While Beauty Slept (16 page)

He stalked off in a fury, and Queen Lenore broke into sobs.

“He does not understand,” she moaned.

“Hush, my lady.” Without thinking I ran my hand along her head, imitating the manner in which my mother used to comfort me. To my surprise she reached for my hand and kissed it, then pressed it against her cheek.

“Thank you, Elise,” she said. “You bring me strength.”

Her tender words touched me deeply, but I could not rid my mind of Millicent’s cruel pronouncement:
You would be
nothing
without me!
Was it true? Had Millicent urged the queen to choose me as her attendant because she knew I would do her bidding? Was all I had achieved not the fruit of my own labor but rather the result of sorcery, a charm cast by the green wishing stone I had pressed between my fingers? Such thoughts so disturbed me that I sneaked to my sleeping alcove while the queen was distracted with the baby and pulled the stone from under my pillow, slipping it between the folds of my skirt. Excusing myself, I ran to the servants’ latrines and hurled the stone into one of the foul pits.

Yet Millicent’s influence was not so easily cast off. Rather than return to my mistress, I found myself following the route to the North Tower, to assure myself that the woman who had been both my protector and my tormentor was truly gone.

She was not—not yet. As I approached the marble staircase leading up to her room, the commanding voice I knew so well echoed downward, and I froze in place. Then she appeared, flanked by two guards whose grim expressions signaled their distaste for the task at hand. Millicent, who had been haranguing them for keeping an overly tight grip upon her arms, laughed when she saw me. It was such an unexpected sound that I could not fashion a response. I simply stared, appalled by her expression of near-madness, yet enthralled all the same. Even as she was dragged from the castle in disgrace, she carried herself with an air of righteousness I could not help admiring.

“Elise!” she announced. “How fitting that you should bear witness to my downfall.” The last word was uttered mockingly, almost as a boast. “Have you come to gloat?”

I shook my head.

“Then why are you here? Why would you possibly seek me out?” The guards had loosened their hold, and Millicent strode directly in front of me, weakening my defenses with her piercing stare. “Ah, yes. I see. You wished an assurance that your rival for the queen’s love is well and truly gone. So I am. You shall have dear Lenore entirely to yourself, for all the good that will do you.”

Embarrassed that my emotions could be so easily read, I protested, “My only concern is for the queen’s health and that of her child.”

“Yes, the child. The focus of Ranolf’s every hope. A girl!” She cackled bitterly. “And so the throne will be Bowen’s after all. What a fitting end to Ranolf’s disastrous reign.”

“The king has declared his daughter as his heir.”

“Nonsense! Women have never been allowed in the line of succession.”

“They are now.”

I did not expect those few words to strike such a blow. Millicent looked as if I had hurled an unforgivable insult; her mouth hardened into a grimace, and her eyes blazed with fury. When she finally spoke, expelling her words with brutal force, spittle dotted her lips.

“So it has come to this. Ranolf breaks with centuries of tradition, yet he banishes the one person who could be a model for his precious daughter. Does Lenore know anything of what it means for a woman to wield power? No! She is content to spin and weave, no better than a peasant’s wife. And Ranolf—he is blind to the forces gathering against him. I am the only one who can save this realm from conquest and destruction. The only one! Yet I am cast aside!”

Her escalating shrieks shook the guards from their lethargy. One took firm hold of her upper arm and tugged, pulling her away from me.

“You know I speak the truth! You know it!”

I did not want to believe her. It was easier to discount her warnings as the ravings of a madwoman than to believe our kingdom truly in danger. As the grumbling guards wrestled Millicent to the bottom of the stairs, I heard a rustling sound from above. I looked up and saw Flora standing at the top of the stairs.

I remained motionless, but she seemed unaware of my presence. She was watching her sister, tears streaming down her cheeks. I had given no thought to Flora in all the ferment over Millicent, but now I realized what a terrible blow this must be. She was losing her closest companion, the one person who retained her trust even after she had withdrawn from everyone else at court. Yet it was not heartbreak I saw in Flora’s face. Sadness yes, and perhaps regret. But also a certain resolve. As if she must cry for the past before facing a new future.

I intended to slip away, but as I turned around, Flora called out my name.

“Yes, madam?” I asked.

“The child, is she well?”

“Yes, strong and healthy.”

“What do they call her?”

“They have named her Rose.”

“Rose.” She pondered the sound of it for a moment, then curved her lips in a shy smile. “Queen Rose.”

I waited for more, but silence hung between us as Flora drifted into whatever thoughts haunted her troubled mind. Wishing to make a gracious departure, I said the first words that sprang to mind: “I am sorry about your sister.”

“Do you know, had my father been as bold as Ranolf, Millicent might be our queen? She was the eldest, and more cunning than my brother and I put together. But of course women could not inherit the title.”

Until now. When it was too late for Millicent.

“She left Ranolf no choice,” Flora said softly. “Yet I fear where her anger might lead. I fear it very much.”

She turned quickly, her crumpled skirts forming a tangle around her, but not before I recognized the other emotion that had swept across her face as her sister disappeared from sight. It was relief.

In the following weeks, I tended to Queen Lenore as she gradually regained strength. She insisted Rose’s cradle be placed in her own sitting room, rather than in the nursery on the castle’s third floor. A wet nurse tended to the child’s feedings, but in all other matters Queen Lenore took charge of the baby herself. The ladies-in-waiting felt sure that King Ranolf would object, particularly if he heard the crying infant from his own bedchamber. But the king made no complaint. Indeed he was often seen holding the child himself, beaming down at her peaceful, sleeping face.

