The Sweetest Spell (29 page)

How could I resist? He was the first person in the palace to call me by name.

I peeled the wax seal from the box and opened the lid. Six perfect little chocolates sat inside, each shaped like a swan. The swans’ wings were painted with delicate strokes of gold. “They’re beautiful,” I said.

“They will make my parents very rich. At least, that’s my mother’s plan.” We stood almost the same height so it was easy to look into his eyes—green, like his mother’s, but not one bit cold. “Mother is the brains behind everything around here. Father’s mind isn’t what it once was. All that barefist fighting in his youth scrambled things. His name is on everything but she runs the realm. He sleeps, she imposes taxes. He eats, she imposes taxes. Not a perfect relationship but it seems to work for them.”

“But it doesn’t work for the people,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows. “No, it doesn’t.” He folded his hands behind his back. “What do you know about our troubles?”

“I know that there are too many taxes. My father could barely pay our land tax. The new potato tax took food from our table so we went hungry many nights.”

He stood close enough for me to smell his sweat, which was light and musky. He didn’t wear perfume like the other royals. Nor did he powder or paint his face. “I am sorry to hear that you were hungry. When I rule, life will be different.”

“How will life be different?” I asked.

“My parents rarely leave the palace. They do not care what’s going on outside these golden walls. They do not care about the people. They only care about surrounding themselves with new things. Expensive things. Golden, jeweled things purchased with the people’s coin.” He ran his hand over a golden vase. “The people pay an endless stream of taxes but get nothing in return. It is the sovereign’s duty to provide for his people, not the other way round. When I am king, I will provide for the people by leading them into the future.” He plucked one of the chocolate swans from the box and ate it. “What do you think of my traveling balloon?”

I couldn’t hide my smile. “I loved it. Could you really fly all the way to another country?”

“Yes. One day. And one day that’s how everyone will travel. That’s the future. At least, that’s the future I will bring to this backward kingdom. Who needs gold? We need innovation. New ideas. New ways to make life better for everyone.” He grabbed another chocolate. “These are stupendous. You have an amazing talent, Emmeline. Want to go for a ride in the balloon?”

He was asking if I wanted to float through the air? I nodded so hard I almost jarred my neck. I threw a cloak around my shoulders and tucked my hair into a bonnet. None of the soldiers who stood guard at my door questioned the prince as he led me from my rooms.

“Why don’t you powder your face like the others?” I asked as I tied the bonnet’s ribbons.

“Makes me itch,” he said. “And all that perfume makes me sneeze. I hate it.”

“What am I supposed to call you?” I asked.

“Your Royal Majesty Prince Beauregard Borthwick Elmer of Anglund.” He’d lowered his voice in a serious way. But as I was about to ask him to repeat his name so I could memorize it, he laughed. “I’m kidding. Call me Beau.” He glanced down at my foot. “Do you need me to walk slower?”

“That would be nice,” I said. “Thank you.”

We didn’t go down to the arena as I’d expected. Instead, the prince led me up a steep flight of stairs and out onto a roof. I was glad I’d wrapped a cloak around my shoulders since the night breeze carried a chill.

The basket sat on the roof. The balloon was fully inflated and hovered over a smoking chimney. “We fill it with hot air,” Prince Beau explained. “That’s what makes it float.” The basket was attached to the balloon with ropes. The basket was deep, reaching up to my chest. I peered over its edge. Large stones lay inside, weighing it down. “These ropes will hold us?” I asked.

“They’ll hold.” The man with the mustache stepped out from behind the chimney. He wiped soot from his hands with a rag.

Prince Beau motioned me forward. “Emmeline, I’d like you to meet my friend and coinventor, the Baron of Lime.”

“You’re a baron?” I asked with surprise. I’d never met a baron so I’m not sure what I was expecting. Guess I’d figured they were old.

The Baron of Lime smiled and bowed. “Delighted to meet you, Emmeline.” Then he squeezed the prince’s shoulder. “Be careful,” he said. “Do not land outside the city walls. The crowds are growing restless.”

Prince Beau climbed into the basket. Since I was wearing my nightfrock, the baron lifted me and set me inside. “We should be able to see some stars tonight,” the prince said. “The people are almost out of coal so the sky isn’t as smoky as usual. We should get a good view.”

