A Thousand Heartbeats

The moon was rising higher outside, the stars glittering around it like diamonds, though it was plain to see that they weren’t all white. Some were blue or yellow, some pinkish red. The night sky was the best dressed lady at court, the stars her finest dress and the moon her perfect crown.

The room was full of music and happy people, and the dance floor was crammed with couples, old and young. And I was against a wall, looking out the window.

Cousin Nickolas was here, as promised, standing straight as a pin and looking bored. Not that he ever looked any different.

Nickolas—known as the Duke of Canisse to the general public—was tall and slender with chestnut-brown hair and guarded eyes that spoke of thoughts kept to himself. As someone who spilled too many of my thoughts, it was a trait I had once admired. He was accomplished, and proper, and a member of the only family that mattered, according to my father.

His parents had both been executed at the hand of my grandfather under suspicions of threatening the crown. His mother, Lady Leone, had royal blood in her veins through some very distant relative, a branch so far away on the family tree it had all but withered off. Nickolas had been spared, as he was only a baby, and once he was deemed old enough to do so, he pledged his loyalty to our family. It was possible that he might have supporters out there, but, as far as I knew, he’d never deviated from his position to support the Vedette line. That didn’t stop the whispers, though, and those were enough to provoke Father to action. For a long time now, his eyes had been on the future, both Escalus’s and mine.

Escalus’s choices for marriage were complicated; every potential bride came with strings attached or specific benefits for the kingdom. Me? The only boy worthy of my hand was the one who could steal my position. Joining our lines meant ending any possibility of a rival to Escalus. There was no tricky math, no elaborate words. It was simple . . . to everyone but me.

I didn’t have a better answer for my father than a straightforward no. But my no was very forcefully overruled. So I was stuck with Nickolas trailing me around the room, even when I stepped away, attempting to speak to guests. After a few minutes, he would find me and hover over my shoulder, a little too close.

“You usually dance,” he commented.

“Yes. I’ve been unwell and am still recovering,” I replied.

He made some noncommittal humming noise and stayed beside me, watching the crowd.

“You like riding, right? You’ll ride out with His Majesty, His Highness, and me tomorrow, won’t you?”

He always spoke like that, too. Making a statement but tagging it with a question to seem polite.

“I do like to ride. Assuming I’m feeling well, I’m sure I’ll be with the party.”

“Very good.”

Except, if it was so good, why didn’t he smile? Why didn’t he ever smile?

I looked around the room, trying to imagine a lifetime of this. As I did in almost every situation, I asked myself what my mother would have done. But I couldn’t think about what she’d do in this moment without thinking of what she’d have done in the events leading up to it. First, she’d have stood beside me. I knew that without fail. Even if it meant going against Father, even if it risked his anger, she’d have backed me. Second, if we lost, she’d have searched for the good. She would have combed over everything tirelessly looking for the bright side.

I studied Cousin Nickolas again. Yes, he was stern, cold. But maybe with that came a deep sense of responsibility. He would probably dedicate his life to upholding and preserving what was important. As his wife, I’d certainly fall under that category.

And love . . . I didn’t know how deeply he was capable of feeling that emotion. I myself only had a spark of it once as a child. I smiled, thinking of that ride with Mother and the house along the road. I missed venturing out in the world. I missed her guiding hand.

I caught my father’s eye, and he gave me a look as if to urge me to go ahead and get it over with. I swallowed, pulling myself taller.

“Nickolas?”

“You need some food, yes?” he guessed. “You didn’t eat much at dinner.”

Goodness, he was watching close. “No. Thank you. Would you join me for just a moment?”

He wore his confusion in a scowl but followed me all the same into a secluded hallway.

“How can I help you?” he asked, his eyebrows crushed together as he looked at me.

Vanish, I thought.

“I confess, I hardly know how to begin this conversation, but I hope you will be kind enough to hear me.” I hated the sound of my own voice. It was distant, flat. But Nickolas didn’t seem to notice. He merely gave me a curt nod, as if words would waste too much energy.

I could feel the sweat prickling at my brow. How was I supposed to lie my way into a proposal?

“Forgive me, but rank dictates I be the one to ask the question.” I cleared my throat, the words needing prompting to move. “Nickolas, would you like to marry me? If not, I understand and will not be—”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. One could only see how wise it would be.”

Wise. Yes, that was the first word that sprang to a lady’s head when she considered matrimony. Not words from romantic books like wild abandon and fate. “Very true. And I think it would bring our people much joy. Second only to Escalus settling down himself.”

