Chapter 7

Seraphina didn’t talk to the king that night, or the next night, or the next. Every time she thought she might do it, something got in her way. The king was in a foul temper, or one of her sisters called her away to help with birthday planning. She avoided Greymont’s questioning glances, not wanting to admit to him that she hadn’t even broached the subject of leaving Eldridge Hall.

“You seem pensive tonight, my dear,” the king said as they passed into his room. “Thinking about your birthday masquerade?”

She nodded, wondering if this was her opportunity. “It’s in less than a week. I’m anxious that everything should go right. The food—”

“Nothing to worry about at all,” he said, patting her hand. “Your sisters have been working day and night to make sure it’s as perfect as you are. Is there something else troubling you?”

She chewed her cheek for a moment, hesitating. The king looked harmless enough now, but he could be so volatile. A memory came to her of her early days at Eldridge, one so bitter she’d put it out of her head for years. She had been homesick and angry, resentful at being plucked and groomed to the point where she didn’t recognize herself anymore, exhausted from sleepless nights crying for her family. She missed Dalia, who hadn’t yet begun to appear at the edge of the forest. She’d never felt so alone.

When a servant placed a dish in front of her at dinner one evening—something soft, gray, and unidentifiable that reeked of unfamiliar spices—she wrinkled her lip in disgust without thinking. The king’s hand had come down so hard on the table that she screamed.

Who is this spoiled, selfish girl? the king had shouted, his pale face flushing an alarming shade of scarlet.

The king had been escorted to his chambers by Giselle, who mumbled soft, soothing platitudes and cast furious glances at Seraphina. Later, she had taken Seraphina roughly by her arm and dragged her up to her tower. She’d glanced around the cramped space, her mouth twisted in a sneer. “Even this is too good for you,” she spat, leaving Seraphina crying on her narrow bed.

“There is something wrong,” the king insisted now. “What is it, my dearest daughter? You can tell your father anything.”

Seraphina felt a stab in her chest, something between affection and despair. The king’s love for Princess Imogen was so powerful it had transcended death. Meanwhile, she could hardly remember what her own father looked like. He came to her in dreams, sometimes, but when she woke up she found she couldn’t recall his features beyond the facts: his eyes were brown, like hers; his hair was graying at the temples. But had his nose, which had been broken years ago in an accident, crooked to the right or the left? Were his cheekbones high, like hers, or had she inherited those from her mother? She hadn’t paid enough attention to the things that truly mattered back then. If she could do it all over, she would memorize every detail of her family.

“It’s nothing, Father. Only...” She toyed with the ribbons she’d tied around her wrists to cover the bruising, casting him a sidelong glance.

“What is it, Genny?”

“Only I would so like to watch the sunrise on my twentieth birthday.” She said it in a rush, not realizing she was going to say those words until they’d spilled out of her like dice from a cup. The windows at Eldridge Hall had been boarded up when the gates were closed so that no one from the outside would see that the castle was still inhabited. King Stuart had been worried that desperate people would attempt to seek refuge here, and he hadn’t been wrong. In the early days, the people had revolted, after they realized all the food and livestock they had turned over were to be stockpiled for the sole use of the nobility and royal family.

Shortly after she was taken from her family, Seraphina had been in her chambers with Jocelyn, Nina, and Rose. Jocelyn had been helping Seraphina practice her courtly etiquette: curtsies, proper table manners, how to speak to a gentleman. As the true Princess Imogen’s ladies’ maid, Jocelyn had only been spared traveling with her on that fateful trip because she had terrible motion sickness. Jocelyn was far too perceptive not to notice an imposter, though she hadn’t voiced any surprise upon seeing Seraphina for the first time, playing along from the start without missing a beat. Of course, it was in her interest as much as everyone else’s that Seraphina perform well as Imogen’s stand-in, but Jocelyn was a genuinely kind person. Eventually, Seraphina would tell her everything, but she hadn’t trusted anyone at all in those earliest days.

Suddenly, a rock had burst through the window, sending glass shards raining down on Nina and Rose, who had been seated closest to it. Nina had sustained several cuts on her bare arms and shoulders, while Rose, who was always cold, had been protected by her shawl. She screamed far louder than Nina, however, who only looked from the blood on her arms to the broken window and said, “Shit.”

Guards had come running at the sound of Rose’s screams, while Seraphina stood midcurtsy, trembling. She was so afraid of making a mistake and being punished, while at the same time wishing the king would let her go. She didn’t understand then that the king would never let Imogen go. The windows had been boarded up ever since.

“The sunrise?” the king said, blinking, as if he had never considered the idea in nearly four years. “That seems simple enough.”

“Really?” She clapped her hands the way Imogen did, annoyed to find that the habit came easily now.

But seeing her smile lit up the king’s face. “A wonderful birthday present, I think. Of course, there will be more, but a perfect one to start the day.”