As I clung to the side of the basket, Prince Beau handed the stones to the baron. As he handed over the last stone, the basket wobbled. I held my breath as we rose above the rooftop. My stomach fluttered as a strange weightless sensation gripped my insides. The baron waved and soon he and the rooftop disappeared in a haze. “We’ll be out of this in a moment,” the prince told me. “It’s okay. You can breathe.”

I took a long breath just as we hit a patch of clear air. The stars twinkled above like the candles in the throne room. Moonlight filled the basket. I’d spent many nights lying on the donkey shed roof, gazing at the stars. But here I was, floating among them. “It’s beautiful.”

“I thought we’d take a short flight, just across the city.” He leaned against the side of the basket. “Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not,” I lied. “I’m not scared of floating.”

“I mean, don’t be scared about our marriage. I will be a good husband. I won’t try to control you or boss you around. I’ll be busy with my work so you needn’t worry about … What I mean to say
is that there is no love between us so …” He looked away. “We will be friends but nothing more. I won’t touch you in that way.”

I should have been relieved at such a statement, but it felt like an insult. “You won’t touch me? Because I’m a disgusting
dirt-scratcher
?”

His shoulders slumped. “No, Emmeline, that is not the reason. Any man would be happy to have you in his marriage bed.”

“Any man but you?” I waited, my arms folded. He didn’t look at me. “You’re just like the rest of them. You think my people are stupid and dirty. You think I’m stupid and dirty. Don’t pretend we’re friends. How can we ever be friends if you feel that way?”

Our lovely ride had turned ugly. I pressed against the other side of the basket, as far away from the prince as I could get. Just when I’d thought that maybe I’d found someone to talk to, the truth was revealed. Until my father arrived, I was truly alone.

The blanket of haze drifted below us. Through its gaps I caught sight of the gray buildings and cobbled, sooty streets. Prince Beau rested his forearms on the basket’s edge and stared into the night. My pride prickled like bee stings. Forget talking to him. And forget marrying him. There had to be a way out of this.

“Do you not wonder why there are no portraits of me?” he asked, breaking through my thoughts. “Do you not wonder why no one speaks of me?” Though I did wonder, I kept my back to him. “It’s that way because my mother tries to keep me hidden. She hates the way I am.”

I peered over my shoulder. “What’s wrong with the way you are?”

“Well, first there’s the constant reminder of our heritage.” He pointed to his head. “Look carefully at my hair. What do you see?”

“It’s black.”

“Look closer. Look at the roots.”

As I stepped closer, he bent his head and pointed at the part that lay in the center of his hair. Even in the faint moonlight I could see that the new growth was a lighter color. “You dye your hair?”

“My mother has ordered my hair dyed since birth. Because it’s red. Just like yours.”

Was this some kind of joke? “You’re just trying to—”

“Emmeline, I’m serious. It’s not as red as yours, but there are red streaks. Same with my mother’s hair.”

“Queen Beatrice has red hair?” Surely it was treason to say such a thing.

“My mother’s bloodline goes all the way back to the first queen, Queen Margaret, who was a dirt-scratcher. Or, I guess in those days your people were called the Kell.”

“Queen Margaret?” I frowned. “That’s impossible. Queen Margaret fought the Kell chieftain. Queen Margaret had the magic of chocolate and the Kell chieftain took it away.”

“That’s the story that’s taught to us in school. But it’s not the truth. Queen Margaret’s Royal Secretary wrote one version of the story for history, but he wrote the true story in his private diary. The diary is locked away in my mother’s treasury. I’ve read it. Want to hear it?”

Did I want to hear it? I wanted to shake the words out of him. “Aye. Tell me. Please.”

The prince tugged on a rope and released some air from the balloon. My stomach fluttered as we began our descent and floated back toward the palace. “The Kell were the first people to live in
this land. They lived peacefully for many generations. They tamed many wild creatures, but not the wolf, who hunted everything including the wild cow. Tired of losing the calves to wolf attacks, the queen of the wild cows asked the Kell for protection. The legend says that the cows were so grateful to live on Kell farms that they freely gave their milk to the people. Many Kell women became milkmaids. Before she died of old age, the queen of the wild cows bequeathed a special gift to her personal milkmaid—a magic spell. When the magic spell flowed into the milkmaid she felt warm all over. Soon after, she discovered she could make chocolate.”

