Chapter Text
i.
There was once a widow, who lived alone with her two daughters on a small estate in the middle of the countryside. Her husband, a merchant, had died in the storm that unfortunately sunk his ships and ruined his family fifteen years before. So the widow – who by virtue of her marriage had become the Lady Tremaine – lived with her daughters in genteel poverty, surviving on rents from the land and the expectation of good marriages once they came of age.
But Lady Tremaine had a secret. She was not her husband’s first wife. His previous marriage had produced a boy called Kit, only a few years older than her girls. She disliked the boy, for he was well-liked by the staff of their estate while they shunned her own daughters – and though it should be noted that the boy himself rather liked his sisters, irritating though he sometimes found them, Lady Tremaine resented him as if he too snubbed them. Additionally, he had a great resemblance to his father, which after his death caused her pain she did not care to admit.
In the cold rage and spite with which she carried herself in the months after her husband’s death, Lady Tremaine took her revenge on the boy. She dismissed all the original servants and hired ones not from the area, and instantly demoted her stepson from new lord of the estate to a lowly boy-of-all-work. When asked in town about her stepson, Lady Tremaine lied that he had been sent to his father’s family. As his grandparents had died shortly after her wedding, but that sad news had not been widely circulated, she knew that she was unlikely to be caught out in her lie. After a few years of prolonged absence to the townspeople it was as if Kit had never existed, and Lady Tremaine had always lived on the estate with her daughters.
As her daughters Anastasia and Susanna grew up to be accomplished young ladies, so too did Kit grow up skilled from working almost everywhere in the house he had once called home – first as a kitchen boy, then caring for the animals, before finally becoming groundskeeper – although he was not allowed to sleep inside as the other servants did. As a child he slept in the stable loft during the summer, but was permitted to sleep by the dying embers of the fire in wintertime. More than once his sisters had woken him up by laughing at his cinder-covered hair and clothes; they were always in such disarray that everyone in the house had taken to calling him Buttons on account of his never having any. Once he turned sixteen he was permanently installed in the stables, his wardrobe benefitting from the stability of a fixed living area, but the nickname stuck.
Despite the many hardships of his short life Kit remained a kind and helpful boy, who grew into a shy but charming man. He was aware that Lady Tremaine’s treatment of him was unjustified and that she had wronged him in some way, but he had been so young when his father died that both the details and magnitude of her deceit remained a mystery to him. And so years slipped by, with little about the house changing besides the age of its occupants. Indeed, if Anastasia hadn’t wanted a new ribbon for her bonnet one May morning, Kit might have lived the rest of his days on the edge of the house from which he had been unfairly barred.
“Oh, Mother, it’s only a small length to freshen it up again!” Anastasia said. “I’ve had it for so long, and the old ribbon is so frayed it’s in danger of flying off my head!”
“For the third time, Anastasia,” Lady Tremaine said as she sipped her wine, “you will not go out to town today. Get the maid to go.”
“It’s Bess’s day off,” she said. “Please, Mother, it’s only a short walk to town and back!”
“It is not appropriate for a young lady such as yourself to walk to town and back alone.” She placed the glass back on the table beside her, lifting her needlework up once again.
“But there’s no one else in the house to accompany me!” Anastasia sulked. “Bess is away, and Mrs Walker is making dinner! The only person still here is Buttons.”
Lady Tremaine’s eyelid twitched; the only outward sign of her displeasure. “Send him there, then,” she said, completing her stitch.
“He’s a man, Mother! He won’t know what to get, and it’ll all clash horribly.”
Lady Tremaine slammed her work, hoop and all, onto the table with a sharp clatter. Anastasia jumped, freezing in her spot before the fire where she had been pacing. Susanna, who had been on the opposite couch to her mother, sat perfectly still, her own needle half-inserted into the fabric. Lady Tremaine rubbed at her temple with one hand, lifting her wine glass again with the other. After sipping carefully and replacing it on the table, she spoke again.
“Anastasia, if it will stop your incessant bleating, then by all means call Buttons and get him to chaperone you on the way to and from town. Why this nonsensical little ribbon can’t wait one day, I cannot imagine, but I am sick to the back teeth of hearing about it. Now go!”
With an elegant wave of her fingers, Lady Tremaine dismissed Anastasia, who quickly trotted out the door and towards the stables, where Kit could usually be found at this time of day.
“Buttons?” she called out as she approached.
Sure enough, Kit poked his head out the stable door at his sister’s shout. He was two heads taller than her, with the same dark hair that curled when it grew long and the beginnings of a beard on his cheeks (he had evidently forgotten to shave that morning), his eyes dark blue to her pale grey. Their similarities ended there; Anastasia’s hair was always pinned to within an inch of its life, never allowed to naturally curl; and despite the fact that there was only a year’s difference between them, his strong bones made him look every day of his twenty-five years, while her soft, rounded cheeks caused everyone to think her a girl of eighteen at first sight.