It wasn’t anything close to being released from the castle, but it was a step in the right direction. She could imagine the king flinging open the curtains in the great hall on her birthday morning, the guards rushing forward to pry away the boards. The entire castle would be there. They would see that the world outside Eldridge Hall was peaceful. Then Seraphina could tell King Stuart about the empty cellar. Then everything would be fine.

She just had to ensure Greymont would take her with him when he left.

She said good-night to the king and went straight up to her bedroom without joining her sisters for cards or gossip. For the first time since she had come to Eldridge, there was the spring of promise in her step. Even the cold stone stairs biting her bare feet didn’t reach her heart tonight. She changed out of her dress into her nightgown, combed out her hair, and walked to her window as she did every night, wishing she could somehow project her good news through the crack in the boards.

But though she waited until the moon was high in the sky and longer, until the dark night began to seem not so dark, for the first time in nearly four years, Dalia never came.

***

The next morning Seraphina stood frozen while a seamstress placed pins in the hem of her birthday costume, her head and heart heavy. She knew in her bones that it was almost impossible Dalia had survived the plague. If history was any guide, the Jews of Goslind would not have fared well. They always made the perfect scapegoats whenever tragedy befell the kingdom. And if Dalia had somehow survived, she would have wanted to get far away from the city—not stand outside Eldridge Hall every night in plain sight.

So every night when she saw the girl at the edge of the woods, Seraphina half believed she was seeing Dalia’s dybbuk, wandering in the spirit world until she found a body to inhabit.

The other half of her, however, had become quite adept at denial these past few years, and she’d told herself that it was really Dalia she was seeing. It made the guilt of surviving—and worse, assimilating—less painful, so long as she believed she was going to see someone she loved again one day.

“Your Highness?”

She glanced down at the seamstress, who indicated that she was finished. Seraphina raised her eyes to her reflection.

The gown was simple enough, white muslin trimmed with lace, but so thin it must have taken hours and hours to get just right. Even with the requisite petticoat underneath, it clung to her body when she moved, revealing the curve of a hip one moment, the length of her thigh the next. On top of her head was a golden circlet, an early birthday present from her father, and the seamstresses had fashioned a pair of wings out of real feathers. They were attached to her shoulders with gold velvet ribbons. She imagined they would be heavy by the end of the night, but the whole effect was rather beautiful.

“We’ll curl your hair,” Nina said, standing behind her as the seamstress adjusted the hem.

“And pin it up, of course. Your gold comb with the seed pearls would be just the thing,” Rose added. She was wearing her pink rose gown, which cascaded in tiers of satin ruffles from her waist to the floor. She’d spent most of the morning twirling in circles to watch the layers float up around her.

Nina examined her own plum-colored gown in the mirror. It was tight at the waist, ballooning out a bit around her legs and tightening once again with a ruffle around her ankles. The collar of the dress was high and ruffled at the throat, not revealing even an inch of cleavage. Nina had complained, but Jocelyn, ever the diplomat, had pointed out that the tight waist accentuated her bust and hips without looking too risqué.

Meanwhile, poor Jocelyn’s dress would have been appropriate for a small child. The seamstress had covered it in little white crocheted daisies, with a bonnet to match. But Jocelyn never complained. She understood that this masquerade wasn’t about her.

Giselle had completed her fitting before Seraphina arrived for hers, claiming she had important business to attend to.

When they had finished, they went to the dining hall for luncheon. A calico named Pudding jumped into Seraphina’s lap, hoping for some table scraps, but it quickly realized there was no meat to be had and went off in search of a better offer.

“Did you speak to the king?” Greymont asked her when he sat down, oblivious to her despondent mood.

“I did. He has agreed to let us watch the sunrise for my birthday.” Even as she said it, she knew it didn’t sound like much. Hardly the confrontation he’d been hoping for—but she’d waited this long for a chance at escape, and she couldn’t rush things now. She hated being dependent on someone else for her escape, that she needed to convince Greymont she was useful. If only she had a ship.

“The sunrise?”

“If we can see outside, he’ll realize that there is nothing to fear. I know it’s a small step, but it’s a step.” She started to reach for his hand under the table, then thought better of it. She was a princess. She wouldn’t beg for his approval like a dog. “After that I’ll be able to press harder.”

He stabbed at a prune on his plate.

She lifted her chin. “I hardly think you need to take your frustration out on that poor prune.”

“You’re right. It hasn’t done anything wrong.” There was a growl in his voice Seraphina hadn’t heard before, and it stirred a memory she’d long since buried. Before she could respond, the king entered the room. Everyone began to rise, but he waved them back down. “Sit, sit, all of you.” He glanced at Seraphina and Greymont next to each other and smiled fondly. “Such a handsome couple,” he said to himself, before settling down to eat.

Seraphina glanced at Greymont and found that his expression had changed entirely. He was puffed up with pride, and, unless her eyes deceived her, hope. Of course. He wasn’t a fool. He’d told her himself that everyone had ambitions at court. It was good to remember that he viewed her as a means to an end, too. That whatever tension might exist between them, this wasn’t puppy love. It was life or death.