“Wait, what was that?” I needed to hear it again. “She felt warm all over?”

“That’s how the story goes.”

Just like my last moments with Snow. “Go on,” I urged.

“And this milkmaid passed the spell to other milkmaids so all the Kell could enjoy the chocolate. Margaret was one of those milkmaids.”

“But I thought the magic spell was given to Margaret in a dream.”

“Not according to the Royal Secretary’s diary.” He tugged the rope and released more air. “Margaret was different from the other Kell girls. She wanted more than a peasant’s life. When the black-haired invaders came from beyond the Southern Sea, most of the Kell went into the forest to hide. But Margaret greeted the invaders with gifts of chocolate. Their king fell in love with her. He seduced her with promises of wealth and glory. He promised to make her his queen if she told him where her people were
hiding. She agreed and turned against her own. There was a brutal massacre. Most of the Kell were murdered. But Margaret was safe with the southern king’s army.”

I shuddered. How many versions of this story existed?

“A scattering of the Kell survived, mostly young children, and they were sent to the Flatlands to live. Any survivors who possessed the magical spell were killed so only Margaret could now make the chocolate. The southern king made Margaret his queen and they began their long reign. The land of the Kell became known as Anglund. Queen Margaret became very popular and powerful. But the nightmares began to plague her. She was haunted by the massacre of her people. She couldn’t get their screams out of her head. She changed her hair color. She ordered her Royal Secretary to change history so that future generations wouldn’t know the truth.” He paused. “She eventually went mad from the guilt of what she’d done. She locked herself in her rooms and never made chocolate again. Nor did anyone else. Until now.”

I grabbed the basket’s edge as we landed in the palace’s courtyard, the very spot where I’d watched the Bestowing of Coal weeks ago. With a dramatic sigh, the balloon folded in on itself, just missing our heads as it collapsed. I felt lightheaded, but not from the landing. “If the Kell didn’t do anything wrong, why does your mother dye her hair? Why doesn’t she let the truth be known?”

“The truth doesn’t matter to my mother. The Kell have no power. Everyone believes that they don’t belong in this land. My mother dyes her hair because she’s ashamed to be descended from them.”

“And she dyes your hair for the same reason?”

Prince Beau nodded, then looked across the courtyard where the Baron of Lime stood waiting. “But that is not the only reason I shame her. Sometimes I think she wishes I’d never been born.” He and the baron shared a long look.

The prince helped me from the basket, then led me back to my rooms. We were silent during our walk, the palace hallways echoing our footsteps.

“Are we really to be married?” I asked when we reached my door.

“I’m afraid so.” He smiled halfheartedly. “Can you accept me for who I am? Can we simply be friends?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

Back home I’d often thought that I’d get stuck marrying an unwanted. In a strange way, that was exactly what I was about to do.

I was a small boy when I last visited Londwin City so I could barely remember anything about the trip. But I remember this—I didn’t arrived locked inside a cage!

“When are you going to let us out of this thing?” I complained.

“When we get to the king’s arena and not a minute earlier,” Soldier Wolf replied from the driver’s seat. “I’m not risking you running off. Not when we’ve come this far. But I don’t care about the dirt-scratcher. He can go whenever he wants. He’s no use to me.”

Mister Thistle rubbed his face and stared out between the bars. He didn’t ask to leave. He knew his farm had been destroyed. He had nothing but his daughter and I’d promised a reunion. My promise was fed by pure, intangible hope. And a gut feeling that she’d be there. She had to be there. The king wanted her. I wanted her.

She’d be there.

Emmeline’s father had said little during the journey from the mineral fields. He was a tortured man, twisted and knotted like a
rope—the kind of man who wore his grief like a second skin. How could he have fathered such a beautiful daughter?

“What was Emmeline’s mother like?” I asked.

He coughed a bit. We’d all been coughing, trying to hack out the last yellow remnants of hell from our lungs. With a deep sigh, Mister Thistle leaned against the bars and looked at me. “You ask a lot of questions about my daughter. What are your intentions?”