“What do you need, Miss?” he asked, shrugging on his new green jacket.
Anastasia flushed a little. “I need you to come into town with me.”
Kit rolled his eyes. “Can you not figure out some way to get there by yourself?” he asked. “I’m tired of being your ‘chaperone’ while you make eyes at the baker, when there’s more important things I could be doing here.”
“Important things like what?” she asked. “Waiting around for Mother to order you inside only to scream at you for not having the ground itself growing to her impossible standards?”
Kit’s eyes flicked down to the ground. “You heard that.”
“It was hard not to,” she said, biting her lip. “Susanna had already set her off a little because her stitches weren’t straight enough – we were thinking it had been a while since the last time she exploded like that.”
“About a fortnight,” he confirmed. “I suppose she was overdue.”
“Come on, Buttons,” she wheedled, leaning against the doorframe. “I haven’t seen Jamie in eight days, he’ll have almost forgotten me.”
Kit sighed wearily. “If ever there was a man besotted, it’s James Graves,” he said. “He’d no sooner forget you than – than pigs would fly.”
“Buttons, please,” Anastasia said. “Mother’s in a foul mood, I can’t go back inside just now. And I know you’ve been itching to go wander in the woods, or whatever it is you do there that’s so fascinating.”
Kit paused.
“If we go now, there’s still a few hours before anybody will miss us,” she said sweetly.
“Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Fine, you’ve convinced me. Do you want to ride?”
“If you insist,” she grinned. Following him into the stables, she continued, “And besides, Mother only needs to see me leave with you. There’s no need for you to follow me all the way to town.”
Kit gave her a withering look.
“I can behave myself!” Anastasia laughed. “Besides, there’s not much mischief I could get up to anyway – between mother and brother, I’m not allowed to do anything reckless, am I?”
She laughed as she said it, but it was in a low voice and after ensuring, with a quick glance around, that they were alone. All three siblings remembered their relationships to each other, but were equally aware that Lady Tremaine was adamant the staff should never have cause to find it out.
“No, you’re not,” Kit chuckled. “Come on, then,” he said, after readying two horses. “Let’s go and get this . . . deathly important ribbon.”
“But of course,” Anastasia smiled, and they rode out on the road together. Once they passed the bend in the road and were hidden from the houses’ view, the siblings both visibly relaxed.
“You know this means that it’s Susie’s turn again, to escape the house at the next opportunity?” Kit asked after a few minutes of silent riding.
Anastasia sighed. “I wish there was a way for all three of us to get away. Oh, but Mother would never fall for it; it’s as if she’s spent so much time being miserable, she can’t bear the thought that anyone else could possibly be happy.”
Kit hummed non-committedly. “Do you ever think about it?”
“Well, this has been the highlight of my fortnight, Buttons. So yes, I think about my afternoons away almost all the time.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I mean – I mean about properly getting away.”
Anastasia turned her head so sharply that her bonnet – which really did have a ribbon which needed replaced – almost flew off her head. “I . . . sometimes, yes,” she admitted. “I have daydreams about it, but – well, they’re daydreams. Not reality. Every time I get so far, I think of a snag – Susanna’s so frightened she might not even go, or Mother might get so furious she’d tell the police that you kidnapped us, or she’d find some clever way of trapping you here with those papers.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Kit conceded reluctantly. It wasn’t until another moment or two had passed that he fully processed her last sentence. “Wait – what do you mean, ‘those papers’?”
“I mean, the inden–” Anastasia stopped herself suddenly, tilting her head away to one side.
“What? The what, Anastasia?” Kit asked.
“Nothing – nothing, forget I said anything,” she said, kicking her horse’s sides lightly to spur him into a trot.
Kit spurred his own horse, catching up to Anastasia and grabbing her reins. “Anna, what are you talking about?” he asked as he slowed them to a standstill, his eyebrows furrowing. “Tell me.”
“I – I thought you knew – I promise, Buttons, I thought you already knew,” she stammered.
“Already knew what?” he asked with a deliberate measuredness.
“She – Mother – I was snooping around in her study one day, years and years ago, and I – I found a contract, with your name on it. You’d signed it, I could see that it was your signature –”
“I’ve never signed any contract –” Kit interrupted.
“Well, you must have signed something, because it looked like your handwriting!” she snapped. “I – I don’t know, exactly – it was dated for the year that Papa died.”
Kit thought for a moment. “Maybe . . . maybe I did,” he muttered. “I mean, I can’t remember, it must be coming on to fifteen years ago this November – but Anastasia,” he said, getting back on topic with a shake of his head, “what – how did you know it was a contract? What did it say?”
She looked at him solemnly, and Kit felt the truth in the pit of his stomach before she even said the words.
