Once In a Blue Moon (14 page)

“The decision has been made,” said King William forcefully. “The marriage will take place. Catherine, you will leave here first thing in the morning, with your party. After you’ve signed an agreement of your own free will, vowing to abide by my will in this matter.”

Almost blind with unshed tears, Catherine turned her back on him and strode out of the Court without waiting to be excused. Everyone gave her plenty of room and looked after her in silence. Many of the faces were sympathetic, but not enough to defy the King and say anything. Malcolm Barrett, King’s Champion, stepped forward to address the King in a calm, empty voice.

“Do I have your permission to leave this Court and go after her, Sire? To say goodbye?”

“Of course you do,” said the King. “I am sorry, Malcolm. You’ve always been a good right arm to me. I wish I could do more for you.”

“I think you’ve done enough, Sire,” said Malcolm.

He bowed briefly and left the Court. He too was followed by mostly sympathetic faces, but he was too preoccupied to notice. The King watched him all the way, till the doors closed behind him; there was honest regret in the King’s face, for everyone to see. He hadn’t had the heart to tell Malcolm that he’d known all about the unofficial engagement with his daughter, but that it could never have come to anything. He couldn’t allow his daughter to marry someone who wasn’t of Royal stock. No matter how loyal a Champion he was.

The Prime Minister was still watching Prince Christof unobtrusively, expecting to see him look triumphant now that he was finally getting what he wanted. One step closer to the throne. But Christof seemed honestly sad as he looked after Malcolm. The Prime Minister hadn’t known they were that close. He decided he was going to have to think about that.

•   •   •

M
alcolm didn’t have to go far to find Catherine. He found her standing with her face to a wall, in a nearby empty corridor, crying like she would never stop. He went up to her, and then hesitated, not sure whether to touch her. But she turned abruptly and threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder. Holding on to him like a drowning woman. She felt surprisingly small and helpless in his arms. He held her carefully, patting her back and smoothing her long hair. He didn’t say anything, because . . . what was there to say? Eventually Catherine spoke to him, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

“We could run away . . . Make a new life, somewhere else . . .”

“No, we couldn’t,” said Malcolm. “First, because they’d find us. Second, because . . . we both know our duty. The responsibilities that come with our positions. We always knew there’d be a bill, someday, for all the things we’ve enjoyed. Catherine . . . how could we hope to be happy, knowing how much death and suffering we’d be responsible for?”

Catherine raised her face to meet his. “It’s not fair, Malcolm! It’s not fair!”

“No, it isn’t,” said Malcolm. “People like us shouldn’t fall in love, Catherine. We’re not allowed to have happy endings. Only responsible ones.”

•   •   •

B
ack in the Court, King William declared the day’s session to be over, and everyone bowed and curtsied quickly, then left as fast as their feet could carry them, so they could get on with the serious business of discussing everything that had just happened and dissecting every last morsel of meaning out of it. The courtiers had enough new material to keep them going for months, and the politicians even longer. King William sat stolidly on his throne, watching them all go, keeping his thoughts to himself. The Prime Minister didn’t move from his side. They had many things they needed to discuss, but not while there was anyone left in the Court to hear them. There was public business, and then there was private business.

Prince Christof would have liked to stay behind, with his father. There were a great many things he also would have liked to discuss with the King, public business and private business. But he only had to look at the expressions on the faces of his father and the Prime Minister to know which way the wind was blowing. So he just bowed courteously to his father, ignored the Prime Minister, and strode unhurriedly out of the Court. One of his closest friends and supporters, the fiercely fashionable and professionally languid Reginald Salazar, had deliberately hung back to walk with him. As always, Reginald was dressed to the very height of fashion and just a little bit beyond. He moved in close beside Prince Christof so he could murmur in his ear.

