Between the Lines

Even Thorunn, who has been scanning around the whole party for any signs of danger, seems surprised by the Crown Prince’s sudden appearance, like he had stepped out of thin air. It is not the first time I have come face to face with my eldest uncle. I made many deliveries to him as a junior clerk, though I have not seen him as often recently after my promotion. At first glance, he and Emerlane are identical in all but sex; upon closer scrutiny, however, Edwinn IV is noticeably thinner and paler. This must be a recent development, since I could swear Edwinn IV has more muscle mass in all the paintings and statues scattered around the palace. He must not have bothered to maintain the physique of his glory days, like Emerlane did. Nowadays, he actually resembles my father more than his twin sister, if my father had better posture and could actually grow enough facial hair to shape into a pale mustache and goatee.

As Edwinn IV steps towards me, I drop into a deep curtsy. “Your Highness,” I say. Thorunn gives a short bow, though is quick to offer the crook of his arm for me to take hold again. I immediately sense he is on guard.

If Edwinn IV notices, he does not show it, simply offers a similar short bow to Thorunn and says, “Jarl. Fine weather for an engagement party, don’t you think?”

One thing that my past life taught me is that every word exchanged between royalty—especially at a heavily-publicized social event like this—has a secret, double meaning encoded into its structure and context. This is a concept that Thorunn was entirely foreign to, and which we practiced for many hours in the weeks leading up to today. So now, in the heat of the moment, he is putting it to the test. When Edwinn IV asks Thorunn about the weather, he is not just asking about the weather. The question should actually be, roughly translated, What’s your role in this engagement? Why are you here?

Thorunn catches it immediately. “For now. The wind is picking up, and the clouds on the horizon are moving quickly. We’ll soon need to move inside.” His response is coded, too. This is a risky situation, so I’m here to keep an eye on things.

“Ah,” says Edwinn IV. “A…sailor’s instinct, I reckon?” And what makes a seafaring barbarian suited to keep an eye on things?

“Something like that.” None of your business.

“I should also say, congratulations on the engagement,” Edwinn IV adds. “It is uncommon to see a union between our two countries, with our people being so different from each other. How did you meet?” And the girl? What’s her role here? There is no possible way she could TRULY be your betrothed.

Thorunn freezes up, but I had expected this curveball and am ready to jump right in. I clutch Thorunn’s arm in both hands. “Thank you, Your Highness,” I cut in. “As you know, I am Prince Edgar’s clerk. Jarl Thorunn, being an ally of the Saintess, represents her interests in Edgar’s court. Naturally, this means we work quite closely together for much of the day, and…the rest is history.” Thorunn and I are both players in this game. We are a united front. The role he serves is the same as mine: we are here to protect Edgar and Amira.

Across the garden, a peal of laughter draws our attention. My mother and Emerlane are now walking together, side-by-side, with Edgar trailing forlornly behind them like a lost puppy. Based on their smiles and lively chatting, the two women are getting on splendidly. They must recognize each other—I assumed they would—but I never thought they would instantly connect. To have forged such tight bonds with Edgar, Ezra, and now Emerlane, which even eighteen years of exile could not sever, Imogen Rossach must have been deeply loved in the royal palace.

“What an unexpected development,” Edwinn IV remarks. What a disgraceful sight.

“Oh? Why do you say that?” I ask. What the fuck did you just say?

He raises an eyebrow. “I suppose you don’t know the full story, then? Probably before your time. Both of your times, come to think of it.” I’m dangling this information over your heads because I know you want it, you literal fucking children.

“Enlighten us, Your Highness,” says Thorunn. Get on with it, already.

“Oh, I shouldn’t. It’ll all come out during the litigation, if Edgar pushes it through.” When Thorunn scowls and I frown, Edwinn IV just chuckles. “Now, Baroness, don’t give me that look. I am perfectly aware of how much work you put into this legal petition. Surely, by now, Edgar must have told you that Amira—or, shall I say, Imogen—is of perfectly humble birth.” I know that you are somehow involved in Edgar’s scheme. You’re not just his clerk; you’re an accomplice. I want to test how deep your complicity goes—are you aware, Baroness, that the Saintess is actually a slave?

“Yes. I’m aware.” Fuck you, Winny.

“And…you are aware, Jarl, that Imogen is technically still banished from the royal palace?” And you are aware, Jarl, that you are skirting the bounds of the law?

“I’m perfectly aware. That’s why this party is held outside, no?” Thorunn gives a hearty laugh, as if he has told a great joke. Fuck you a second time, Winny.

“Indeed. It is a shame, though.” Edwinn IV gives a sickeningly fake smile. “I was looking forward to getting to know Miss Imogen over dinner.” I was looking forward to seeing that peasant arrested again.

