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

He hovered by the doorway, shy about entering because there was no one to tell him not to, and he wanted to observe the correct protocol. They were not yet married—but tomorrow by early morning, they would be. He would not enter her room until then.

“I know it’s not great,” he said. “But I’m going to work really hard, and one day—one day I will give you riches, more than you desire. I will work so hard for you, Marie.”

She put her hands on each side of his face and kissed his lips. “I don’t want riches, I want you. The food was delicious. We are off to a great adventure, you and I.”

“I cannot wait for tomorrow,” he said.

“Neither can I.”

The next morning, Marie dressed for her wedding and the journey. She was in a gray dress—plain, but one of her favorites. It was made of a good, sturdy cloth, and tailored to be comfortable for a tiring day. She wished she had a flower for her hair, or something prettier; she was a bride this morning, and she wanted to look like one—wanted Gill to see her and smile.

The innkeeper left her a breakfast tray with salt beef, bread, and wine. The wine was sour on her tongue, and Marie had a jolt of recognition. The smell in the dungeon—in the basement—that earthy, vinegary, smoky smell—it smelled like magefire. Like dark magic—

“Gill,” she said, rapping on his door. “Gill!”

He opened his door, looking sleepy but happy. He, too, was dressed in traveling clothes. “Yes, my dear?”

“I need to go back to St. James,” she said urgently. “Now.”

His face crumpled. “You changed your mind.”

“No—it’s not that—I have to warn them!”

“About what?”

“They’re in terrible danger.” She told him about the smell in the basement.

“It smelled just like it did four years ago, before Aelwyn set my room on fire. Like vinegar and acid and sulfur.” Magefire. The barrels of wine from Orleans were full of magefire, she was sure of it. “Someone is planning to burn down the palace, to set off an explosion. I need to hurry—I need to get those wine barrels out of there.”

He grabbed his pistol from the desk and put on his coat. “You are certain?”

“I’m not—” she said, losing the conviction in her voice a little. “I just have a feeling—the smell was so strong—and I will never forget that night—”

Gill hesitated. “If you go back now, the Saturnia will sail without us. Is that what you want? What if we sent a messenger to the palace—a warning—that way we could still get away. Marie, this is our only chance to make a life with each other.”

He was right. They could send a messenger. Of course she could not return to the palace. After all, Aelwyn had cast the illusion spell and was the princess—they would know there was treachery afoot. She had to stay. “Of course—yes—let me write a letter—I will have them give it to Aelwyn.” She left Gill and went back to her room, rummaging through her bag for her pen and stationery.

She began to write a note, and then thought better of it and tore it up. She wrote another one instead.

It was addressed to Gill Cameron.

Please forgive me. –Marie.

Then she left the room and slammed the door. By the time Gill realized she was gone, she was already out the door and in the streets, running back to St. James. It did not matter if there was a princess with her face in the palace, for she was the real dauphine. Somehow, she knew it was up to her to make everything right. This was her responsibility, her duty, her destiny. It wasn’t about personal happiness or even about herself at all. She was right—she was a small girl, with a small life—because her life was irrelevant, her desires immaterial. She only lived so that others might live as well.

It was what her mother had always tried to tell her: her life was not her own, and because of that it was glorious. Her small life was so large it encompassed everyone in the realm: everyone’s happiness and safety was tied to hers, because this was what it meant to be a princess, to wear the crown, to rule an empire. Keeping her people safe, and creating a stable, solid foundation for their peace and prosperity.

Because what was a cottage in the sky, when her castle was about to burn?

Every bump in the carriage made Isabelle jump. A few times she thought she would vomit on the side of the road, she felt so ill from the journey. But Louis held her hand and had such a strong, resolute look on his face that she knew she mustn’t fear. They were out of the city by dawn, and on the long journey home.

“I don’t remember Cévennes very much,” she said. They were taking an early breakfast at an inn near the harbor, where they would board the ferry that would take them across the Channel. “But I know we vacationed there sometimes when Papa was still alive, to visit you.”

“It is just a small estate, nothing to get too excited about,” Louis said with a smile. “But it will be home.”

“Home.” She nodded. She liked the sound of that very much. She had been looking for home all her life. Now she knew she’d always had one with him.

They finished their meal and walked out of the inn to look for the hansom.