He leaned away from me. “Then what is to say that the next occasion we travel to your time, we will not become trapped there forevermore?”
It was apparent that the thought of having to stay with me in my time frightened Nick to death, which was impossible not to take personally. “Why would that be so hideous?” I said sharply. Had Nick already forgotten the incredible invention of human flight? How about the peace of anonymity and of being out of the Tudor pressure cooker?
His face read mine and then crumpled. “Emmie. We have suffered through this puzzle enough. I am a king, and one bereft of an heir. If I were to quit my kingdom, there would be unthinkable bloodshed. That vile woman Mary Stuart would come for my sister and the Tudor throne. If mine actions were to surrender England to a Catholic heretic, it would mean the damnation of my soul. Must we even speak of this again?” His voice rose with frustration.
“It’s okay, I get it,” I said. “You want to destroy the enchanted ring, meaning I can never visit my mom or my home again, because those things don’t matter as much as your kingdom and throne.”
He made an exasperated huff. “You must know that I do not ask this lightly. This ring has proven itself unstable and may cease to take effect at any moment. Therefore, if we were to journey to your time again, I would have to stake my kingdom on it, for the ring may never bring me back here. If you were to journey to your time without me, then I would stake losing you to all eternity if you could not return.”
I didn’t know what to say. Nick was so used to getting his way, and it showed.
He slid out of the bed. “What is certain is that you made a choice to be my bride, Emmie, so the question is: what are you prepared to give up? When my grandfather wed Katherine of Aragon, that woman never set foot in Spain again. There are many stories of English princes marrying foreigners who were content to live out their lives in their new kingdom. If you choose me, I want you to choose me. But if I am not enough—if all of England is not enough—then perhaps you have made the wrong choice.” He turned his face away from me.
“Nick, I did choose you, but it was a fast decision, and I didn’t think it meant I’d never be able to see my mom again,” I called after him, but he’d already tapped once on the paneled wood. The doors opened immediately to the scurrying of boots and a voice crying, “His Majesty the King!” Nick disappeared into the frazzle, leaving me blinking away tears.
It felt like I’d been away from court for a week, but the ease with which I slipped into my old routine reminded me that it’d only been a day. Bridget quizzed me with cheeky questions about why I’d been locked away with the king overnight, but Alice shushed her. Lucinda kept her focus on her sewing like she didn’t want to know.
I didn’t catch sight of Nick for several days, and he was evidently avoiding me. Our conversation about the enchanted ring festered in the pit of my stomach, and I wanted to clear the air. I was nowhere near ready to destroy the ring without at least trying to learn more about it. Surely he could agree with me on that.
I distracted myself with my snore-fest lessons, took leisurely strolls in the gardens before the weather changed, and sank into the ease of some girl time.
At first light on Sunday morning, one of Nick’s gentlemen delivered a message that I’d been requested to join the king at chapel. I still wasn’t used to being summoned without notice like the family pet. He’s a Tudor king, I reminded myself as I waited in the processional gallery upstairs, smoothing my hair and fidgeting with my dress.
Nick arrived swiftly, draped in a velvet coat of forest-green that stunningly contrasted with his blush-pink doublet. Courtiers and attendants kissed his hand at every turn, and what I thought would be us catching up became a public performance as he formally led me through to his royal pew.
We’d barely spoken to each other before I was ushered into a separate balcony beside his. A thick curtain of crimson velvet separated us. I couldn’t even see Nick, let alone talk to him.
Tudor king, Tudor king, Tudor king.
I focused on snapping mental photographs of the Chapel Royal ceiling, which I’d never seen from this vantage point. Lifted from the pages of a fairytale, it shone in a cobalt blue constellation of golden arches, stars, and royal emblems. Its majestic beauty was enough to entertain me through the liturgy that was difficult for me to understand. When a choir of boys in white ruffs began singing, their euphonic voices like angels, I gripped the balcony handrail, fully absorbed. Okay, so maybe airplanes and ketchup aren’t all the world has to offer.
When the service ended, the curtain between Nick and I glided open, and I swept toward him before he could disappear. As soon as we reached the processional gallery, courtiers rushed at the king with scrolls and petitions in their hands. Francis Beaumont had arrived on the scene to field them off, allowing Nick and I to duck into the concealment of one of his private stairwells and have a moment alone. Perhaps Francis was warming to our relationship, which served as a timely boost of encouragement.
“Was the service to your satisfaction?” Nick said to me, his expression hard to read.
“The choir was incredible,” I replied, my voice bouncing off the stone walls. “It was probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”
His shoulders relaxed a little. “I am pleased to hear it.”
He couldn’t look me in the eye, clarifying that he was still as uncomfortable with things as I was. He offered me his hand. “I wish to show you something.”
I took his fingers, mini fireworks bursting between the heat of our skin. Our argument had done nothing to weaken the electricity that had brought us together in the first place.
We reached the drafty downstairs corridor and continued toward the construction site on the south side of the palace. A supersized canvas tent had been erected to protect the works from the rain. My new apartments were still haphazard muddles of building sites, but Nick led us right beneath the wooden scaffolding. The King of England was clearly endangering himself by marching through an active worksite, but no one dared stop him. Workers bowed in deference before fleeing like scurrying roaches. We climbed a dusty stairwell that smelled recently laid and passed through two unfinished chambers. The third room shone in stark distinction to the others, because it was already complete—a dazzling masterpiece among the uncut timber and grimy bricks.
“Holy crap,” I murmured as I spun in all directions, taking in the magnificent jewelry workshop. Wooden trestle tables filled the space, neatly arranged with gilded files, iron pincer-like scissors and smaller cutters, brass blocks and molds, crucibles for heating metals, and other archaic tools I didn’t recognize.
“Is this all for me?” I breathed, turning to Nick. He’d remembered his promise to build me a jewelry workshop, and he’d evidently made it a priority.
He nodded. “The gold and jewels are being kept safe, but you shall have as many as you need. Does it please you?”
I exaggerated my pretend grimace. “I guess it’ll do.”
Nick was accustomed to my sarcasm and finally smiled, closing the space between us. I had to stand on my tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck.
“Any such thing you desire, tell me, and you shall have it,” he said as we rocked together in a standing hug. “I have summoned a fine jewelry craftsman to teach you anything you desire. His name is Mister Andrea Bon Compagni. Call upon him any time you please; he is presently at court. Your maidens will assist you.”