“Alas,” says Thorunn, “the Saintess’s security needs would make it difficult anyway. I fear it would be somewhat awkward to have dinner with her—unless you also want to get to know me, my cousins, and our greataxes!” You wouldn’t get the chance, asshole.

Edwinn IV opens his mouth, but a sudden trumpet blast cuts him off. The whole party turns towards the palace entrance. The King. The superior tiebreaker, the one who will ensure our victory even if Ezra or Emerlane go rogue.

“It’s been an honor speaking with you, Your Highness, but that seems like our cue,” I tell him. Thanks for nothing, Your Highness; you are useless to us now.

“Enjoy the party,” Thorunn adds. And go piss yourself.

When the King steps out into the garden, as is tradition, everyone stops what they are doing, clears a path, and kneels. As the engaged couple, Mom and Edgar walk to the front and kneel in the cleared path before the king, heads bowed. I am sure that this tradition held more gravitas back when the king wore huge fur robes and a giant crown, and where all royal parties, no matter how casual, would have been held in the palace’s grand ballroom. Nowadays, when the king is just an old man in a finely constructed but otherwise plain charcoal-grey suit, stepping into his backyard for a garden party, it feels a little silly.

The King raises one hand, signaling for all to rise again. Were this a formal party, he would have approached my mother and Edgar first, greeting them as they knelt before anyone else stood up. Instead, he waits for them to stand and the party to resume before descending the steps. Given the modern day’s rapid industrial progress—and its sister, cultural change—the King’s slight deviation in etiquette could mean something, or it could mean nothing. It could indicate that the King wishes to greet them as relative equals…or it could just be the King not wanting to be seen as an old-fashioned, ostentatious show-off who would force a whole party to kneel for five minutes while he talked to two people. Both are likely.

Thorunn and I try to covertly make our way closer to the King, Edgar, and Mom, hoping to catch a glimpse of their conversation, but it seems everyone else has the same idea. An impassable wall of guests stand between us and them. I suppose it is not disastrous to our plan, since Mom and Edgar will just tell us themselves what the King said. Though it sure is annoying. This puts both Thorunn and I at something of an impasse. Rules of proper conduct dictate that someone of a lower status should not initiate a conversation with a person of a higher status without some previous relationship—so it would be permissible for me to approach Prince Edgar, but not Princess Emerlane. And if I do not know someone’s status, I should not approach them until they approach me first. Thorunn is in a similar predicament. He does not know anyone at this party, and even though his status is equivalent to that of a duke or prince, he is a foreigner. That alone seems to dissuade most of the party guests from approaching him.

“I’m surprised,” I remark to Thorunn. “I expected more people to pester you with questions, asking about your alliance with the Alamar Isles.”

“I’m…less surprised, to be honest. For your people, fear often outweighs curiosity.” He raises an eyebrow. “Except for you. You’re the only Saelic I know who courts danger with such confidence.”

“You give me too much credit. You know Prince Edgar too, don’t you? The man who jumps out of windows in the freezing rain just to see a girl?”

A soft chuckle. “I suppose so.”

Courting danger with such confidence. I need not wax poetic in the irony of this remark. My executioner and I are drifting, hand-in-hand, towards the courtyard, where the string quartet has struck up a lighthearted tune. Some guests are dancing. Thorunn only knows his country’s traditional dances and I have two left feet, so instead we find a nearby bench and watch. We do suffer an awkward moment when, as Thorunn sits down, a decorative string of beads dangling from his axe catches on the wrought iron armrest. The tension yanks the weapon from its back holster and sends it clattering to the ground. As guests look over in surprise and concern, a red-faced Thorunn picks it back up. He can’t get it back in the holster without standing up, which would attract more attention, so he eventually gives up and just lays the weapon across his knees.

“Damn this stupid costume,” Thorunn mutters, thoroughly flustered. “All the beads and baubles and terrible, terrible holsters…”

He is right, it doesn’t seem very practical. But it is undoubtedly quite beautiful, especially on him. My eyes skate freely up and down his body. The tunic leaves his biceps bare, displaying the intricate blue tattoos that normally are hidden under his sleeves. Even if I knew how to read his language, I doubt that I would learn very much, though, as the spiraling runes quickly disappear beneath his fur bracers and gloves.

“Just wear it a little longer, dear,” I tell him. “An hour more, then dinner, and then…I can help you take it off.”

He blushes an even deeper shade of red. “Eloise,” he breathes.

