Page 43 of Coronation
“Sorry. It’s so beautiful, right?”
They both nod, and the man sweeps his arm out, showing us toward a guardhouse off to the side, which is discreetly placed behind the wall and a large tree. I’m not sure what I was expecting when the title of footman was mentioned, but David turns out to be a sixty-year-old man with many frown lines and a stiffly pressed blue uniform. He greets us bothand leads the way to a golf cart parked alongside the structure. Davina and I get on, and my stomach churns ominously as he takes off, driving around the palace’s corner.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Davina asks under her breath. “You don’t have to do this. It wouldn’t make very good press if you passed out in front of everyone.”
It’s too late to turn back now, though. We’ve arrived at the edge of a great garden, where a striped marquee has been set up to shade the dozens of guests from the sun. Pea gravel crunches beneath our feet as Davina and I thank David, making our way toward the entrance to the party area, where a pair of men dressed in the same uniform are waiting.
The king is nowhere in sight as Davina and I take glasses of lemonade, making our way toward the small group of familiar faces at the edge of the gathering. George is clustered together with our co-stars, Killian and Harris, all dressed in light summer suits and deep in conversation.
George beams when he sees us, and the three of them shuffle to the side so we can join their circle. “Good morning, ladies. Quite the press stop. I’ve got to admit, this is a first for me.”
“There’s alabyrinthover there. Can you believe that shit?” Harris tells us, pointing out a line of high shrubbery which abuts the far end of the garden. He winks at Davina. “Want to get lost in it with me?”
My friend glares at him. “Could youtrynot to be completely uncivilized, Harris? Just this once? We’re at a literal royal garden party.”
The reminder has me moving to smooth my hands over my dress, wishing I’d picked something else. This morning, the forest green, lace number had felt the perfect balance of appropriate and attractive, falling to just above my knees while clinging to my waist. Now, it’s clear I was way off. Almost every other woman here is wearing pastels and has afancy, ridiculous hat on. Why didn’t I think to buy a fancy, ridiculous hat? Is it an etiquette thing?
Is that what King Benedict is looking for? Someone who knows the rules?
Even wondering fills me with self-disgust.
“I’m going to get something to eat,” I mumble, moving away from my colleagues. None of them pay me any mind, too busy debating whether the word ‘shit’ is as uncivilized as Davina believes it is.
Something about being here and seeing with my own two eyes how ridiculous I was to entertain hopes of a relationship with a king is undoing all my determined psychological prep work in a matter of minutes. There is a secondary marquee off to the side, one which is well stocked with tables piled high with canapés and tiny, elegant desserts.
I bypass it, though, marching straight past and into a less-occupied section of the garden, one bordered by an entire wall of the high, green hedges that make up the maze. There is an entrance up ahead, covered by a carefully manicured arch, and when I see it, a reckless, desperate plan begins to take shape.
I’m going to get lost.
I’m going to get so lost, it will take me an hour to find my way back out again, upon which time, I’ll recount my harrowing tale to my colleagues. Likely there will be some teasing, and maybe even some suspicion from Davina, but I won’t care less. By then, an appropriate amount of time will have passed, and with any luck, I won’t have to see King Benedict a single time.
Without pausing to second-guess myself, I hurry beneath the archway and out of view of any partygoers who might happen to look this way.
As I find myself standing on a grassy path bordered by two towering walls of shrubbery, it feels like I can breathe properlyfor the first time since I laid eyes on Ashwell Palace. Reaching down, I take off my heels with unsteady hands and set off.
It quickly becomes clear that there is a quiet magic about this place.
I make turns at random, my mind curiously blank as the minutes pass and the sounds of the party die away. Out here, all I can hear is the occasional wisp of laughter or music carried back to me on the summer breeze, which rustles the living walls of the maze. If there are other guests in here, I don’t see a single one of them.
It doesn’t take long before I really am lost, and there’s a kind of freedom that comes with it. My bare feet move forward in steady, silent steps across the grassy floor, and the longer I walk, the lighter I feel. Everything that weighed so heavily on me before I came in here, all the hurt I’ve been willing myself not to let show, and the self-doubt that has plagued me for far longer than I realized, all of it seems to haveloosenedsomehow.
Pausing at a dead end, I double back, only to find myself at a fork. Without pausing to consider which might take me closer or further from the party, I turn right, making my way along another endless hall of green with only blue sky above me. I’m in my own world, having long since forgotten it would be possible to run into another living soul within these walls. As I turn the next corner, however, I stop dead.
I’ve reached the edge of an open circle, quite unlike the rest of the narrow corridors I’ve ventured down so far. Right in the middle of the space is a towering, ancient oak. Its branches extend out over the hedges, which circle it in some places, and its trunk is so wide I’m not sure that three of me could wrap our arms around it. The tree isn’t what made me stop, though.It’s the man.
He’s sitting alone on an old stone bench at the base of the great tree, holding his head in his hands, and even withoutseeing his face, I know exactly who he is. There is no mistaking the long, dark hair, the breadth of his shoulders, or the tendons straining in his forearms.
Seeing him like this, unguarded and unaware of anyone’s eyes on him, makes something deep inside me pull taut. I need to leave, to vanish back into the maze before he realizes I’m here, and yet I can’t seem to move. It’s as though my feet are anchored to the ground beneath me, keeping me in a placeI knowI shouldn’t be.
I watch as King Benedict lifts his head, staring at the wall of green ahead of him, his expression full of such obvious misery that it makes my heart ache, too.
Without warning, he reaches out to fist the suit jacket laid out over the bench beside him and pushes to his feet with an air of forced determination. Before I can even think of moving—or running for it—he turns, and I see the change in him the moment he realizes he isn’t alone.
King Benedict stares at me, and I don’t have to wonder what he’s feeling. Not now. His chest rises and falls, heavier than it should for a man who was sitting still. “Zelda.”
Just the sound of my name seems to unlock whatever paralysis I was briefly under. “I’m sorry.” I still can’t seem to move. “I didn’t know anyone would be in here. It was… I was just walking. It was an accident.”
He takes a step toward me, and the heels still held loosely in my hand fall to the earth with a soft thud. I make no move to retrieve them. Every single cell in my body seems to beon, caught up in whatever strange, magnetic energy swept into this place when King Benedict’s eyes found mine.