“Well!” he said. “I say, old thing! Really must congratulate you. Excellent idea of yours, to suggest the arranged marriage during the negotiations, and then push it through the Court, and Parliament, without anyone ever suspecting you were the moving force behind it! So amusing! And now, with one giant leap, our hero is free of his chains. His annoying older sister is gone, and nothing stands between him and the throne he so rightly deserves—”

He broke off, looking down at the knife Prince Christof had just stuck, surreptitiously, into his side. The point had pierced the padded jerkin and nicked the skin over his ribs. A small circle of blood was forming on the jerkin. Reginald Salazar made a little whimpering noise, but kept on walking as Prince Christof urged him along.

“Keep walking, old thing,” said Christof. “Don’t draw attention to us; there’s a good chap.”

Salazar nodded quickly, and kept going, staring straight ahead. Christof removed the knife from his friend’s ribs and made it disappear back up his sleeve again. He leaned in close, so he could murmur in Salazar’s ear.

“Even whisper that thought again, dear Reginald, and I will have you murdered in your sleep. Treason is treason, and must not even be hinted at. Daddy . . . would not approve. Go now.”

His young friend all but sprinted for the doors. Other friends and supporters of the Prince were waiting there for him, but one look at Christof’s face, and Reginald’s, and they quickly decided this was not a good time to bother him. They gathered the tearful Reginald into their arms and led him away in search of a safe haven, to do some serious drinking and discussing of their own. Christof slowed his pace, to give them some time to get well ahead of him. He paused in the open doors, to look back at the King and the Prime Minister, already deep in discussion.

“Sorry I had to do that to you, Malcolm,” said Christof. “But she had to go. And now maybe you’ll pay more attention to me. My love.”

He finally allowed himself a real smile, then left the Court.

•   •   •

K
ing William and Gregory Pool were left alone at last, in a quiet and deserted Court. The vast hall seemed so much larger now that there was no one to fill it, and the smallest sound seemed to echo on and on, like ghosts whispering in the corners. King William settled back on his throne, silently blessing Good King Viktor for having the good sense to install a comfortable seat of power. William would have liked to install a pillow for his lower back, but it would have sent all the wrong signals to his Court. Couldn’t have them thinking he was getting old and decrepit, even if it felt like that some days. No, they’d take advantage, the bastards. He patted one arm of his throne fondly, like a pet that had done well. It was good to have something he could depend on.

Gregory Pool allowed himself to relax, as much as he ever did, and let out a deep sigh of contentment as he undid several of his waistcoat buttons. He would have liked to invest in a corset, for the long standing-around periods on public occasions, but he couldn’t. Someone would talk. Someone always did. Fat men were allowed to be jolly, but they weren’t allowed to try to hide their state. People would point, and laugh. It was important that the Prime Minister should appear statesmanlike and yet humble when in the public eye, but he found it more of an effort every year. He produced a small silver snuffbox from his sleeve, flipped the lid open with a practiced gesture, and then tipped just the right amount of finely ground cocaine onto his wrist. He sniffed it, delicately, and then offered the box to the King, who shook his head sternly. Pool shrugged, closed the lid, and made the box disappear back up his sleeve.

“Try not to look so openly disapproving, William,” said Pool. “We all need a little something to lean on.”

“And some days . . . seem so much longer than others,” said the King.

“I thought it all went rather well,” said Pool. “Or at least, as well as could be expected.”

“She didn’t actually throw anything,” said the King. “Or try to stab anyone. I was impressed. Maybe she’s finally learning self-control.”

“I wouldn’t put money on it,” said Pool. He grinned suddenly. “It’s Prince Richard I feel sorry for.”

The two men shared a knowing smile, but it didn’t last long.

In front of the Court, and Parliament, King William and Gregory Pool were always careful to maintain a professional distance; it wouldn’t do for anyone to know just how close they really were. How closely they worked together. Politics was supposed to be all about checks and balances, with Parliament and Court debating both sides of an issue in order to arrive at a consensus. In fact, William and Gregory had been close friends since they were teenagers. It was William who’d first encouraged Gregory to get into politics, so he could have someone he could talk to honestly about things that mattered. They did argue, from time to time, but they got things done. And if that meant pulling the wool over the people’s eyes, and deliberately ignoring or even suppressing the occasional dissenting voice, they could live with that.

