The palace loomed before her like something from a fever dream, all golden stone and soaring towers that seemed to pierce the very clouds. Eudora had seen it once before, from a great distance during a village fair, but nothing had prepared her for the overwhelming reality of it up close,the endless windows that watched like eyes, the guards standing rigid as statues, the vast courtyard that could swallow her entire village three times over.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and a footman immediately appeared to hand her down. Her legs trembled as her feet touched the ground, whether from the long journey or pure terror, she couldn't say. Lady Beatrice materialized at her elbow, a steadying presence in the chaos of activity surrounding them.
"Deep breath, Miss Sinclair," she murmured. "You've survived the journey. Now comes the truly difficult part,surviving the court."
Before Eudora could ask what she meant, an imposing woman in black silk descended the palace steps. She had steel-gray hair arranged in a severe style, a ramrod-straight posture, and eyes that catalogued Eudora's every flaw in a single sweep.
"Miss Sinclair. I am the Dowager Countess of Pembroke, Mistress of the Royal Household." Her voice was crisp, each word precisely articulated. "You are late. His Majesty expected you an hour ago."
"The roads were muddy from yesterday's rain, Your Ladyship," Lady Beatrice interjected smoothly. "We made what haste we could."
The Countess's expression suggested this excuse was insufficient, but she merely gestured toward the entrance. "The king is in the throne room conducting the afternoon's audiences. You will be presented immediately. Follow me."
Eudora's heart hammered against her ribs as they swept through corridors so vast and ornate she could scarcely take them in,marble floors that reflected the light from crystal chandeliers, walls hung with portraits of stern-faced monarchs, archways carved with such intricate detail they seemed alive. Servants pressed themselves against the walls as they passed, their curious gazes following the country girl who would be queen.
They stopped before massive double doors emblazoned with the royal coat of arms. The Countess turned to Eudora, her expression softening almost imperceptibly.
"A word of advice, Miss Sinclair. The king values directness and competence. Do not simper. Do not apologize excessively. Look him in the eye when you speak, curtsy precisely as you've been taught, and remember that you are here because he chose you. Whatever else may come, that choice was his."
Then the doors swung open, and Eudora was walking forward into a room that seemed to stretch into infinity. The throne room was a cathedral of power,vaulted ceilings painted with scenes of historic victories, columns of polished stone, and at the far end, elevated on a dais, a single throne carved from dark wood and inlaid with gold.
And upon that throne sat Walter Enfield.
Eudora's first thought was that Lady Beatrice had been wrong. He wasn't handsome in a stern sort of way,he was devastatingly handsome in a way that made her forget to breathe. Tall even while seated, with broad shoulders beneath an impeccably tailored coat of midnight blue, dark hair that curled slightly at his collar, and a face of such striking symmetry it might have been carved by a master sculptor. But it was his eyes that arrested her,dark and intense, fixed upon her with an attention so complete it felt physical.
He was frowning, deep lines bracketing his mouth, and even from across the vast room, Eudora could sense the tension emanating from him.
She remembered to curtsy,a deep, formal obeisance,and held it as she'd been taught until he spoke.
"Rise, Miss Sinclair." His voice was deep, with a slight roughness that suggested he'd been speaking for hours. "Come closer."
Eudora obeyed, acutely aware of every eye in the room upon her. Courtiers lined the walls, at least fifty of them, all in their finery, all watching to see what sort of woman their king had chosen. She held her head high and walked with as much grace as her trembling legs would allow, stopping at the base of the dais.
Up close, she could see more details,the shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights, the slight clench of his jaw, the white-knuckled grip he had on the arm of the throne. He studied her with an intensity that made her want to look away, but she remembered the Countess's advice and met his gaze directly.
"You are younger than your portrait suggested," he said finally.
"I am twenty-two, Your Majesty," Eudora replied, pleased that her voice remained steady. "Perhaps the artist was overly generous with his aging technique."
Something flickered in his dark eyes,surprise, perhaps, or was it amusement? But it vanished so quickly she might have imagined it. He rose from the throne, and Eudora's breath caught again at his sheer physical presence. He was easily over six feet tall, and as he descended the dais steps, she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
"Do you know why I chose you, Miss Sinclair?" he asked, stopping directly before her.
The question caught her off-guard. She'd expected formalities, not this directness. "I... no, Your Majesty. I confess I've wondered."
"Honesty. Good." He began to circle her slowly, and Eudora fought the urge to turn with him, instead keeping her eyes forward as protocol demanded. "I chose you because your father's letter moved me. He wrote to decline my proposal,did you know that?"
Eudora's eyes widened. "No, Your Majesty."
"He said that while his family was in dire circumstances, he would not sell his daughter to the crown like chattel. That you deserved the choice for yourself, and he would not presume to make it for you." Walter completed his circle and stood before her again. "It was the only letter among hundreds that treated you as a person rather than a prize to be won. It made me curious about what manner of man could be so honorable in such desperate straits. And what manner of daughter such a man might have raised."
