CHAPTER 17
Betty
I'd been staring at the same page of Italian verb conjugations for twenty minutes when I admitted defeat. My brain refused to process the difference between parlare and partire when it was too busy replaying Archie's voice saying the real me is the person who thinks you're remarkable.
Which was annoying, because I was trying very hard to stay angry.
I slammed the textbook shut and headed for the one place in the palace where I actually felt useful.
The kitchen was in full afternoon prep mode when I arrived. Chef Marcello was directing his staff with the precision of a conductor, calling out instructions in rapid-fire Italian and French while three different dishes came together simultaneously.
"Your Highness." He spotted me immediately. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I'm avoiding my Italian homework and wondering if you need help with anything."
"I always need help. Whether I need your help is another question." But he was smiling. "What are your skills beyond making excellent coffee?"
"I can chop things. I'm very good at chopping things."
"Dangerous proposition, giving a stressed princess a sharp knife."
"I promise not to stab anyone unless they really deserve it."
He laughed and pointed to a cutting board. "Onions. Small dice. If you cut yourself, Petra will have my head."
I worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, falling into the rhythm of knife against board. There was something meditative about cooking, the simple logic of turning raw ingredients into something edible. Nothing to memorize, no curtsy to perfect, just the honest work of making food.
"You're quite good at that," Chef Marcello observed. "Where did you learn?"
"My mom. She insisted I learn to cook properly instead of living on ramen and hope." I finished the onions and reached for the carrots he'd set out. "Want me to do these too?"
"Please. But perhaps move to that counter? You're blocking my access to the stove."
I relocated, realized I was now in the way of one of his assistants, and moved again.
Chef Marcello sighed. "Your Highness, perhaps instead of rearranging my entire kitchen, you could do me a different favor?"
"Anything."
"I need fresh rosemary from the herb garden. Our stock has seen better days, and I'm preparing something special for tonight's dinner."
"You want me to pick herbs?"
"I want you to feel useful while not being underfoot during the dinner rush." His eyes twinkled. "The garden is past the east courtyard, behind the rose beds. You'll see the low stone wall. Take a basket from the shelf by the door."
I grabbed a basket and headed out, grateful for the task and the excuse to be outside. The walk through the palace took me through corridors I'd started to recognize, past the portrait gallery, through the conservatory, down the stairs that led to the eastern gardens.
The herb garden was tucked into a quiet corner, sheltered by stone walls on three sides but open to the sky. Neat rows of rosemary, thyme, basil, and other plants I couldn't name grew in organized profusion. The scent hit me immediately, green and sharp.
I found the rosemary where Chef Marcello had described it, bushy and fragrant in the far corner. I was selecting the best stems when I heard voices approaching from the other side of the wall.
"...of course the nursery wing will need updating." Viktor's voice, unmistakable. "When was the last time it was used?"
I froze, basket in hand. They were right on the other side of the wall, close enough that I could hear every word. I'd been crouched down reaching for the lower rosemary stems, and standing up now would reveal I was here. The wall was low enough that they'd see me immediately.
"Not since Prince Archibald was born, my lord." Petra's voice, sounding uncomfortable.
I stayed frozen, half-crouched behind the rosemary bush, feeling my cheeks flush with the awkwardness of accidental eavesdropping. If I moved now, they'd know I'd heard. Better to wait for them to pass.
"Well, we should begin preparations soon. The Princess will want everything ready when the time comes."
My confusion spiked. What princess? What preparations? I'd be gone in four months.
"My lord, I'm not sure this is the appropriate time to discuss this."
"Royal succession is critical, Petra. Surely you understand the importance of producing an heir to secure the alliance.
" Viktor's voice carried the patient tone of someone explaining something obvious.
"The medical staff will need to be briefed, the royal nursery brought up to modern standards.
These things take time to arrange properly. "
My heart started hammering. They were talking about me. About heirs. About nurseries and medical staff and arrangements that took time.
But that didn't make sense.
