A Christmas Rose: A Dusk Gate Chronicles Novella (Book 4 1/2) (3 page)

Late in the afternoon of their second day of traveling, the team of horses turned off the main road and onto a narrower dirt lane. After a few minutes, the scenery became familiar to William.

He climbed up on the little bed built into the back of the carriage, intending to wake Quinn, but her eyes were already open.

His heart sank. “Did you sleep at all?”

“I don’t think so. How close are we?”

“We’ll be at Ellen and Henry’s in a few minutes.”

There was already a flurry of activity outside the home of Quinn’s aunt and uncle by the time the carriage turned into the driveway. Everything from the gates to the main entrance of the house had been covered with green and gold banners bearing the seal of Philotheum.

Although he appreciated the fact that they were at peace, and nobody he knew was in danger, William found himself almost wishing for the quiet, inauspicious safe house they’d found the first time they’d traveled here, back when Thomas was missing.

He knew it was worse for Quinn, who hadn’t grown up experiencing this kind of thing and from whom more was expected everywhere they went.

He’d nearly finished helping her pin her hair back up – a skill he’d grown surprisingly adept at – when the carriage pulled up directly in front of the back, private entrance of the Fisher Estate.

The guards on their horses took up their well-established positions at either end of the carriage, and a liveried footman stepped down from the porch to open the door for them.

Nathaniel emerged first, and William followed him, relieved to see that there were only a few servants at the entrance, and Princess Ellen herself, standing in the doorway.

William and the footman both reached for Quinn at the same time, each taking one of her hands, and helping her step down onto the green carpet that extended from the carriage all the way up the steps to the door.

Once Quinn’s feet were safely on the ground, she turned to the young man. “Thank you…?”

“It’s my honor, Your Majesty.” He moved to take a step back from her, keeping his eyes to the ground in deference.

Quinn cleared her throat.

The young man’s head snapped up, his whole face turning the color of a strawberry.

“Do you have a name?” she asked.

“Uh…yes, of course, Your Majesty.” He shook his head, steadying himself. “I apologize. My name is Bradley Saunders.”

She nodded her head once, putting her hand into the pocket of her cloak. “Thank you, Bradley. Your kindness is appreciated.” Withdrawing her hand from her pocket now, she extended her hand toward him, and when he held his out, she dropped a coin into it.

Leaving him sputtering, but smiling, she took William’s hand and they followed Nathaniel up the stairs.

“I love it when you do that,” William whispered, close to her ear, and though, with the footman she’d exuded utter confidence, her answering smile to him was self-conscious.

With only a short seven months on the throne, Quinn was still more a curiosity to the kingdom than anything. She hadn’t been born here – nobody knew anything about her, other than that she was the granddaughter of the beloved King Jonathan, and the wife of a prince of Eirentheos. There were even many in the kingdom who were still suspicious of her, and a few who were downright hostile, upset at the power they’d lost when Hector had died at Quinn’s hands.

Quinn had determined that one thing she needed to do was to make a personal connection with as many people as she could, however she could manage to do it. Most people were startled by it – as the footman clearly had been, but when William glanced back at Bradley, he was watching Quinn in wonder, rubbing the coin between his fingers.

Ellen held her arms open for Quinn when they reached the door. “How was your journey?”

“It was fine, thank you,” Quinn said. “Long.”

“And how are you feeling?” Ellen’s eyes were on Quinn’s stomach now.

“I’m good. Everything is fine.”

Ellen looked at Nathaniel. “She’s well,” he said. “Probably seven more weeks.”

“Should she really be traveling?”

William put his arm around Quinn’s shoulders. “She has two healers with her, Ellen. We’re taking good care of her, I promise.”

“What if something happens?”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Quinn said. “I’m fine, the baby is fine. We do appreciate your hospitality in opening your home to us.”

“You’re welcome.” Ellen’s expression was still strained. “We should get you inside. It’s very early in the season for it to be this cold out. You ought to have your hood up, Your Highness.”

He could feel Quinn’s deep intake of breath as he squeezed her shoulder.

*

Despite the long day of traveling, and the even-longer evening at the formal dinner held in her honor, Quinn woke the next morning when it was still dark. She tried to move the bed and blankets as little as possible, but William’s eyes popped open before she’d even managed to set her feet on the floor.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” She leaned down and kissed him. “Just awake. You don’t need to get up yet.”

He sat up, pulling one of the blankets from the end of the bed and draping it over her shoulders – the room had grown chilly. “It’s okay. I think it’s close to morning, anyway.” He glanced toward the window and frowned.

“What?”

“The light under the curtain looks…”

She watched as he walked toward the window, realizing that the pale light coming from under the curtain did have a strange glow to it – in a familiar sort of way. “Did it…?”

William pulled the curtains back. From her seat on the bed she could only see the sky. The full moon was bright against the clouds; although the sun had not yet risen, the whole sky was lit with a glowing purple effect.

“Yes,” he said. “Maybe an inch and a half.”

“I thought it wasn’t supposed to snow for another moon or so.” That was, in fact, one of the biggest reasons Charlotte and Linnea had decided not to delay the wedding until after the baby’s birth – snow could make traveling between Philotheum and Eirentheos difficult for long periods of time.

“It’s not supposed to, but it
did
…come and see.”

“Wow,” she said when she reached the window. “It was always beautiful when it did this at home … but nothing like this.”