King William looked out over his empty, echoing Court and slumped back on his throne. He felt tired. He felt tired a lot these days.

“I’m sending my only daughter away,” he said. “I’ll never see her again.”

“Of course you will!” Pool said immediately. “Bound to be lots of Royal visits, back and forth, once the Peace Treaty has been signed and settled, and the marriage has taken place. Good thing too. Lots of money in tourists. And the people do so love a Royal marriage; it helps take their minds off things they’re probably better off not thinking about anyway. And you’ve always known she’d have to leave home eventually. Catherine could only marry another Royal, and that was always going to mean moving to another country.”

“Not necessarily,” said the King. “Viktor married his own Steward.”

“Yes, but that was then, and this is now,” Pool said firmly. “Your grandfather could get away with something like that, because he and she had just saved the whole Castle from the threat of the Unreal. Anyone who might have objected was almost certainly drowned out by the roar of popular acclaim. And though I hate to put it so bluntly, William, you’re no Viktor. Everyone loved him. They respect you, but that’s not the same. These days Royals must marry Royals. Preserve the Blood. That’s what they’re for. We all do what we must.”

“My daughter hates me,” said King William. “After everything I’ve done for her.”

“Children never appreciate what you do for them,” said Pool. “It’s one of those unwritten rules, in the secret book about rearing children that no one ever lets you read before you have them. Because if you knew exactly what you were letting yourself in for, you wouldn’t do it. My two boys are just the same.”

“Of course, you and I were paragons of virtue, who never gave our parents a single sleepless night,” the King said solemnly.

“Quite!” said Pool. “Catherine . . . will get over it. All part of growing up.” He stopped there, and looked thoughtfully at the King. “I hate to bring this up, William, but I do have to ask. There are certain . . . requirements in an arranged Royal marriage. Catherine and Malcolm have been . . . really very close, for some time now. Are you absolutely sure she’s still . . .”

“Anyone else, I’d have them gelded just for asking,” growled the King. “But since it’s you . . . Yes, of course I know all about the
requirements
 . . . You really think I’d let things get this far if I wasn’t completely sure? Catherine is quite definitely still a virgin. I had some very subtle, and very expensive, spells cast over all my children right after they were born, as my father did with me. Not strong enough to compel, or even influence behaviour; they’d have noticed. But strong enough that if anything . . . significant did start to happen, it would have set off all kinds of alarms. Up to and including loud bells and fireworks in the sky. Certainly enough to embarrass everyone involved, and attract the attention of everyone within a five-mile radius. Don’t worry; I’ll have it all taken off before she leaves the Castle.”

“But do the children know this?” said Pool.

“Of course they know! I sat them down and had a fatherly talk with each one of them the moment they hit puberty.” King William winced, remembering. “Not one of my easiest duties. Catherine hit me over the head with a ceremonial vase. Dented the crown. But . . . they all understood. She is quite definitely chaste.”

“Not quite the word I would have used to describe Christof,” said Pool.

“Christof is a good boy,” the King said gruffly. “And he’ll make a good man. Eventually.”

“But will he, can he, make a good King?” said Pool.

“Rumours,” said King William. “Gossip.”

“I know you don’t want to talk about this, William . . .”

“Then we won’t.”

The King looked sternly at the Prime Minister, who sighed quietly and let the matter drop, accepting that this was one of the few things he and William couldn’t talk about. Even though someday they would have to.

“They’d better take good care of my little girl at the Forest Court!” the King said abruptly. “Or there will be no agreement, no Treaty, and to hell with the border! I mean it, Gregory!”

“Of course she’ll be well treated,” the Prime Minister said soothingly. “They love their Royals in the Forest Land, particularly now they’re constitutional monarchs, with no real power. It’s all pomp and ceremony over there, with cheering crowds every time they show their faces in public, and everyone lining up to bow their heads and bend the knee just for the thrill of it. And everyone who is everyone, or thinks they ought to be, jostles for position at the Forest Court in the hope that some of the Royal glamour might rub off on them. Catherine will be very popular. They love a strong character . . .”