“It was a contract of indenture,” she said. “I – I don’t remember for how much, but I know it was an astronomical sum.”
Kit abruptly let go of her reins; if he hadn’t been on horseback, he would have staggered back. He could feel a tether connecting him to the estate, a tether which was bound around his wrist and was secured at the other end around his stepmother’s ring of keys.
“Buttons,” she said desperately. “Buttons, talk to me.”
“I’ll never be free,” he said numbly. “I’ll never be free of this place – she’ll keep me there forever, just to torment me – no marriage, no children, no future – just her, keeping me miserable because it brings her joy –”
“Buttons!” Anastasia repeated. She reached for his hand, and he let her take it. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I thought you knew.”
After a moment, Kit squeezed her hand. “Don’t let this spoil your day, Anna,” he said. “Like you said, this is the highlight of your fortnight. Go and spend it with James.” He spurred his horse into a walk, swiftly speeding to a trot. “I’ll meet you at the usual place and time!” he called back over his shoulder as he headed towards the forest.
“Buttons!” Anastasia shouted as he rode away. “Buttons! Kit!”
But he was already gone, his green jacket perfectly blending into the forest greenery. Within ten seconds even the sounds of his horse had been absorbed by the forest, and she was left alone on the road. She knew well that in these moods, Kit liked to be alone. And besides that, he was right – this would be the highlight of her fortnight, and one of her only chances to see James alone. With a guilty look in the direction he had vanished, Anastasia spurred her horse on again towards town.
Meanwhile, Kit carefully steered his horse, Jasper, through the trees at a walking pace totally at odds with his body’s longing to run, jump, scream, something. He could feel his heart beating jackrabbit fast, the blood pounding in his ears as dread ate him up inside. Indentured, he thought numbly. All this time, and I couldn’t even have left if I’d felt able to. Any wages she had paid him would go towards paying off his ‘debt’ – a contract he did not remember, and which she very well may have tricked him into signing.
Kit took a steadying breath, pushing his hair off his face with one hand. As the trees began to clear, and they approached the emptier parts of the forest, he squeezed Jasper’s sides with his legs, easing it into a trot. He needed to move, needed the exertion of a good ride. As the trees thinned out even more moving away from the main road, he urged the horse into a gallop. The steady beating of the horse’s hooves on the undergrowth hammered into Kit’s ears, sometimes in time with his own heartbeat and sometimes providing a syncopated offbeat. Between the noise of his horse, the blood still rushing in his ears, and his own harsh breathing, it took him longer than it perhaps should have to realise that he was not alone in the forest – that there was another rider, also pushing their horse to a gallop.
“Easy! Easy, boy, easy – woah!”
Kit looked to his left, where he could hear the other rider. In between the thick tree trunks, he caught fractional glimpses of the whole – a woman in a pale blue riding habit riding a grey horse, gripping the reins with stiff arms. Glancing around to ensure the path was clear, Kit steered his horse over towards her, still keeping up their dizzying pace.
“Woah, woah, slow down, boy – easy!” she cried out again.
“Miss!” he called out. “Miss, are you alright?”
Her head snapped towards him as she heard his voice. He saw brown eyes wide with panic, before she turned her attention once more to keeping her seat on the horse.
Without thinking, Kit reached his hand across the distance between them and seized the reins, arrested by the impulse to do something to ease the woman’s distress. He slowed his horse in increments, and the woman’s horse mirrored its behaviour, the two of them easing to a walk after only a few moments. He released the woman’s reins immediately, directing Jasper until they were parallel to her.
“Are you alright, Miss?” he asked again, the sudden shock of adrenaline causing his breath to shorten.
The woman looked over at him, also busy catching her own breath. Now that they were both moving at a slower pace, he could take in her full appearance. Her riding habit was of a fine material, with enough clever finishes he recognised from his half-sister’s clothes that Kit knew she was a gentlewoman of some kind. She had pale blonde hair that glittered gold in the dappled sunlight, some of which was braided around her head and the rest of which lay in a hairnet studded with pearls. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the excitement, which only seemed to make her eyes appear darker. As those dark eyes met his, Kit felt blood rush to his own cheeks.
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.” She leaned over to rub her horse’s neck, the two of them still circling each other. “Major and I normally don’t have any problems, but today I just . . .” She shrugged, keeping her eyes low.
“It’s sometimes easy to forget that the animals have minds of their own, as we do,” Kit chuckled. “I know I’ve been at this one’s mercy more than once, when he took it into his head to gallop off somewhere. Of course,” he added, “when it was just he and I, it usually ended with me on the ground.”
He laughed at the memory of breaking him in, and the woman chuckled with him. “Well, I’m glad that you were around to prevent that,” she smiled. “I haven’t fallen off a horse in quite some time; it would be a terrible blow to my ego.”