"The Grand Duchess has already expressed her hopes for grandchildren," Viktor continued. "Given Princess Bettina's age and health, there's no reason to delay planning. In fact, I'd suggest beginning preparations within the year."
"My lord..."
"I know this may seem premature, we should think ahead. The Princess's permanent apartments will also need to be established. We can't have her living in guest quarters indefinitely."
Permanent apartments.
The words echoed in my head like a gong.
"Of course, my lord." Petra's voice had gone unreadable, her palace-staff voice, the one she used when she disagreed but couldn't say so.
Their footsteps moved away, conversation fading into the ambient sounds of the garden. I stayed crouched behind the rosemary, my legs cramping, unable to move.
Permanent apartments. Nursery preparations. Producing heirs within the year.
They were planning for a future that extended far beyond six months. Planning for children I'd supposedly bear, rooms I'd supposedly occupy, a life I'd supposedly live in this palace.
But that wasn't the arrangement.
My hands started shaking. The basket slipped from my fingers and landed in the dirt.
There had to be an explanation. Viktor must be confused about the timeline. Maybe he was talking about contingency plans that applied to all royal marriages regardless of duration.
But Viktor hadn't sounded confused. He'd sounded certain. Matter-of-fact.
I straightened slowly, my legs protesting. Picked up the basket with hands that didn't feel steady. Mechanically gathered the rosemary Chef Marcello had requested, trying to convince myself I'd misunderstood.
By the time I reached the palace, I'd talked myself halfway into believing it was a mistake. Viktor had been speaking hypothetically. Or about some other princess. Or about long-term planning even for temporary situations.
I found Petra in the linen closet on the second floor, counting pillowcases with the focused attention of someone trying not to think about uncomfortable conversations.
"Petra." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Can I ask you something?"
She looked up, and something in my expression made her set down her clipboard. "Of course, Your Highness."
"I was in the herb garden. I overheard you and Viktor talking." I tried to make my voice casual. "About nursery preparations?"
Her face went carefully blank. "Yes, my lord wanted to discuss household arrangements."
"He mentioned permanent apartments. And heirs." I forced a laugh that sounded brittle even to my own ears. "I mean, I'll be gone in four months, so I don't know why he'd be planning all that for me."
The clipboard slipped from Petra's hands and clattered to the floor.
She stared at me, her face draining of color. "Your Highness. What do you mean, four months?"
The bottom dropped out of my stomach.
"The marriage," I said slowly. "Six months total. Four months left. The temporary arrangement to secure the alliance."
Petra's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "Your Highness... I don't... who told you the marriage was temporary?"
"The Grand Duchess. When she explained why I needed to marry Archie." The words were thick in my mouth. "Six months of political marriage, then divorce. That was the deal."
"Your Highness." Petra's voice had gone very gentle, the way you'd talk to someone who'd just received devastating news. "The marriage isn't temporary."
The linen closet suddenly felt too small. "What?"
"The marriage is permanent. In perpetuity. That's... that's the whole point of a royal alliance. To create lasting bonds between nations." She looked stricken. "I thought you knew. I thought everyone explained this to you."
"No one explained anything." My voice didn't sound like my own. "The Grand Duchess said six months. She said I'd do my duty for six months and then I could go home."
Petra's hands twisted together. "Your Highness, I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. I assumed... everyone assumed you understood the nature of royal marriages."
"Show me." The demand came out sharp. "Show me the marriage contract."
She hesitated, then nodded. "There's a copy in the household files. Lord Renaud keeps them in his office for scheduling purposes. I have access."
We walked through the palace in silence. My mind was screaming, but I couldn't form coherent thoughts beyond permanent and forever and lied.
Lord Renaud's office was empty, he was in meetings all afternoon, Petra said. She unlocked a filing cabinet and pulled out a leather folder embossed with both the Valdorian and Solmarian seals.
"This is a household copy," she said. "The official versions are in the royal archives."
I opened the folder with hands that shook. The document was in multiple languages, English, Italian, French, with official seals and signatures. My signature. Archie's signature. The Grand Duchess's seal.
I found the English section and started reading.
Article III: Duration and Dissolution