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

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Ronan Astor.”

“You had planned to marry her, didn’t you? But now you cannot marry her—you have to marry me.” Marie sighed.

When Wolf looked up at her, his face was as gray and tired as she felt. She thought he would deny it—fight it—but instead he took her hands in his and pressed them to his lips. “I have been thinking, ever since my brother died.”

“Yes?”

“We must be kind to each other, Marie. We must forgive each other.”

“For what?” she asked, though she already knew. They had to forgive each other for not being the first: the first love, the first kiss. For not being a dream come true from a fairy tale. There was no such thing as fairy tales. Princesses didn’t turn into peasants, and princes could not run away to have adventures. She had wanted to be someone else so badly, but perhaps the secret to life was accepting who she was. She was Eleanor’s daughter, Princess Marie-Victoria of England and France. She had passed the Merlin’s test, carried the blood of generations of rulers, and was to rule an empire that spanned five continents—the most powerful empire the world had ever known.

His lips were warm and soft on her hand. When he let her hand go, she felt a pang.

“So you will marry me, then?” She smiled, her eyes bright. Her heart was breaking, but she was not thinking of Gill just then. She was looking at Wolf—at her dear friend, Wolf—and she was thinking that Ronan Astor was so very beautiful indeed.

“Was there ever a doubt, my friend?” Wolf said lightly.

She nodded, satisfied with his answer.

They would fulfill their duties, honoring their families, their countries, and the hard-won treaties that would bring peace to the nations. This was what they had been born to do.

“My brother—Leopold—I loved him,” Wolf said, as they continued to hold hands. He was glad he was with his dear friend Marie, who understood the depth of his pain.

“I know you did.”

“But your Merlin told me that he was a sorcerer, that he was the madman who created the magefire. And that while he was my brother, he was not my father’s son,” Wolf said.

She nodded. “I was told that as well.”

“But I loved him. He was good to me, my brother. Perhaps it was I who failed him, who should have been a better brother to him. I should have urged him on a better path. I saw the way he was with women—what he did to Isabelle—and I did nothing.” Wolf shook his head. “I need to be better.”

She kissed his hands and smoothed his hair. “We will try to do better together.”

After the mandatory six-month mourning period for the sudden and unexpected death of Prince Leopold of Prussia, the court of St. James announced that Marie-Victoria of England and France would be married to the Kronprinz of Prussia, Wolfgang the First.

The choir sang a hymn of joy as Marie walked into the church on her wedding day, and the court gasped in delight at the sight of her. The princess was dressed simply, her only crown a wreath of wildflowers in her hair: pink, purple and deep red. Her dress was ivory in color and dressed with English lace, a simply-cut satin gown trimmed with orange and pink blossoms. Its train was eighteen feet in length, held up by her loyal ladies. She had insisted on no political favors—she wanted only the attendants who had known her from childhood. There was the lady of the bedchamber, Evangeline; Paulette, the mistress of the robes; and her nurse, Jenny Wallace.

She wore no jewel, except for the gift of Wolf’s mother’s diamond ring, the blue stone of Brandenburg. There was no magic or glimmer on her dress or glamour on her visage. Her face was clean and shining, and her smile was gentle. Yet it was said by those who were present for her wedding that she had never looked so beautiful; that on her wedding day, she was even more beautiful than she had been on the night of the royal ball.

Marie walked down the aisle on the arm of the Merlin, and as she did she nodded to the glittering assemblage of honored and titled guests who had come to witness her wedding. Among the courtiers and dignitaries in attendance were the newlyweds Viscount and Lady Lisle, Marcus and Celestine, who had wed a few months earlier. It was said to be a happy marriage, as both came from similar land-rich estates, and were used to living without heat and plumbing.

The Duke of Burgundy sent his regrets, as he had taken ill. It was rumored that Isabelle, Lady of Orleans, had left the castle in the dark of night. It was said she was living humbly in a seaside town by herself, teaching English and raising the son she had named Charles Louis Valois, who had a remarkable mop of golden hair and the ability to charm everyone with his smile.

Ronan Astor was also present at the wedding. As a friend of Wolf’s she had merited an invitation, and Marie had been kind enough to agree. The two young men seated next to her were Lords Stewart and Fairfax. Ronan had elected to stay in London. They said she had taken a position as a secretary to a rich American heiress who had recently married an Italian count and had set up a home in London. The Astors had lost the governorship of New York, and her parents had decided to move out west instead of remaining in the city. Ronan was living with her former governess Vera in a small flat in Kensington, but she was starting a small business—a millinery shop—and already her hats were sought by the great ladies of London.

Marie turned away from the guests, looking ahead to the smiling face of the newly installed Morgaine. Aelwyn Myrddyn of the sisterhood was resplendent in her white robes, her auburn hair flowing to her shoulders, Avalon’s medallion in the hollow of her throat. She had a serene smile on her face. Queen Eleanor was standing next to Aelwyn, and her mother looked as happy as she had ever been. She was an old woman—everyone could see that now. Her hair was snow-white, and there were wrinkles and heavy folds on her face. For the first time, the entire court saw the queen as Marie saw her.

Marie reached the altar, and the Merlin released her with a bow. He, too, looked as if he had aged a thousand years overnight since he had relinquished his position.

She turned to the front. There, standing in his wedding suit, so handsome and heartbreaking, was Wolf. He winked at her as he took her hand in his. “Nice flowers,” he whispered.

“I wore them for you,” she said.

They faced the archbishop of the brotherhood, as well as the Sister Superior, who gave the blessings of Avalon on their marriage. After the readings and the songs, it was time to say their vows.

In a clear, loud voice Marie turned to the groom and said, “I, Marie-Victoria Grace Eleanor Aquitaine, take thee, Wolfgang Friedrich Joachim von Hohenzollem, to have and to hold, from this day forward, in sickness and in health, till death do us part.”

Wolf followed. “I, Wolfgang Friedrich Joachim von Hohenzollem, take thee, Marie-Victoria Grace Eleanor Aquitaine…”