Kit ducked his head, still grinning. When he looked up at her again he saw that she was still looking at him, her lips curved into a smile. He got the impression that it was the habitual expression of her face – and that despite her laughter, she had lost control of the horse because of some unhappy emotion which had clouded her judgment until it had been too late to ease the horse back. “Forgive me,” he said, “but should you be this deep in the forest alone?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” she said. “Although, as we’re both here, we are by definition no longer alone in the forest.”
“You’re a wordsmith.” He pulled Jasper up short.
“You’re certainly more generous than my father – he likes to call it pedantry,” she chuckled, easing her horse to a stop as well.
“We may be here together, but we’re still strangers, are we not?” he replied.
“My father likes to say that once you know a person’s name, they’re no longer a stranger – so what do they call you, Mister . . . ?”
Kit glanced down at his own hands, work-roughened against the soft chestnut hair of his horse. “Never mind what they call me,” he said lightly. “And you – what do they call you, Miss . . . ?”
“Don’t you know who I am?” she asked, her brows drawing together in honest confusion.
The response was so unexpected that Kit couldn’t stop the small burst of laughter that came out. “No – should I?” he asked.
“I – you can call me Ella, if you like,” she said. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her clever eyes darting between him and her horse.
“And where do you live, Miss Ella?” he asked, in an effort to maintain the conversation. “I know most of the ladies who live by these woods, and your face isn’t one I’ve seen before.” He was half-afraid of himself for asking such bold questions of a woman he had never met before – he’d certainly never behaved so in the past – and yet there was something about the woman’s manner that had him wanting to talk to her for hours and hours.
“I live at the palace,” she said. “My father’s teaching me his trade.”
“Wordplay?” he teased.
She blushed again, and Kit found himself wondering if she reacted to all light teasing in the same manner. “In a sense,” she said.
“Do they treat you well, there?” he asked. He had a rather dim knowledge of the royal family – he thought he remembered hearing that the late Queen had been fond of reading, as had her daughter. “It can’t be an easy trade for some to see a woman in.”
“They treat me better than they should, although you’re right about the few.” She brushed across her skirts, transferring the motion to another caress of her horse. “And you?” she asked.
“Oh, they treat me as well as they’re able,” he said in a tone which attempted to be breezy.
“I’m sorry,” Ella said, her eyes serious in a way which Kit suspected meant she had seen right through him.
“It’s not your doing,” he said.
“It’s surely not your doing, either,” she said. He could see a spark of anger in the way that she straightened her posture, almost as if it were a form of attack.
Kit shrugged. “There are others for whom it is worse, I’m sure.”
Ella stared at him, as if he had just said something profound. “My mother had a saying,” she said. “That in order to get through the trials of life, all one needs is to have courage and be kind. I never really understood what she meant by that.”
“I – I’ve faced no great trials,” Kit said, shaking his head. “Nothing which I’ve needed a great deal of courage for.”
“But you are kind, Mister – Mister Greensleeves.”
Ella broke off mid-sentence, evidently remembering that she still did not know his name; the pseudonym she adopted instead made Kit laugh again. Before either of them could say another sentence, they heard the sounds of a third horseman approaching.
“There you are, You–”
Ella turned around frantically in her seat, facing the opposite direction.
“Ella! Ella, it’s Ella!” she called out. “I’m – Ella, I’m on my way!” she called out.
Kit began to wonder if perhaps she had been less than honest about her background. When he saw the rider who approached, however, the thought was banished from his mind – he was a tall uniformed man, evidently in her house’s livery. The man frowned, but took her reply in stride. “Alright then . . . Ella,” he said from his short distance. “We’d best be on our way. Your father is waiting for you.”
Ella turned back to him again, her face filled with an apology. “I have to leave, I’m sorry,” she said. “I should like to see you again, though, Mister Greensleeves.”
“And I you, Miss,” he replied. He could feel a blush rising in his cheeks, and could see her notice it, but did nothing except nod his head to her respectfully. She nodded back to him, a smile lighting up her face once again, and was gone. Within two minutes, she and her companion had ridden out of earshot, and Kit was once again alone in the woods. He glanced down at his hands again, looking at his fine green jacket which, after all, he had only worn today by chance.
Feeling far lighter than he had half an hour earlier, Kit spurred on Jasper and began riding towards town to meet his sister, absent-mindedly whistling a tune. When he recognised the melody as Greensleeves, he laughed so loudly that it disturbed a small flock of sparrows nesting in the trees above him.
There was once a king, who lived with his wife and their retinue of servants in a glittering palace. Although he was a good and wise ruler, and he and his wife loved each other dearly, they were nevertheless unhappy; for although they had been married for some years the queen had never borne a living child.
The queen was a wise woman, and counselled her husband to always have courage and be kind. It was by these words that the king maintained his sense of justice, even on the darkest of days, and which allowed him to remain a worthy monarch. And so the king and queen lived childless for many years, and although they showed no outward pain to their court or servants, yet deep in their hearts they were troubled.