“My Beauty,” he would murmur. “My Beauty.”

On the morning of the baptism, the king, the queen, and their tiny daughter proceeded through St. Elsip in a golden carriage. Undeterred by the frigid winter wind, townspeople lined up three and four deep along the streets to see them pass. A procession of courtiers followed the carriage, with Rose’s newly chosen godmother, Lady Wintermale, leading the ladies and Sir Walthur Tilleth, the king’s solemn chief counselor, at the head of the knights and noblemen. A boisterous gaggle of jesters and musicians followed behind.

I formed part of the tail of this parade, jostling among the other servants. Queen Lenore had given me one of her old gowns for the occasion, made of a sumptuous velvet that caressed my skin. The hem was frayed and the style of the sleeves years out of fashion, but it was the loveliest dress I had ever worn, and a fur-lined cloak protected me from the chill. Clad in such luxury, I moved differently, as if the fabrics conveyed the noble bearing of their original owner. At fifteen I was years younger than any other lady’s maid, and self-doubt still plagued me despite the queen’s kindness and patience. But on that day, in that dress, I took my place in the procession as if born to it, smiling graciously to the well-wishers. Even after I entered the peace of the cathedral, my ears were still ringing from the cheers of the crowd outside.

The baptism service was long and tiring, as such ceremonies often are, but Rose acquitted herself well, crying only at the end as the water was poured on her head. Crammed in among merchants and minor landowners at the very back of the church, I hardly saw the baby at all, only fleeting glimpses of Queen Lenore at the altar, holding a bundle of white lace. When the service ended, the king and queen walked down the aisle beaming, then emerged onto the cathedral steps to present Rose to her new subjects. I heard a wild cry of voices outside, after which cheers erupted inside the cathedral as well, ringing back upon us from the stone walls.

I waited until the crush at the church doors had cleared before attempting to leave. Outside, hundreds milled around in the open square, hoping to prolong the celebratory mood of the day. I looked around to see if others from the castle still lingered but saw no familiar faces. I was preparing to walk back alone when a voice called out, “Miss Elise!”

It had been some time since I’d been addressed so formally. I looked around and saw a rotund figure panting up the church steps toward me. As he approached, I recognized Hannolt, the shoemaker. Though I had passed the entrance to his shop on occasional visits to my aunt’s house, I had not seen him since the day he escorted me to the castle.

“What a pleasant surprise!” he exclaimed.

He reached out to take my hand and kissed it with an extravagant flourish. As ever, the words tumbled from his mouth with barely a pause for breath.

“Your aunt tells me you serve the queen herself—how you have come up in the world since we last met! Well done, my girl, well done. Are you in town for the baptism? It’s been very good for business, I can tell you. Ladies and gentlemen both have been ordering new shoes for the festivities. I’ve been working through the night for the past week, and that’s with my wife and Marcus helping.”

I looked over Hannolt’s shoulder to see if his son lurked silently behind. “Is he with you?”

“Marcus?” Hannolt looked so puzzled that I immediately regretted my question. How brazen I must have appeared to him, asking after a young man I barely knew. I compounded my foolishness by stammering a too-hasty excuse: “It’s only . . . I thought perhaps your whole family might have come to see the princess.”

“Good luck catching a glimpse of her in this crowd!” Hannolt scoffed. “No, this may be a feast day at the castle, but my work continues all the same. Marcus is off making deliveries on the east side of town. I was just coming from Mrs. Hilsker’s house, right around that corner, when I saw the procession, and I couldn’t help but stop and take a look.”

“It is a pleasure to see you,” I said, attempting to extricate myself gracefully from further conversation before he delayed my return any longer. “However, the queen expects me back at the castle.”

“I say, now that you keep such royal company, perhaps you might speak well of my work, if the opportunity should present itself. I do so enjoy working for the fine ladies of the court.”

“I would recommend you without hesitation.”

“Spoken like a true gentlewoman. Yes, your voice has become quite refined. And such lovely manners, too. You’ve made your aunt proud. She has much to celebrate—from what I hear, there will be another baptism celebrated before the year is out?”

“Yes, my cousin Damilla is expecting.”

“Joyful news all around. I will send Mistress Agna your regards, and Marcus as well.”

I told him it was not necessary, feeling the redness rise in my cheeks, but Hannolt was bowing and did not appear to hear. I could picture the scene later that day: Hannolt blathering on about my interest as Marcus struggled in vain to remember me. Since we met, I had crossed paths with dozens of young men with finer prospects than a shoemaker’s son. Why, then, did Marcus’s face remain so clear to me, and why had my heart sunk with disappointment at his absence?

Upon my return to the castle, I passed through the kitchens, where the cooks were flushed with the effort of their labor. Pigs roasted on spits in every fireplace, and the tables were covered with dough and pies. At any other time, I would have stopped and stolen a few bites—my stomach was rumbling at the smell—but that day I knew it meant risking a shout and a slap from the head cook. I walked on without stopping.

In the Lower Hall, pitchers of ale and platters piled with meat and cheese had been set out on the wooden tables. Stableboys and chambermaids were toasting one another and picking at the platters, though I guessed Mrs. Tewkes had not yet given leave for the party to begin. A cluster of grooms stumbled across my path, preparing to greet the visitors’ carriages. One of them, a particularly sour driver named Horick, cursed me as I stepped on his foot after another jostled me to the side. A word from me to the queen could cost him his job, and I thought to tell him so but walked away instead. There would be no more certain way to turn the other servants against me, and I felt the loneliness of my station keenly enough as it was.