Burrowing up under his arm, she laid her head against his shoulder and they stared out the window together. William was right, it was only maybe an inch and a half of snow, but it covered everything, turning the landscape into an icy fairyland.

The moonlight sparkled on everything; every tree branch, fence post, blade of grass, was coated in crystalline white.

“Will this keep us from traveling?” She asked, after a while. It was so beautiful and peaceful standing here like this; she didn’t really want to stop, but her body had other plans.

“It shouldn’t,” he said, kissing her hair and then stepping toward the small fireplace. The embers were still glowing, and he stoked them a few times before setting a new piece of wood on the grate. “The carriage and the horses can handle a few inches of snow, and it looks like it’s stopped coming down. It might slow us down a bit, though, especially if there are any icy areas. We should try and get an early start.”

*

The hallway had been dark and empty when Quinn had made her way to the bathroom, so when she came out and there was someone standing a few feet away from her, in front of a big window, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Sorry,” Ellen said.

“It’s okay. I just didn’t think anyone else was awake yet.”

“I’ve been up for a while.” Her eyes drifted to Quinn’s belly. “Are you all right?”

She managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes – but only barely. “I’m fine, Ellen. Just pregnant. It’s a normal thing to be.”

“Not for everyone, it isn’t.”

Oh.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” She stopped. She didn’t know how to respond. Somehow, she’d never really thought about the fact that Ellen and Henry had been married for a very long time, and yet there were no children.

“I know you didn’t. But I don’t think you realize how cavalier you’re being about this baby, Quinn. This child isn’t only important to you and William.” She glanced down at Quinn’s belly again, before looking back up to make eye contact.

“It’s my child. William’s child. Do you think I would do anything – or that William would
allow
me to do anything – that might really harm our baby?”

Ellen raised an eyebrow. “Is William capable of
disallowing
you to do anything?”

Heat washed over her face. “Is that really what you think of me, Ellen? That I wouldn’t listen to anyone, including my own husband?”

Ellen closed her eyes for a long second before answering. “I think you’re young – very young, even for seventeen. I think that you’ve been thrown into that castle without having any idea about what you’re doing, or what it means to anyone. And we can work with that … there are many people who support you, myself included – but this child is everything. That is not just
your
child in there.” She paused, looking up at the wall behind Quinn, and Quinn turned to follow her gaze.

The whole wall opposite the window was covered in framed portraits, mostly of family. In the middle was a very large picture of a family. The man was wearing a crown much like the one that was now packed in one of Quinn’s trunks, and his gray eyes twinkled as he looked down at his wife and the infant in her lap.

The woman was familiar; although in the portrait her face was smoother, and her auburn hair held no traces of gray, Sophia’s eyes hadn’t changed at all.

Right next to the man was a young boy, about eight or nine years old. Wearing a small heir’s crown, he was smiling widely, looking up at his father in obvious admiration. Quinn had to stop herself from reaching out and touching his face – the face of her father, Samuel.

Ellen and Charles were there in the painting, too – tiny versions of them with rounded cheeks, chubby knees, and big smiles.

“I’m sorry,” Ellen said, still staring at the painting, “I can understand how difficult that fact must be to accept, and I can see what that takes away from you. But without that baby, Quinn – without a firstborn child to succeed you on the throne – everything we’ve worked for here could be for nothing.”

Blood pounded in her ears so loudly that she could hardly think, and her chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe. Logically, she knew most of this, although nobody had put it quite so bluntly to her before.

She took several deep breaths, steadying herself; she was not going to lose it here, in front of Ellen. Her eyes drifted to another painting.

It was smaller, but just as prominently displayed. This one was of two men. One of them was the same as the man in the other portrait – her grandfather, Jonathan. He wore his crown in this picture, too. She’d never seen the man next to him, but he wore the crown of Eirentheos, and he looked enough like Stephen – or Stephen like him, she supposed – that she knew instantly who he was. King Daniel – William’s grandfather.

Both men were smiling and relaxed, the camaraderie between them obvious.

She took a deep breath. “I realize the importance of this child – and I promise you, there is nobody that my child – yes,
my
child – is more important to than me. But this baby is
not
the only important thing.”

Ellen blinked, and Quinn pointed up to the picture of the two kings. “Right now,
I’m
the queen. And right now, rebuilding our relationship with Eirentheos, and the people there, is one of our biggest priorities. Their princess is marrying a guard from our castle. Their prince is our
king
.

“They need to see our support, too – maybe Stephen and Charlotte know they have it, but the people don’t. I can’t be a ruler who overlooks that, just because I happen to become pregnant or have a child. And as far as
your
support? I don’t see anyone else stepping up. Sophia isn’t going to the wedding, and neither are you and Henry. We were talked out of going for the Naming Ceremony for Simon’s son, and so Philotheum wasn’t represented there. At least Hector pretended to have a relationship with Eirentheos, and sent Tolliver to important events. I don’t think it had the effect Hector intended, but he at least put on the show.”

Tiny spots of red appeared on Ellen’s cheeks.
Good.

Quinn pointed now to a third picture. This one was new – other portraits had clearly been moved to make room for it. She didn’t need to study it to know what it was – a nearly identical one hung in the halls at the castle in Philotheum.

The portrait was of Quinn herself, wearing a long, flowing green gown, and over it a green cape – a first for a woman, but she’d decided that if she was going to be the monarch, she wasn’t going to do anything halfway. The cape was closed with a gold pin bearing the seal of Philotheum, and atop her head was the crown of Philotheum – gold with glittering green jewels.