After ten years of trying for a child, their dearest hopes were granted one stormy July evening. After a long and difficult birth, the queen delivered a tiny girl, who they named Eleanor after her mother. Despite this longed-for arrival her parents were paralysed with fear, for their daughter was born before her time. For an eternal fortnight it was unclear if she would survive.
Survive she did, however, and as the earth around her blossomed into summer so did young Ella blossom into a perfectly healthy child. For a time, all seemed well. But no life is without tragedy; not even the charmed life of a princess. When Ella was ten years old, her beloved mother fell ill; weak as she had been ever since her daughter’s difficult birth, the queen died before the year was out.
After a time of mourning, her father the king set about preparing his only child and heir for his own eventual demise, and the responsibilities she would be entrusted with on that inevitable day. Ella grew to develop a fuller understanding of the duty she had to her people, and as she grew into a young woman she felt it settle on her shoulders, a grounding weight not dissimilar to that of the ceremonial robes she would wear on the day of her coronation. It was this awareness of her responsibility which lent a seriousness to her dark eyes, and which caused many around the court to whisper that she had been forced to grow up before her years. Ella did not let such whispers trouble her; she knew how to laugh, and did so often with her father and servants with whom she was friendly. There was a kernel of truth to such rumours, however – as there are with all such things. Ella may have loved her father and known how to laugh with him, but she could never forget that he was her king as well, and consequently there was always a distance between them that neither could quite close.
On the day that she met the young man in the green jacket, Ella’s routine had been entirely normal; after an early morning of reading and responding to communications from foreign dignitaries, she had proceeded to practise archery in the grounds, before sitting down to lunch with her father. It was then, with the golden May sunlight streaming in through the wide windows, that Ella noticed with some shock that her father looked like an old man. His hair, which had long been salt-and-pepper, was now a dark grey; his cheeks were gaunt and there was a lustre missing in his eyes, so like her own.
“Father,” she said hesitantly.
He looked up from his breakfast, and evidently read her distress in her face. With a whisper to the butler, the room was cleared of staff and father and daughter sat alone in the breakfast room.
“There’s no sense keeping it from you much longer, my dear,” he said.
Ella stared at him, horrified. “How long?” she whispered, not trusting her voice to remain steady at any louder volume. “How long did you –” She broke off as her throat caught on nothing.
“Dr Matthews thinks that the initial ailment began with your mother’s illness,” he said quietly. His consonants hit Ella’s ears like a round of bullets. “But it didn’t seriously resurface until August.”
“August?!” Ella hissed. “That’s – that’s almost an entire year! How long were you planning on keeping this from me?”
“Dr Matthews thought that I could be safely guaranteed a twelvemonth,” he said, still calm and collected. “Eleanor – I wanted to wait until you had reached your majority, and given the doctor’s advice I thought it only prudent not to worry you before time.”
Ella took in a shuddering breath. “Did it not occur to you that I would have preferred to worry?” she said once she was certain her voice was under control.
“I wanted to spare you,” he said. “When your mother fell ill, we counted down the weeks like madmen, desperate to measure out as much time as possible. I didn’t want that for you – I want you to enjoy what remains of our time together, without looking over your shoulder all the time for Death’s shadow.”
Ella couldn’t stop herself any longer, and began to quietly cry into her half-eaten breakfast.
At the first sound of his daughter’s distress, the king’s face crumpled. “Oh, Ella – Ella, come here,” he said, reaching out a hand towards her.
Ella pushed back her chair with a loud scrape, hurrying over to her father. Remaining in his seat, he wound a comforting arm around her waist. Ella pressed one hand to his shoulder, the curve of her arm against his thin back, burying her nose in the thinning hair on top of his head. She cried quietly into his hair, her young body shaking with sobs, as he stroked her back soothingly. After a long moment, she lifted her head but did not otherwise adjust her position.
“How long do you –”
The king understood why she could not bear to finish her sentence. “Doctor Matthews is a good man, but a terrible liar,” he said. “I can see in his face that I worsen every day. I think that I will be lucky to see the end of those twelve months he promised me.”
Ella pressed her face back into his hair again.
“You needn’t worry about announcing anything to court, or parliament,” he continued after a moment. “I imagine that it has been something of an open secret for a while – or a rumour, at the very least.”
She took a deep breath. Her father reached up to stroke her wrist with his free hand. “I do wish –”
“What, father?” Ella disentangled herself and sunk to her knees before him, as she used to when she was a child. Her cheeks were tacky with drying tears, and her nose was cherry-red. “If there is anything I can do, just name it.”
Her father brushed a stray tear away with the pads of his thumb, his cold hand resting on her cheek. “I wish I had seen you happy and settled, before my time was up. Perhaps at your birthday celebration, I will.”
