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

“Truly?” he asked, a confused look on his face.

“I wrote you—to your family in Ayrshire—and when you didn’t reply, I thought…it’s so good to see you,” she said.

Gill smiled and ruffled her hair. He was a strapping lad of eighteen, with a blunt nose, honey-colored hair, and a strong jaw. His features were more rough than fine, unlike the pretty-boy aristocrats who professed their admiration for her at court, but Marie’s heart beat painfully in her chest at the sight of his shy smile.

“So what you’re saying is, you can’t live without me—is that right?” He grinned, taking the seat recently vacated by her attendant.

“Not at all,” she said. “Were you gone? I didn’t notice,” she said airily.

“I didn’t think about you at all either, not even once,” he said, stretching his arms across the back of the couch.

“Liar,” she said, sitting next to him so that she was curled up against his side. It was his cue to put his arm around her, which he did, and he squeezed her shoulder warmly. “You’ve heard, I’m sure?” she asked.

“That you are getting a husband? Yes! A fine one too. Leopold the Seventh! The Hero of Lamac!” Gill said affably. “Good on you, Marie.”

“Please don’t congratulate me,” she said stubbornly. “I don’t care about him, or the empire. Hang it all, they don’t care about me except as a broodmare,” she said darkly.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Stop acting so foul, people are starting to talk. Even the stablehands have heard there’s something the matter. Luckily, the scuttlebutt is that your ladies are just worried you’ve taken ill again. Have you?”

“Maybe.” She felt a pain in her heart from his genial reaction to the news of her upcoming nuptials. What had she expected? A flare of jealousy? A declaration of affection? For him to whisk her away somewhere? No such luck. He was a practical fellow and knew his place. Gill was a friend, and that’s all he would be to her, for his sake and hers. Anything more would have meant treason, or worse. It was wrong to yearn for the impossible, but Marie found she could not stop hoping. She took a deep breath and put a hand over his, her small fingers interlacing with his broad ones. “Shall I read to you?” she asked.

Gill nodded. “Please.”

Marie flushed with pleasure and took out a book that had been their latest fancy. “Now, where were we before you left? Oh yes, here we are,” she said, finding the page. She settled against the crook of his arm and began to read, her quiet, even voice filling the room.

Gill hadn’t been schooled in his letters as well as she, and he delighted in the stories. She delighted in reading them to him, even if her tastes were not as gruesome as his. She often teased him that he only liked books with murder and bloodshed in their plots.

If she could write her own story, it would be a much simpler one than the life she led now. She was a small, plain girl, and yearned for a small, plain life. If only I wasn’t a princess—then I could go away with Gill. We would live in a cottage by the sea and be happy forever. It was her not-so-secret desire, one she had held in her heart for many months now. One that she knew had absolutely no possibility of ever coming to fruition. It was a cottage in the air. A dream.

Gill pulled his hand away and stood up to face the window, stretching his legs. He yawned with his arms up to the ceiling, lifting the edge of his jacket and shirt, so that she couldn’t help but notice the ugly scar on his lower back. It was a gift from the bullet that was meant for her during a failed coup d’état last year, when “progressive”-minded populist rebels styling themselves the League of Iron Knights had somehow been able to destroy the wards around the gates. They’d stormed the castle in an attempt to assassinate the royal family.

The Iron Knights believed magic was a tyrant’s tool, and agitated to end the monarchy’s control of its source; they believed magic should be for all, not just the rich and titled. Her mother’s retribution had been swift and brutal, the traitors hanged or burned in the square. The Merlin’s men were still out in the country, flushing out the remaining members. It was a reminder that the empire had as many enemies as allies; there were antagonists and opportunists in the shadows within and without, eager to see the fall of their house.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“What, this?” He lifted his shirt higher, revealing his hard stomach as he twisted his head down to look at his scar, and Marie felt her cheeks flush. “Nah, it looks worse than it is.”

Marie still recalled the utter terror of that day: the rebels storming her room, and Gill with his pistol, shielding her with his own body. He would have died for her, and almost had. She put the book away. “I don’t want to marry Leopold,” she said quietly.

“But you don’t even know him,” Gill said gently, tucking his shirt back into his trousers and buttoning his jacket. “You could learn to love him.” He returned to his seat next to her and smoothed her hair away from her forehead, as one would a child.

She shook her head. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them away. She was being ridiculous, she knew. There was nothing to be done; she was born into her position. She could not change who she was, and she could not change who Gill was, either. She would marry Leopold at the end of the season as her mother decreed, and that would be the end of it.

“I should go—they’ll wonder why I’m not at my post,” Gill said, getting up and holstering his sword and gun.

“Wait—” Marie said, feeling bereft already, even though he was still in the room. “Gill, promise me—”

“Yes?”

“Promise me, whatever happens, that we’ll always be friends.”

Gill looked down at her, and his eyes were soft and sad. “I’ll always be your friend, Princess,” he said. “No matter what happens. I’ll be right outside the door, as I always am.” Then he closed it quietly behind him.

As the carriage approached the port, Ronan felt very smart indeed, traveling abroad for the first time—and without her parents! Even though she did have her chaperone Vera with her, who was nervous about making it on time. Ronan thought it was so silly—they had ample time to spare. They had set off from Washington Square right after breakfast, and the ship was not set to sail until noon. They would have hours to unpack and settle into the grand staterooms for the month-long voyage, and Ronan was looking forward to the thrilling adventure of it all. She had spent summers in Newport, but she had never been outside of the Americas. She tilted her hat over one eye, thinking it looked more fashionable that way. Her mother had allowed her a few new things for the journey, including a hat Ronan had helped design: a massive confection of lace and silk with a curved ostrich plume.

Vera leaned over to rub her cheek. “Street dirt,” she explained. “I told you to leave the windows closed.”