Page 89 of Heart of Snow
“Should we not be making our way to the Aula Magna for dinner?” My stomach was already rumbling.
“We must stay to direct the page boys where to put your things.” She entered her rooms and sank onto the large bed. “You can send Hette or Ilsa down for food, if you wish. I shall be napping.” Belinda plopped back into the pillows, closing her eyes and effectively ending the conversation.
“Ilsa.” I turned to find her leaning against the washstand, already watching me. “Will you fetch us dinner?”
“Of course, my lady.” She didn’t move but continued studying me with a raised brow before saying, “So you’re not the prince’s mistress after all. Seems you deserve the name ‘Snow White’ in more ways than one.” Then she pushed off the washstand and out of the room, leaving me to wonder if her words were intended as praise or insult.
***
I sat up in bed, holding a hand to my pounding temple and wishing I hadn’t succumbed to the temptation to nap. But directing the page boys was tedious work, and after a large dinner, a ray of late-autumn sun penetrating the windows had called me to sleep. Now I was paying for it.
“What troubles you, Margaretha?” Belinda glanced at me in the looking glass as she inserted her earrings.
“Nothing. Just a napping headache.”
“Perhaps a cup of wine will ease it. Maybe a bite to eat. Hette brought up a few remains from supper for you.”
“Supper?” I dropped my hand, looking out the window to find the sun dipping below the horizon. “I slept through supper?”
Belinda moved to the writing desk, lifting the wine bottle to pour me a cup. “You’ve been under a great deal of strain. I was glad to see you resting and didn’t want to wake you. Ilsa, will you fill a plate for Lady Margaretha?” she asked, then crossed the room to hand me the drink.
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything more from the kaiser?” My tone betrayed my optimism. My last hope was that the old mule would consent to the marriage before Samuel was out of time.
“Nothing,” Belinda answered, settling on the bed beside me. “Stop irritating your scar and drink your wine.”
I uncurled my hand to expose the deep fingernail marks indented in my pinkened palm. Trying to rub them out over my skirts, I gave up, sipping the wine until the cup was empty.
“How’s your head now?” Belinda took the cup from me.
I held still, internally measuring the pain. “A little better, I think.”
“Good.” She smiled, summoning Ilsa to bring over a plate of braised oxtail and tart of apples. Normally my favorites, the food looked less palatable than before.
I picked at my meal, able to get down half a bowl of the oxtail and several bites of the tart before I gave up and pushed them away. The headache still pulsed dull in my brain, and my nerves for Samuel’s situation had turned my stomach weak. I needed fresh air and a place to walk that didn’t smell of leeks. “I’m going to take a turn in the corridor. I’ll just be outside the room,” I said to Ilsa, who had risen to join me. She sank back in her chair and picked up her stitching.
“Don’t be long.” Belinda waved.
With the door closed behind me, I took a deep, reviving breath of the cool corridor air. For now, I would not let myself think of the prince or the kaiser or of my brother’s struggle for his life ina dank dungeon cell. I would think of nothing at all. I would walk and breathe and live only in the present.
The halls were almost black, save the ghost-gray strokes of moonlight stealing in from chamber windows and stretching through open doors to light the rug beneath me. I put a hand on the wall and let my fingers trail over tapestries and float the voids of empty doorways as I traveled the hall. The walk was already serving its purpose, lightening the pressure against my brain. One step. Another step. Nothing but now and this moment. Nothing but the soft padding of my bare feet against the rug, until... Had I heard a voice? I froze, silencing my swishing skirts and listening harder.
“Margaretha.”
My whispered name brought the hairs on my arms upright as a dark figure emerged from an empty room. Shadows only betrayed that the figure belonged to a man, but when he stepped into the moonlight, my shoulders sank with relief. “Friedrich.”
“Come over by the window,” he whispered. “There’s light there.”
He waved me to move ahead of him, but as I passed by, his hand caught hold of mine. I sucked in a breath at the shock of his touch but did not pull away, letting it warm me with its rough, familiar feel. His touch was gentle, and now, when I felt so alone, confused and worried, I wanted nothing more than to wrap myself in his embrace and weep. But such things were impossible.
Stopping in front of the moon-flooded window, I turned to face him. “What are you doing here?”
He rubbed his neck, dropping his eyes to the moon-stained rug. “There’s something I wanted... I’m not sure how to say...” Releasing my hand, he pulled off his cap, his hair shining silver in the light as he raked his fingers through the strands. “I’d hoped to speak with you. I thought if you were... on your wayto...” He was still stammering, avoiding my eye as he continued in a rush. “I thought I might catch you on your way to the prince. Maybe stop you from doing this.”
He’d heard the rumors. Of course he had. And now he thought me on my way to—
Embarrassment heated my veins, but I kept my tone even. “My many thanks for your concern, but I can manage well enough on my own. I’m no longer the little girl you sent away in Wildungen.”
“You’re right. You’re not the girl from Wildungen anymore. I miss her artless blush.” He lifted his fingers to my face, trailing them across the tender skin of my cheek as I stared at him, wide-eyed. “Whenever you smile at the prince or your eyes light up in his presence, it gives me pain. I can’t stand by while he’s allowed to touch you, to spend time with you—things I’ve worked so hard to keep myself from doing, though I’ve felt longer and more deeply than he could ever imagine.”