Ella started back, almost losing her balance and falling backwards before darting to her feet. “Father, you can’t seriously be suggesting that we still host this ball?”
“Ella,” he said gently, “it’s scheduled for the beginning of July. It’s all been arranged for months, and there are representatives coming from royal families across the globe.”
“But – father, I couldn’t possibly go out and enjoy myself when you’re – when I know that you’re going to – we have so little time –”
“Eleanor.”
Ella stopped her tongue. She knew from experience that there was no arguing with her father when he took that tone. He took her hand once again, and Ella noticed how sharply his wrist bones jutted out. “Perhaps, if I had married again, it would have been easier.” He almost seemed to be talking to himself more than to her.
“For whom?” Ella choked out. Her father snapped his head towards her, his eyebrows furrowed together – she had never answered back to him like this before – but Ella couldn’t stop the words from clambering out her throat. “Either way, I’d still be losing my father.”
She drew her hand away from his sharply and left the room without bowing, pressing one hand against her mouth as if that could stop her heart from screaming. She wasn’t even halfway down the corridor before she began running to the stables.
Ella rode back to the palace with Captain Harker, apologised to her father, and continued on with the business of preparing to take her father’s throne. After a long, sleepless night where she cried until she had a headache and both sides of her pillow were sodden, she grew calmer. She had known, after all, that her father would die some day. He had not been a young man when she was born, and that had been almost twenty-two years ago. The fact that it was coming much sooner than she had anticipated caused her much grief, which that sleepless night by no means healed; what it did do was allow her to suck the poison out of the gaping wound in her heart.
After all, she thought, he could have died with no warning at all. Now at least I can cherish the time that remains with him.
To her irritation, however, Ella found that the following days proceeded exactly as normal. She saw her father at mealtimes and in the afternoons, and was busy the rest of the day with both the routine business of running a country, and the more seasonal tasks of final dress fittings for her twenty-second birthday celebration. Her father had told her about the extent of his illness on Saturday; by the time Monday rolled around again Ella had accepted that the best way to please her father was to behave normally and not draw attention to herself with unusual behaviour.
It was therefore understandably irritating to find that when her mind wandered during fittings or briefings, it was noticed and commented on by those who surrounded her; it was disquieting that the path Ella’s mind took often led back to the young man in the green coat who had been so kind and charming; and it was borderline insufferable that Captain Harker, who had known her the longest and therefore could get away with the most brotherly of behaviours, knew exactly whom her thoughts lingered on.
“You’re surely not still thinking about that man?” he said after a week of knowing glances and teasing smiles.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Captain,” Ella said archly from her perch on the bench.
The painter – a mousy little man who, when he wore his eyeglasses, looked rather like an owl – peered around the side of his easel. “Your Highness – if you could keep your arms in position –”
“Of course,” Ella said, crossing her wrists back over the flowing skirts which cascaded over her legs like sea foam. “I apologise.”
After a few minutes of silence, during which the only sound was that of the paintbrush gliding over the canvas, Ella gave in.
“He was very lovely, though,” she said. “He was kind, and talked to me like – like I was a person, and not the woman who needs her whims to be catered to if you want your bill to be passed. I could have spoken to him for – hours, probably.” She felt her cheeks flush as she remembered their conversation – how he had laughed at himself without worrying that she would think less of him, how he had seemed to genuinely want to know her better. And how disarming his smile had been; changing him in an instant from some distant yet kind person concerned for her welfare, to a charming young man of about her age.
“It’s rather entertaining to see you smitten, my lady,” Captain Harker grinned from his corner. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”
“Oh – hush, you,” Ella said. She tried to glare, but the smile that still played over her lips rather ruined the effect. “And what does it matter if I am taken with him – I met him once in the woods, and I don’t even know his name.”
“Well,” Captain Harker said, with the patience of a man explaining what colours are to a child, “you could always go back there.”
“I – no, I couldn’t do that –”
“Why not? What’s stopping you from adjusting the route where you usually go riding? And if your paths happen to cross again . . .”
“I . . .”
Ella closed her mouth, pressing her lips together tightly as she realised that the captain made a valid point. “Oh, you are insufferable when you’re right,” she said.
Captain Harker laughed. “After fifteen years, you would think that you’d have gotten used to the sensation, my lady.”
Ella burst into laughter, lifting her hand to her mouth as her face crinkled up. The joke wasn’t even especially funny, but she almost needed an excuse to laugh now that there were no charming young men in the woods who didn’t look at her with sympathy hidden in their eyes.
“Your Highness – Your Highness –” the painter pleaded.
“Sorry, sorry,” Ella said between giggles, replacing her hand on her lap. She took a breath in an effort to compose herself, and soon all was quiet again.
“Captain, do you know why my father wanted this portrait taken?” she asked after a few more minutes of sitting.