“Excuse me,” she said, pushing her chair back with a screech. She hurried into a hallway, self-consciously touching the thin scar that ran along her jawline.

It was the work of a man who had broken into her family’s home when she was nine. He’d come through the open window and grabbed her, holding a knife to her throat while demanding her father wrap the few valuables they had in a tablecloth. They’d learned later he was a thief on the run, and he had a nasty habit of marking his victims with his knife. After Seraphina’s father had placed their good candlesticks and her mother’s wedding ring, along with a few coins, into the makeshift sack and handed it to the thief, he had pressed the tip of his knife to the flesh just below Seraphina’s left ear.

“Something to remember me by,” the man whispered as he ran the blade several inches along her jawline. The knife was so sharp she’d barely felt it.

He was out the door by the time her skin opened like a seam and the blood seeped out, running down her neck and ruining her collar. Her father had fainted. He’d never liked the sight of blood.

It was the first time in her life Seraphina had felt her vulnerability as a girl. It was no accident the thief had chosen her. She was lucky he hadn’t ruined her face, her mother said. That would have destroyed any desirable marriage prospects she may have had. She smiled to remember what Dalia had told her, in all her indignant girlishness—that a scar didn’t ruin a face, it only added character. The doctor had decided against stitches, afraid they’d scar worse than if they let the wound heal itself. Now it was hard to see—it was all but healed over, and any lasting trace was hidden by the pearl powder—but she knew it was there. Another reminder of how little control she had over anything in this world.

“Princess Imogen.”

She startled at the sound of her name. Lord Greymont had followed her. He was the last person she wished to see.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed after a servant passed, his eyebrow arched impertinently.

“I upset you,” he said.

“Is that a question?” she shot back. She knew getting defensive wasn’t going to win his approval, but she couldn’t help herself. Fear had kept her small and passive these past few years, but imminent starvation required her to take a more active role in her own survival. The pressure was already starting to get to her.

“My apologies.” He looked at her hand for a moment, as though he were contemplating taking it. “I spoke out of turn.”

She sniffed and raised her chin. “You seek my father’s approval.”

He blinked, apparently surprised at her bluntness. “I—Well, yes, I do. He is my king, after all.”

She glanced away. “And my approval? Does that mean nothing to you?” Her head whipped back toward him at the sound of his chuckling. “Oh, you find that amusing, do you?”

This time he did take her hand, and she wasn’t sure if she was angry or relieved. “I only find it amusing that you doubt my desire for your—” his eyes flicked down toward her neckline “—approval.”

She pulled her hand away, refusing to betray the thrill she’d felt run through her at his insolence. “I should warn you, sir. If your pursuits are dishonorable—”

“Forgive me, Your Highness. I assure you, my intentions are as honorable as can be. I have taken liberties...” Something about the way his gaze devoured her made her certain he was imagining said liberties. “It is only because I find you to be the most beautiful woman in the world.”

She rolled her eyes to hide how much she enjoyed his flattery. “We should get back. Father will be wondering where I’ve gone.”

“Yes, of course. But please, tell me you forgive me first. I’ll never be able to eat until I know you’re not upset.”

She was impressed with his acting skills. The green flecks in his eyes glimmered, almost as if he was really upset at the idea of offending her. “Hmph.”

“I just...” He lowered his voice and stepped toward her. Her back was already against the wall, bringing him within inches of her. “I want you to know that whatever your father says, I’m behind you. You’re not alone, Princess.”

His words—words she’d been longing to hear for years—pushed past all her defenses, and she found her legs going a little watery.

The swishing of a maid’s skirts brought her back to herself, and she straightened up, willing the color to drain from her cheeks. “You’re forgiven,” she said, offering him the back of her hand.

He kissed it and looked up at her through his eyelashes. “After you, Princess.”

She returned to her seat, ignoring the questioning glances from her sisters and Jocelyn. The king was nodding into his porridge, always so tired lately.

“So,” Seraphina said, picking up her fork. “The sunrise?”

Greymont grinned, making her blush again despite herself. “You’re right, of course. The idea of watching the sunrise on your birthday is wonderful. Though I doubt we’ll be allowed to watch it together.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “I’m sure we can assemble the whole court for such an occasion. We’ll open the big window in the hall. The sun rises around seven at this time of year. It’s early, but not scandalously so, surely.”

He was watching her mouth. “Indeed. Not scandalously so.”

Contrite, her left eye. The man was incorrigible. She would need to keep her wits about her if she was going to win whatever game this was.

“What are you two scheming about?” The king, who had woken from his nap when a cat began eating from his plate, smiled at Seraphina and Greymont.

“Noth—” Greymont began, but Seraphina spoke over him.

“We’re discussing my birthday sunrise,” she said so loudly that everyone in the room would hear.

Now everyone would know, and the king wouldn’t be able to change his mind. It would set everything in motion. It had to.

“How much we’re looking forward to it,” she continued as her hand found Greymont’s under the table and squeezed it.

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