His face was as red as an autumn sunset by the time he finished his little speech. The sweat on his brow was even more pronounced, and one drop was beginning to run slowly down his left temple. He reached up and rubbed it with his finger.
Elyce’s heart was in her throat. What could she say? How could she do this? God, if this is not Your will, help me escape this marriage.
“So they have decided we should marry.” Elyce made the statement, not knowing what else to say.
“You are not surprised, are you?”
Truly, she had held out hope that her father would make an alliance with another country through her marriage to a German duke’s son, a Burgundian count, or perhaps a prince from a neighboring province, someone more powerful than King Claude. Anything to get her country free of the hold King Claude had over her father and her people.
Elyce eyed Rodrigo. Had he changed? Would he change, for her?
“If we marry,” she said, steeling herself against emotion so she could objectively observe his reactions, as her aunt had taught her, “you would not be unfaithful to our marriage vows, would you?”
Rodrigo’s expression shifted, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I did not know you were so in love with me that you would not wish to have a bit of . . . freedom yourself.”
“I do not know what you mean by freedom. I intend to be faithful to my husband, no matter who he is.” She lifted her chin a notch, affronted in spite of her attempt to suppress her emotions.
“Don’t be immature, Ellie,” he said, using the childhood nickname he used to call her by. “Our marriage is for our countries’ well-being, not for love.”
“Is it immature to expect my husband to respect our marriage—to respect me?”
“Why, yes, it is, if you’re a princess and you’re making a political alliance.” He had an irritated look on his face as he refolded his arms.
Rodrigo had not changed, would not change, not for her or for the sanctity of his marriage vows.
God, rescue me.
“I cannot give you an answer without speaking to my father first.” It was the only thing she could think of to buy herself some time.
“Your father already said I had his blessing.” Rodrigo frowned and shook his head at her. “You cannot fight this, Elyce. You don’t have any power in this situation.”
His words made her face burn. Powerless, indeed.
“I do not have to give an answer now. I am a princess, and princesses are never rushed. We take our time to make decisions.” These were the exact words she’d heard her aunt say, more than once, after declaring Elyce the most impulsive person she had ever known. And stubborn was another accusation she’d heard before. But if ever there was a reason to use her position as a princess, now was the time, for she could not face life as Rodrigo’s wife, nor could she allow her people to be sent to Valkenfeld’s mines. Her people needed her.
She hurried from the room before Rodrigo could say anything else.
On her way to her chamber, she saw Father walking alone in the corridor near his bedchamber. Elyce followed from a distance. Then, when he was almost to his door, she hurried and caught up with him.
“Father, may I speak to you?”
He turned and eyed her. “I thought Rodrigo . . . Did he speak with you?”
“Yes, Father.” She went with him into his room and closed the door.
Her father crossed his arms, reminding her of Rodrigo’s stance a few moments earlier. But he was much shorter and stouter than Rodrigo. His expression—his eyes squinting and his jaw clenched—sent her stomach into a knot.
“You will marry Rodrigo.”
Her heart beat hard. She would gain nothing by arguing, she knew from experience, and Rodrigo’s words, “You don’t have any power,” echoed through her head.
“You wish me to marry him so that I will not be able to stop you from sending our people to become slaves in King Claude’s mines.”
Her father glared at her. “That should please you. We will be rich when mines are dug on this side of Montciel’s borders, and wealth is power.”
“You will be rich. I will just be King Claude’s nephew’s wife.”
“You listen to me.” Her father unfolded his arms and shook his finger at her. “You shall do as you are told. Ever since you stopped that guard from beating that man in the town square, you have thought you were the townspeople’s darling. But they don’t care about you. They will use you to get what they want and then cast you aside. What can you gain from helping the poor?”
Three years ago she had seen one of her father’s guards beating a man in the marketplace. Horrified and outraged, she ordered her guards to stop the man from being beaten. She demanded to know what the man’s crime was and discovered he’d stolen a loaf of bread.
It was obvious the man was poor and hungry. She had a few coins in her pocket, so she paid for several loaves of bread and some cheese and sent the bleeding man on his way with a sack of food.
The people cheered, shouting her name over and over. She’d not intended to create such a reaction. She found out some months later that someone had written a song about it, and her name was sung and lauded in the streets. The entire incident angered her father and Aunt Winifred.
Now, as she faced her father, she spoke slowly and without emotion, as her aunt had taught her. “I am the Princess of Montciel. Who should look out for the best interests of the people of Montciel if not their princess?”
Her father stared at her. Finally, he said, “You will marry Rodrigo, and you will do as you are told.”
“Our people have been shepherds and cheesemakers for generations,” Elyce said. “To force them to work in mines for your and King Claude’s profit is wrong.”
“I thought your aunt taught you better than to fight against your duty.” He took a few steps toward her, his expression and voice softening. “Do not make yourself unhappy. Accept your duty, and there will be many consolations for you. Rodrigo is wealthy, and you will be compensated, I have no doubt. You’ll never want for anything.”
Her father smiled as if he thought he had comforted her. “You may go.” He turned away and waved his hand to dismiss her.
“Father? Do you love me?” She cringed inwardly, wishing she didn’t care, steeling herself against the answer that could break her heart.
“Will you marry Rodrigo?”
“No.”
“How can I love anyone who is as difficult as you?”
In that moment, she hated her father, hated that he didn’t care about her, and hated herself for not being able to inspire love in her own parent.
Elyce flew to the door, yanked it open, and ran all the way to her bedroom.
If her father thought she was resigned, that she would not fight him for her people’s right to be free, then he did not know her very well.
* * *
One Month Later
Elyce gasped as a man, malodorous and mumbling to himself, brushed against her side, knocking her off balance as he passed.
Elyce’s servant, Jacob, spoke in a low voice just behind her. “Steady. He’s gone now.”
She nodded without looking back at him as she tucked her elbows to her sides and drew her cloak closed at her throat.