“As I recall, it was to be sent to our neighbours near and far – and particularly those who have not yet responded to the invitations for your birthday celebration.”
“I thought so,” Ella said with a sigh. “I wish he wasn’t so insistent that the future strength of our kingdom lies only in brokering a new joint dynasty.”
“It’s how he met –”
“ – my mother, and how his father and mother met, yes, I know.” Ella completed. “Our kingdom is larger than what it was even two generations ago. I just feel . . . unconvinced that the most beneficial path lies in always expanding – surely we should devote some time to furthering our own strengths, and caring for the people we are sworn to protect?”
“You words sound more like a minister’s than a monarch’s, my lady,” the captain said. “Some would say that we were lucky not to be caught up in the wars of the last few decades, and that the best way to ensure that no more break out would be by securing an alliance.”
“An alliance, I am not opposed to,” Ella said, scratching at her nose. “I remain unconvinced, however, that a marriage is the most suitable form of alliance to take. Families squabble all the time – or was that not the cause of those wars after all?”
Captain Harker chuckled. “You know my opinion, my lady. It’s your father who you’ll really have to convince.”
“Yes,” Ella said resignedly, “and I’ve never managed to change his mind yet.”
“Your opinions have always been taken into consideration, my dear,” the king suddenly said.
Ella, Captain Harker, and the painter all jumped in surprise, turning to the back of the room where the king had entered unannounced. “Your Majesty,” the Captain and the painter said, bowing while Ella ducked her head from her spot on the bench.
“Forgive me, father – I didn’t realise you were here.” Ella said while the two men resumed their previous positions. “How long have you been waiting?”
“Long enough to hear that apparently you’re smitten with some mysterious woodsman,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.
“I – he’s not a woodsman,” she said.
Her father chuckled.
“She’s been talking of little else this past week,” the captain said.
“Captain Harker!” Ella gasped in mock outrage, feeling her cheeks flush. “I – I have been keeping up with my duties with no problems, and I talk of plenty things –”
“But it’s when her mind wanders, Your Majesty, that the trouble begins,” he chuckled.
The king laughed as well, and despite her embarrassment Ella felt her heart ease a little, seeing that he didn’t seem opposed on point of principle. “So, between this mysterious woodsman and now rethinking how we should broker our alliances . . . I rather think that you’re growing into your own woman, Eleanor. I’m curious, though, about what exactly this young man has to offer that could rival the political implications of a marriage alliance.”
Ella smiled gently. “He made me laugh,” she said.
She could see her father’s expression soften around the eyes, although to someone who didn’t know him well his face would appear unchanged. “Well, then,” he said. “Perhaps you should try and see this nameless gentleman again.”
“That is what I suggested, Your Majesty, and yet she refuses to take my advice,” Captain Harker said.
“He was a lovely man, and I had a wonderful conversation,” Ella said. “But everything is so busy now, what with preparing for this ball – and Parliament will be ending their session soon for summer leave, and –”
“Ella,” her father said, looking straight through her words. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were looking for an excuse. I did say, last week, that I wished I could see you married.”
“Father – oh, father, you’re teasing me, you must be!” Ella said. “How could I possibly know if I wished to marry a man or not based on one conversation?”
“I knew that I would marry your mother the first time we met,” he said. “When you know, –”
“ – you know,” Ella said in unison with him. She ducked her head down, tucking a loose strand of hair off her face. “Father, I don’t even know his name, I don’t think –”
“You said to me that you felt you could have talked for hours,” Captain Harker chimed in. “When have you ever said something like that about the dignitaries and representatives who’ve come here, even when not debating or negotiating?”
Her father shared a look with Captain Harker, before leaning forwards to take Ella’s hands in his. “Ella, my dear,” he said – so quietly that if Captain Harker and the painter heard him, they politely pretended not to – “you are not yet Queen. You still have time to be young. Enjoy these months, for my sake.”
“It feels . . . frivolous,” Ella said.
“Happiness is never frivolous,” he said. “Remember what your mother said. Courage and kindness. You’re a kind soul, my girl, but sometimes I wonder if you lack the courage to be kind to yourself.”
Ella’s breath hitched at his words.
“Will you at least promise me to try?” her father asked. “You always take your responsibilities seriously – and I’m glad of that, for I know that you’ll be a good ruler because of it – but you should marry one who makes you laugh. Maybe it will be this man, maybe it won’t. But will you at least try? For me?”
“Alright, Father. I’ll try.” She patted his hands, and not even her years of practice in concealing her emotions could prevent her father from noticing that her eyes had grown bright after she made her promise.
Much like Ella, Kit found himself thinking about their conversation in the forest over the course of the next week. When he had met up with Anastasia later that afternoon, a half-dreamy smile still on his face, she had said nothing to his face – but that night, she had whispered about it to Susanna in the room that they still shared. The next day Kit had had to contend with both of his sisters giving him half-knowing, half-teasing looks, which only the threat of Lady Tremaine finding out could keep in check.