He nodded. “We shall set the example, then.”

And, without any warning, he kissed me. I ought to have suspected that if his mouth had no idea how to curve itself into a smile, its ability to bend into a kiss would be awful. In one fell swoop two of my biggest life experiences—my proposal and my first kiss—were taken care of. And both were acutely disappointing.

“Let’s go back in,” he said, offering me his hand. “His Majesty will want to know.”

I sighed. “Indeed, he will.”

I placed my hand in his and marched back into the ballroom. Father was watching, and he asked the question with his eyes. I answered with mine.

Could he see that my heart was caving in? Could he see what he’d wrought? I didn’t know which was worse: the thought that he couldn’t, or the thought that he could and didn’t care.

No. I refused to believe that. He was still in there. I knew it.

Escalus came over quickly and swooped in. “Forgive me, Cousin Nick, but—”

“Nickolas,” he corrected him. “Never Nick.” He made a face like a single syllable of a name was too far beneath him.

Escalus covered his amused smile quickly. “Of course. Nickolas, please allow me to cut in. It’s been too long since I’ve danced with my sister.”

Nickolas frowned. “We have news to—”

“It can surely wait for one song. Come, Annika.” Escalus pulled me away swiftly. Once we were out of earshot, he spoke quickly. “You look like you’re about to cry. Try to rein it in, if only for a few more minutes.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Just distract me.”

We started swaying, and I thought I was smiling . . . I couldn’t be sure anymore. I felt a strange emptiness, worse possibly even than losing Mother.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to run away?” Escalus asked.

I scowled. “That never happened.”

“It did,” he insisted. “I was ten, and I’d just found out that one day I would be king. Isn’t it funny? You’d have thought I’d figured it out long before then. Why didn’t anyone else have people who told them how their days were planned? Why couldn’t I befriend anyone I wanted to? Why were our parents already talking about my wedding?”

“That is funny,” I admitted. “I feel like I knew you were going to be king before I could talk.”

“Well, I’ve never claimed to be as smart as you. I didn’t know until Father sat me down with a family tree and showed the places where you and I were drawn in. The ink was brighter, I remember that, too. Because the line was old, and we were new. Anyway. I was scared. I’d heard Father talk about defending borders and making treaties, and there were so many things that seemed too big for someone as small as me.”

I looked up at him, my head tilted in sympathy. “No one expected you to run the kingdom at ten years old, silly.”

He smiled and looked around the room. “See, that was another thing I didn’t quite understand. As soon as I knew the crown was to be mine, it felt immediate. It felt like I had to master everything. And I didn’t want to do it, so I decided I was going to make a run for it.

“This must have been about six months after Rhett came, and he was still a child himself. But I trusted him so much, and he helped me put a bag together, and we planned which horse I was going to take.”

“Wait,” I said, shaking my head in confusion. “Are you telling me that Rhett tried to help you run away when you were ten?”

“Yes. No hesitation. I don’t think he’d do anything of the sort now.”

I giggled. “Much better head on his shoulders these days.”

“Agreed. Anyway, he was helping me pack, and I was writing a letter to Mother and Father, apologizing for leaving. And as I was writing the letter, I put in there, ‘Make sure to give the crown to Annika. She can do it better than I can anyway.’”

I looked away. “You did not.”

“I did. I thought that you—at seven years old, mind you— could do more than I could at ten. I still think you could lead if you had to, Annika. I think people would follow you off a cliff if you commanded it.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

He pulled me closer, trying to get me to listen. “Annika, the reason I will be successful when I become king is because you will be here with me. I know that you will always tell me when I’m being foolish; if I’ve forgotten something, you will most certainly remember. And I know that tonight you feel like a part of you has died; I saw it when you came around the corner.”

I looked away. Nickolas was right; I was too easy to read.

“But you need to find that strength in you and hold on to it. We still need you; I still need you.”

He moved me cautiously around the floor, and I reflected on his words. They made me want to cry for a whole other reason. Nickolas and the chains of obligation felt like the absence of hope; Escalus and his faith in me felt like its full resurgence.

“Wait. Did you make it away from the palace at all? Did Father go after you?”

Escalus sighed. “I made the mistake of telling the cook I needed some food, since I was running away. She told Mother . . . who found me in the stables and talked me into staying.”

“Of course she did.”

“Of course she did,” he echoed. “So, whatever you’re feeling, know I’m thankful for you, and that, no matter what, I’m still here.”

I looked up at my absurd, brave, wonderful big brother. “I’m here, too.”