty. It is an honor to make your acquaintance at last.”
“A pleasure,” Aristea said, with a courteous bow. She wished she had Liane’s ability to slip out of fussy meetings. But she was forced to put on a polite smile and offer refreshments instead.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me. Your beauty is famed across the continent, and I couldn’t resist the chance to gaze upon you,” he said.
“I fear you’ll miss out on seeing my visage as I am in mourning for my late husband.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss. He was a great man.”
Maybe it was because of Jonathan’s earlier comments, but she winced.
Duke Mattison noticed and commented on it. “Am I wrong to think you’re not grieving your husband’s passing?”
“We shared many years together. That he died before we could start a family was tragic,” she said by rote.
“You do not have to pretend with me. In fact, I’d prefer if we were honest with one another. I’ve known many women who celebrated their husbands’ deaths. It gives a widow great freedom to choose her own path, don’t you think?”
It’d been presumptuous of him to comment on her feelings during their first meeting.
Ruder still to push the issue. She wanted this meeting to end, but feared pushing for such would cause offense.
So instead, she smiled coyly and said, “That is not typical of Neolyrian women, I’m afraid.
It is traditional that we grieve a year and a day. Sometimes longer.”
The duke smiled as if she’d revealed something about herself. “Then I suppose it would be too forward to invite you to a party I am hosting at my rented home? You would be the guest of honor, of course.”
“I thank you for your offer, but it is against customs for a woman in mourning to attend gatherings.”
“And for her to entertain would-be suitors,” he said.
Aristea did not reply to that.
“You will be missed. Many influential dukes shall be there. I believe many of them were your late husband’s friends?”
The smirk on his face sent a chill down her spine, but he’d dangled a tempting carrot before her. There were few natural chances to talk with Heinrich’s allies, so the duke had just offered her an opportunity she couldn’t refuse.
“Then I’d be delighted to attend,” she said, plastering on a fake smile.