“Who is it?” Susanna asked as the week drew to a close. The siblings were in the small expanse of grounds behind the house, the same forest which met the road curving around the perimeter of Lady Tremaine’s territory. Their time together was ostensibly for a riding lesson, but at almost twenty years old Susanna was already a very accomplished horsewoman. She knew better than to willingly deprive herself of that which brought her happiness, however; whenever her mother decided to evaluate her Susanna’s proficiency mysteriously decreased, and play-acted that she was too terrified at the idea of an outsider coming to teach her to ride.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kit said carelessly from his own mount.
“You must have met somebody in the woods,” she said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense!”
“You know, Susanna, moods can change over a period of time.”
“Oh, stop it, Buttons,” she said, sticking out her tongue at him in a moment of childish teasing. Kit chuckled, and although Susanna’s own dignity returned a moment later she was smiling as well. “So? Who is it?”
Kit sighed. “It’s just a girl.”
He pretended not to see his sister’s eyes light up. “What’s she like?” she asked, drawing out the vowels.
“A better horsewoman than you pretend to be, for one thing,” he teased. “And very quick-witted.”
“Is she beautiful?”
He remembered the shape her lips made curving into a smile, the light and life in her brown eyes. “She – yes, she’s very pretty,” he said.
Susanna giggled. “It’s like you’re in one of those novels that Anna likes, Buttons.”
Kit turned to face her. He drew the horse to a halt, and Susanna got her own sweet mare to do the same. “Susie, this is reality. Not one of Anna’s novels. I’m probably never going to see that woman again.”
“Do you want to?” Susanna asked.
“I – that’s not the – Susie –”
“Buttons.” She raised her eyebrows, looking him dead in the eye. “Do you want to?”
Kit spurred his horse, walking it on for another few moments before relenting with a quiet, “Yes.”
“Then you’ll have to go to the woods again!” Susanna said, as if it was the simplest thing to do in the world.
Kit shook his head, but was otherwise silent. As he watched his sister spur her own horse onwards and heard her laugh, a small smile crept over his face; if Susanna had taken that moment to ask him why he was smiling, he would have fiercely denied that it had anything to do with the memory of helping the pretty young woman from the woods.
The next day was a Saturday, and Kit spent half the morning feeling jittery and nervous for reasons he refused to even acknowledge. He instead focused on the monotonous but necessary work of weeding the vegetable garden, as he had done for the past eleven days in a row.
The main household staff had their own internal, hopelessly complicated system of organising days off which Kit had long since given up on attempting to make sense of – he instead opted to work until either his sisters dragged him away for a break, or he was informed offhand that it was his turn off duty and he should have left the house hours ago. This Saturday, the latter happened; one of his sister’s maids had noticed him in the garden from their window, telling the other chambermaid to tell the cook to tell the scullery maid that he should leave now, before Lady Tremaine noticed that he was here and worked him to the bone, again.
“I was in town for a few hours last week,” Kit said, wiping away the sweat which had already gathered on his brow and leaning against his hoe.
The girl shrugged. Her eyes lingered over his face and neck, and Kit felt himself blush – sweaty and dishevelled as he was, he didn’t exactly look his best. “You were with Miss Anastasia?”
Kit nodded.
“Doesn’t count as a day off if you were escorting her,” she said. “Besides, if you don’t go then Cook’ll get annoyed, cause that messes up her break, and then if she’s late that means –”
“Alright, alright,” Kit said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll go, I’m going, I’ll just wash up first.”
The girl gave him another once-over, and Kit could have sworn he felt every inch of dirt on his clothes and person as her eyes passed over him. When she raised her eyes again, she blushed, and scurried back to the kitchen quickly as a mouse.
Kit sighed. He hurried back to the stables, where he replaced the hoe with the rest of his gardening equipment and washed the grime of the past few days off as quickly and thoroughly as he could. He dressed hurriedly, only slicking his wet hair back instead of properly drying it, and hesitated only over his choice of jacket. The blue was a perfectly serviceable jacket, despite the many patches over the elbows and the small burned panel from where he had stood too close to the fire last winter. It was a jacket completely fitting his station, and one which, despite what his sisters said, still had plenty life in it yet. His green jacket was practically new, had been originally bought for the purpose of wearing to a wedding, and taking it out to the woods for the second week in a row would just be tempting fate before it grew muddy, discoloured, or both.
But Ella had called him Greensleeves. She had called him Mister, and smiled at him radiantly. She had said she was sorry to hear that he was mistreated, in the few words he’d offered on the subject. She had said that she wanted to see him again.
Kit bit on his lower lip. He released it an instant later and slipped his arms into his green jacket.