Eudora felt tears prick her eyes and blinked them back fiercely. Her father had tried to refuse? Even knowing what it would cost them?
"I see," she managed. "Then I must disappoint you, Your Majesty, for I am here precisely because of those desperate straits. My father may have tried to refuse, but ultimately, I made the choice to accept. For them. Not for any grander reason."
The frown on Walter's face deepened, but then,impossibly,one corner of his mouth quirked upward. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was the ghost of one, and it transformed his entire countenance. For a heartbeat, he looked younger, less burdened, almost approachable.
"More honesty," he said quietly. "You continue to surprise me, Miss Sinclair." He turned to address the room at large. "Leave us. All of you."
There was a moment of stunned silence, then a rustling of fabric as the courtiers bowed and filed out. The Countess looked as though she might protest, but a single glance from Walter silenced her. Within minutes, the vast throne room was empty save for Eudora and the king.
Walter walked to one of the tall windows overlooking the gardens, his hands clasped behind his back. Without the weight of the court's gaze, some of the rigidity left his posture, and Eudora saw him for what he truly was,a young man thrust into impossible circumstances, trying to bear them with dignity.
"I need you to understand something," he said without turning. "This marriage is necessary for political reasons I cannot fully explain. The nobles expected me to marry one of their daughters, to shore up alliances and consolidate power. Instead, I've chosen a commoner, which has infuriated half the court and puzzled the other half." Now he did turn, and his expression was grave. "You will face hostility here, Miss Sinclair. Whispers and slights and machinations you cannot yet imagine. The court can be crueler than any battlefield."
"Are you trying to frighten me, Your Majesty?" Eudora asked, then immediately regretted her boldness.
But again, that almost-smile appeared. "I'm trying to prepare you. There's a difference." He crossed back to her, and this time when he studied her face, there was something softer in his gaze. "I cannot promise you love, Miss Sinclair. I'm not certain I'm capable of it anymore. But I can promise you respect, protection, and honesty. Can you accept such a bargain?"
Eudora thought of her family, safe now because of this marriage. She thought of the weight she'd seen in her father's shoulders, now lifted. She thought of Cordelia's future, secure. And she looked at this man before her,this king who carried such obvious burdens, who had chosen her father's honorable letter over strategic alliances, who was at least being honest about the limitations of what he could offer.
"I can, Your Majesty," she said. "I will try to be the queen you need me to be."
"Walter," he said suddenly. "When we're alone, you may call me Walter. I find I'm weary of titles and formality. I would like my wife to know me as a man, at least in private."
"Then you must call me Eudora," she replied, and was rewarded with that ghost of a smile again.
He held out his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, she placed hers in it. His grip was warm and firm, and when his thumb brushed across her knuckles in what might have been an unconscious gesture of comfort, she felt a flutter of something unexpected in her chest.
"Tomorrow we marry," Walter said. "Tomorrow I'm crowned king in truth, and you become my queen. Tonight, you should rest. Lady Beatrice will show you to your apartments. They adjoin mine, should you need anything."
He released her hand, and the absence of his touch felt strangely acute. Eudora curtsied again, but as she turned to go, his voice stopped her.
"Eudora."
She looked back. The frown had returned to his face, but his eyes were intent on hers.
"Thank you," he said simply. "For choosing to be here. Whatever your reasons, you could have refused. Thank you for not doing so."
As Eudora followed Lady Beatrice through the labyrinthine corridors to her new apartments, she replayed those words in her mind. There had been genuine gratitude in them, and something else,a loneliness that resonated with her own.
Perhaps, she thought as she entered rooms more luxurious than anything she'd ever imagined, she and this stern king might find some common ground after all. Perhaps duty and necessity could, in time, become something more.
The apartments were stunning,sitting rooms with silk-covered walls, a bedchamber with a four-poster bed large enough to sleep six, wardrobes already filled with gowns in every color, and windows that overlooked gardens so vast they seemed to touch the horizon. But what drew Eudora was a small writing desk near the window, already supplied with paper and ink.
She sat down and began to write to her family, telling them of her arrival, of the palace, of her first meeting with the king. She didn't mention his frown or the loneliness she'd sensed in him. Instead, she wrote that he seemed kind, in his way, and honest, and that perhaps this might not be as terrible as they'd feared.
As she sealed the letter, she looked out at the gathering dusk and saw a figure walking alone in the gardens below. Even from this height, she recognized Walter's tall frame, his solitary path through the manicured hedges. He walked with his head down, hands still clasped behind his back, a man carrying the weight of a crown that hadn't yet been placed upon his head.
Tomorrow, Eudora thought, they would both be transformed,he into a king, she into a queen. What they might become to each other remained to be seen.
But for the first time since this journey began, she felt a small seed of hope take root in her heart.