Even with all of the people around, I cannot help myself. I reach out and trace the runes slowly with my index finger. “You never explained what your tattoos say…and I have never seen all of them. Would you show me tonight, dear? I should know more about you. Especially when you’re leaving so soon…”

I trail off. The thought occurs to me at the same time that it leaves my lips. Yes, Thorunn is leaving soon. He will depart Saol Eile in three weeks. And he will not return for four long months, or more if the harsh seas and capricious weather delay his ship. Had I been an ordinary girl, he would whisk me away with him and we would marry in his homeland. But I have my job and my parents to take care of now, and I could not abandon them for one-third of a year just to get married. I will have to remain here, lonely and unwed, and wait for my betrothed to return. Lonely and unwed and utterly defenseless…I shiver, recalling how helpless and alone I felt even in the short time before Thorunn arrived at the party. I do not know how I will survive four months of such awful parties without him by my side.

Thorunn seems to notice the shift in my demeanor. Gently, he lifts my hand and presses his lips to it. “Let’s not think about leaving,” he tells me. “I want to see you smile tonight, Eloise.”

“Easier said than done,” I mutter.

“Why’s that?”

“You feel it too, I know you do. This party is a powder keg. One spark, and it goes up with a bang.”

“Then…” He glances around, then leans in to whisper in my ear. “If it distracts you to think of me…without this costume on…please, be my guest.”

It does. It distracts me very much. Though now I have a secondary problem of becoming just as flustered as I made him just a second ago; surely, my face is now as red as a beet.

A bell-like ringing echoes around the gardens. It is the clinking of a fork against a champagne glance, a call for a toast. We look over to see that the call is from Edgar, with my mother on one side of him and the King on the other.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Edgar says. “Thank you all for coming. As you well know, today I am celebrating—and declaring publicly, once and for all—an engagement to my childhood sweetheart, Amira Al’Kilic.”

He pauses as he gestures to Amira, and the guests offer a round of slightly restrained, yet polite applause.

“For many of you, this engagement may come as a surprise,” Edgar continues. “Officially, I am already engaged to be wed to one Lady Olivia Guildenstern, who regretfully could not attend this party. A marriage between Olivia and I would undoubtedly strengthen the relationship between the Royal Family and the valued noble House of Guildenstern. But as a man of the cloth, and with deference to my title as a Bishop of the Holy Church of Saol Eile, I cannot in good conscience proceed with the prior engagement. To do so would be to violate the sacred bond of marriage between myself and Amira Al’Kilic—who I wed in secret almost nineteen years ago.”

Another pause for dramatic effect.

“I have loved Amira from the moment I laid eyes on her. We met as children, in my darkest hour, when I feared that I had not a single friend in the world…and then, from the sunbeams, like an angel from on high, appeared my princess. She was kind, thoughtful, and graceful in a way I only thought true in storybooks. She was my dearest friend. She was my first and only love. As a child, I did everything I could think of to honor her. I proposed to her with a ribbon tied around her finger. Later, as a teenager, I hid away some of my allowance and bought the finest gold ring I could find. On the day I turned eighteen, I brought her to the altar and married her, in a private ceremony with nine witnesses. The rest…”

He trails off.

“The rest of the story, I shall let Her Majesty tell. During the course of this litigation, you will no doubt hear my mother’s reasons to annul my marriage and pursue an engagement with the house of Guildenstern. But let it be known that not once in the nineteen years since have I turned my back on Amira. Though I was forbidden from seeing her, I poured my love through my personal coffers, with gifts fit for a queen. And I stayed faithful to her, abiding by a vow of chastity that has not once been broken, as I prayed every day for the chance to reunite with my princess. This is the solemn duty that the gods ask of me as a husband. It is in service of this duty that I have filed my petition to legitimize my marriage to Amira Al’Kilic and restore her rightful estate. If I cast her aside now, I would defile the sacred institution of marriage itself. This is the word of the Holy Church!”

Some murmurs from the crowd. Some mumbled “amen”s from the most devout of guests. Despite serving as his clerk for now almost half a year, I have never actually seen my father preach a sermon. He almost never does it anymore, being occupied with his administrative duties, but for the first time, I understand why the church ordained my father—the disaster human being that he usually is—as a holy priest. When he speaks, he does so with such conviction that it can only come from the gods themselves. Edgar gestures now to the King.

“Thus, I have filed a formal petition with His Majesty to resolve this question of law and scripture. At this time, I will defer to His Majesty and ask for your utmost attention, as I believe he has more to say on the matter.”

A broader, more universal round of applause as Edgar takes a seat and the King rises. Suddenly, I realize that I am trembling. This is the first glimpse into King Edwinn III’s mind, and I am terrified. Thorunn squeezes my hand. It does little to comfort me.

“Thank you, Edgar,” says the King. “My beloved people. Thank you all for attending today—be it out of kind courtesy or morbid curiosity. I must admit that this turn of events has been as surprising to me as it was to all of you…and, like many of you, I only made a point of attending after my son’s petition made the news this afternoon.”

A light chuckle, drawing laughter from the crowd.

