The Ring and the Crown (The Ring and the Crown 1)

For Princess Mattie

This book owes an empire-sized debt to my lord husband, Mike of Johnston; my lovely editors, Duchess Emily Meehan & Lady Laura Schreiber; my agent, Viscount Abate; my dear friends Countess Margaret Stohl and Baron Bosch; and the royal and loyal court of Disney • Hyperion. Love and thanks from your humble servant.

In 1429, the English army and its formidable magicians were led to victory by their Merlin, Emrys Myrddyn, defeating Charles VI of France and his dark witch, Jeanne of Arkk. Henry VI was crowned King of England and France.

Since the fifteenth century, the sun has never set on the Franco-British Empire. It is the most powerful in the world, with vast holdings in Asia, Africa, Australia, and particularly North America, its rich territories comprising sixty provinces.

Almost five hundred years later, the one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old Queen Eleanor II is at the end of her reign. Her daughter Marie-Victoria, the Princess Dauphine, must marry and conceive an heir to carry on the line.

A marriage has been arranged between Marie-Victoria and Leopold VII, the Kronprinz of Prussia, the empire’s most dangerous enemy. Truce has been called after the Battle of Lamac, which ended the Franco-Prussian War.

The engagement will bring peace to the Continent, and will be announced and celebrated at London’s annual Bal du Drap d’Or, where eligible ladies are introduced to society and presented at court.

The season opens at the beginning of the twentieth century, during what will be known in history as the height of magic’s golden age.

There are two of them, bent over their dolls. One is small and sickly; the other is strong and tall. Their backs are turned to me, so that I can only see the delicate bones of their necks underneath their ponytails. The girls. While they play they are singing to each other, a song that the music master has taught them on the harpsichord.

Their singing stops. They have noticed my presence. The girls turn, and I can see their faces now.

One is pale and thin, her eyes a waterless blue, their color fading.

One is merry and bright, her eyes a vibrant hue, their color blinding.

After a moment they turn back to their play, ignoring me.

Except now there is no more singing—only the darkness of the room as the curtains close against the light, and the dream fades.

Two girls.

One beautiful and strong.

One plain and powerless.

Only one shall be queen…

And the other shall serve her.

But as I awake from sleep, I still do not know—

Which one of them is my daughter?

And which one is the traitor?

A half unconscious Queen—

But this time—Adequate—Erect,

With Will to choose, or to reject,

And I choose, just a Crown—

—EMILY DICKINSON

Who run the world? Girls!

Who run this motha? Girls!

—BEYONCÉ,

“RUN THE WORLD (GIRLS)”

The streets of London were so much more crowded than she remembered. It was as if everything in the city had multiplied. The buildings were taller and closer together, rows of red brick houses next to the new tall, skinny, cement ones with slate roofs; and there were so many people jostling on the sidewalk, elbow to elbow, shoulder against shoulder, a great army of pedestrians marching purposefully to who-knows-where. For a moment, she felt claustrophobic and trapped; lost, adrift, and alone in a sea of humanity. Her senses were assaulted from every direction: smokestacks belching into the gray sky, newsboys yelling the headlines, the salty-tangy smell of fried fish from the sidewalk vendors. It had only been four years since she’d left the city, but it felt like four decades, and Aelwyn Myrddyn stood in the middle of it all, clutching tightly the battered leather valise that contained all she had in the world. The bag was heavy with bottles of herbs, tonics, and potions from Avalon.

“All right, miss?” the driver asked, tipping his hat in her direction.

She hesitated for the briefest moment, feeling a pang in her heart. She thought of Viviane waving a solemn good-bye from the shore, her golden hair shining through the mist. For a moment, Aelwyn wondered if she had made the right decision in returning to the city of her childhood. When Aelwyn had turned six

teen, Viviane had told her that it was time to determine her fate. Magic users had two options when they came of age: to join the invisible orders, or to choose exile in Avalon.

“Miss?” the driver asked again.