“At prior engagement parties, I have made my position on my son’s marriage quite clear. A marriage into the House of Guildenstern is of the utmost importance for the Royal Family. The Guildensterns, as owners of the largest shipyard and three largest shipping companies in Saol Eile, are the foundation of our country’s wealth and prosperity on the global market. But as of yet, the Guildensterns’ one and only heir, Lady Olivia, remains unwed. As part of their plans to expand Saelic industry, the House of Guildenstern requires that Lady Olivia join the Royal Family by marriage. I have long acknowledged the vital importance of this marriage union—and I do not intend to disregard it.

“But there are other factors at play. Nineteen years ago, Her Majesty, Queen Philomena, filed a petition to annul a marriage between Prince Edgar and his new wife, Amira Al’Kilic. It has come to my attention that this annulment may have been defective in its inception. Prince Edgar has offered a mountain of evidence in support of this claim. Before any engagement or marriage can proceed, I must first determine if this evidence is authentic, and if the annulment was indeed defective. If so, then Prince Edgar is still legally wed to Amira Al’Kilic, and the engagement with Lady Olivia must be dissolved. Conversely, if the annulment was valid, then Prince Edgar is no longer wed, and the engagement with Lady Olivia may proceed.

“I have also been advised that this matter is of international import. Lady Amira Al’Kilic has acquired a steadfast alliance with the Northern seafarers, a growing force on the global stage. Even as Lady Amira’s status in Saelic gentry remains in question, the North has pledged their ships, armies, and resources to her cause. Not for her bloodline, nor for her assets—but, as I have heard, compelled by her story. The North has joined a vast number of our neighboring countries in the belief that it is justice, not tradition, which should prevail. This stage is set, my friends. The spotlight is upon Saol Eile.

“But that is only one side of the story: the side Prince Edgar has told. We have but one actor left to join the scene, my beloved wife, Her Majesty, Queen Philomena. Presently, she is traveling abroad, attending to international relations, and shall return at the end of the summer. I do not intend to litigate this matter in her absence. I have appointed counsel to represent her interests at the preliminary stages, as I begin to review the evidence and investigate Prince Edgar’s claims. Only once Her Majesty has returned will I set this matter for trial.

“Until such time as I deem necessary, let it be known that both engagements of Prince Edgar—the engagement to Lady Olivia and the engagement to Lady Amira—will be presumed valid. Any member of the clergy who attempts to officiate a marriage involving Prince Edgar will be stripped of his title and put to exile. And neither woman shall pursue a marriage with Prince Edgar, at any time or under any conditions, by pain of prison or death.”

EXHIBIT 6.

In support of his petition to His Majesty’s Court of Pleas, Petitioner EDGAR ROSENCRANTZ comes now and enters into evidence the following:

Summary of all mail-order purchases by Petitioner to Amira Al’Kilic, beginning MAY 1, 471 A.R. through PRESENT. As stated in the attached Confidential Affidavit of Identity, all deliveries made to the name “Imogen Rossach” were intended to reach Amira Al’Kilic.

For itemized receipts of all known purchases and costs of shipping, see attached Exhibit 6A (1,850 pages).

AAA Grade Leather-Top Buggy—Windwhirl Equine Services, LLC—May 1, 471—Ω85.00.

Double Spring Wagon Team Harness, Leather—Windwhirl Equine Services, LLC—May 1, 471—Ω24.00.

Two Carriage Horses, Mature—Windwhirl Equine Services, LLC—May 1, 471—Ω141.18.

Grand Square Piano and Bench—McGuire & Sons—May 3, 471—Ω800.00.

Chart of Chords & Exercises for the Beginning Pianist, Wolsey Pratt Jr.—McGuire & Sons—May 3, 471—Ω0.25.

Silver-Plated Hairbrush, Hand Mirror, and Comb Set—Ponsonby, Bexley, & Carlisle—May 4, 471—Ω20.00.

Genuine 9-Diamond Enamel Brooch—Ponsonby, Bexley, & Carlisle—May 4, 471—Ω116.00.

Genuine ½-Carat Diamond Brooch—Ponsonby, Bexley, & Carlisle—May 4, 471—Ω96.00.

Armure Silk Evening Dress With Silk Fringe—Lady Down-Landon’s Frocks & Finery—May 4, 471—Ω37.50.

Mink Fur Cape—Ambrose Furs—May 8, 471—Ω30.00.

Genuine Mother-of-Pearl Opera Glass—Ponsonby, Bexley, & Carlisle—May 8, 471—Ω2.85.

Gold-Plated Cubic Zirconia Drop Earrings—Ponsonby, Bexley, & Carlisle—May 8, 471—Ω1.85.

14-Karat Gold Filled Case Watch—Ponsonby, Bexley, & Carlisle—May 8, 471—Ω10.50.

Silk Wrap with Beaded Sleeves—Lady Down-Landon’s Frocks & Finery—May 15, 471—Ω8.75.

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