A Fraudulent Marriage

The short message the King had sent through a servant arrived the following evening, and the moment I read it, I let out a long, audible sigh of relief.

"Ah, finally!"

The chance was here, Attilenta. The stepping-stone for my future had finally been laid. When I broke into a wide smile, the servant who had delivered the letter stared at me as if I'd gone mad — but the laughter wouldn't stop.

The farewell banquet to see off Prince Henrik of Bwędowska and me was arranged with remarkable speed. As it happened, the kingdom was already hosting a banquet for the foreign delegation, so it seemed there was hardly anything more to be done.

For me, it could not have worked out better. I had no intention of wasting another moment in this place.

"Her Highness, Princess Attilenta, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is entering."

And so, for the first time in far too long, I stepped into a royal ballroom. Silver light flooded the hall, sacred and majestic music swelled through it, ornaments brought in from foreign lands glittered on every surface, and a magnificent dinner waited on silver trays.

My first impression was this: a banquet fit to honor a prince from abroad — yet careful never to be too generous.

The hall held the delegation from Bwędowska, the knights under the prince's command, and only a handful of people who actually knew me.

"Father. To think today is the last — I beg you, receive your daughter's farewell."

"My daughter, Attilenta. How beautiful you look tonight."

I offered my goodbye to the King first. It had been truly ages since we'd stood face to face. Father and daughter — pretty names, and nothing more.

He had pretended to know nothing when Antoni pronounced his divorce upon me. Now that a foreign prince wished to marry me, it seemed he'd decided it was time to save face.

"My princess. You must keep your health once you are there."

"And I shall pray every day for Your Majesty's peace and wellbeing."

I recited the lie I had rehearsed in my head a dozen times before coming to this banquet, wearing my carefully painted smile at its fullest — all while picturing a blade sinking into that shameless face.

"I shall do the same. May Goddess Fria bless you, Attilenta."

Having observed every nuance of the kingdom's etiquette, I withdrew from the King's hypocritical blessing.

Then came the next person to approach me — and oh, of course. It was Selena. Beneath the wide sleeve of my gown, hidden from every eye in the hall, my hands clenched into fists.

"Attilenta. You're going somewhere so far away, somewhere so wonderful. I'm sad to see you go, but truly — congratulations."

When I answered with my thanks, Selena pressed close and continued in that same honeyed voice.

"Attilenta. It seems your little disgrace never reached his ears. Duke Antoni worked so hard to keep it that way. Isn't that a relief?"

Ha. I swallowed the bitter laugh that threatened to burst out of me at that pathetic little jab.

As if Antoni were the only one who worked at it? You did too, didn't you, Selena? You're sad to see me go because my usefulness slipped through your fingers. Isn't that right?

"Selena. I'm sad to part with you as well — but I'm glad I've found such a good man."

I mirrored her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gentle smile perfectly, and when I said the words good man, I let my voice ring a touch louder.

Henrik was taking me in the form of marriage, which meant he would have paid the appropriate bride-price to this kingdom's King.

It touched directly on his homeland's honor — there was no chance he would have handled it carelessly.

For the sake of that bride-price, neither the King nor the Duke — nor Selena, clinging to their sides — could afford to let my value be tarnished.

So they had hidden it all, it seemed. The barren woman, the bastard child, every vicious rumor. In other words, this was a marriage founded on a lie — told by the King of Francia and his nobles, myself included, to the Prince of Bwędowska.

A fraudulent marriage. I rolled the phrase quietly around in my mouth.

"I think he really is a good man too, Attilenta. And the King is so pleased. Apparently the Kingdom of Bwędowska is quite wealthy."

That was the moment. Having finished his conversation with the King, Henrik approached and took his place at my side.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"So this is where my rain was hiding. And who might you be speaking with?"

He looked down at me with eyes like gleaming amethyst. His glance toward Selena, his every gesture, was elegance beyond reproach.

"Your Highness. Allow me to introduce myself once more. I am Selena of the House of Count Kennon. My congratulations on your marriage."

Henrik inclined his head toward Selena, who curtsied as gracefully as a deer. I could feel it, even as I pretended not to — every gaze in the hall fixed upon us.

Henrik drew the attention of a room without the slightest effort. I could see plainly that it would have been the same at a banquet where I didn't exist.

His cold features, his soldier's build, his smooth diction and low voice — everything about him marked him as attractive.

No need to overcomplicate it. The correct answer was simply this: to use this man who had walked right up to me.

I smiled sweetly and addressed my husband in the softest of tones.

"Your Highness. How was your conversation with my father? Hehe — I was only exchanging greetings with an old friend of mine. Selena was just telling me how delighted she is, and how she calls you a good man. Precisely my own thought, as it happens."

Playing it up for every eye in the room, I found Henrik answering Selena's overture with perfect composure, without missing a beat.

"A friend of my rain? Then I'm pleased to know you. This journey has already granted me a fine match, so there is much to celebrate indeed. I hope Lady Kennon enjoys the evening as well."

It was a display disguised as a blessing — an emphasis, whatever his true purpose, on the fact that he would be carrying a respectable wife away from this hall. As a foreign prince come for peace, it was precisely the attitude he ought to show.

"For His Highness to recognize Attilenta's true worth — I couldn't be more overjoyed on her behalf. I shall pray that peace and happiness fill the lives of both Your Highness and my dear friend."

"Selena. Thank you, truly, for your congratulations."

I replied with the intimacy of old affection, and inside, I thought:

My father in name only. The Duke. Selena. And every other noble who took part in this gilded farewell. They actually believe they've deceived the Prince of Bwędowska.

It was a mistake, without question.

There was no way Henrik didn't know of my disgrace. A man that ambitious, that hungry for war — how could the intelligence possibly have been lacking?

Henrik holds not the faintest interest in his bride's family or her country. Not a shred of it.

His purpose is clear. Just like mine.

And so he observes even this — cutting his courtesies with perfect precision, making it look as though nothing the least bit troubled lies between us.

That he guaranteed even this much was thoroughly satisfying to me.

It gave me quiet relief, too, that he would likely extend the same courtesy in front of others once we reached Bwędowska.

Honestly, it didn't matter to me what we called this — a false wife, a fraudulent marriage, whatever word suited it.

Henrik wants nothing more than to conquer this continent. And I have no interest in a husband. What I want is the destruction of this country I can hardly bear to call my homeland — the Kingdom of Francia. I want it shattered, just as my dreams, my hopes, and my faith were shattered.

There could be no bargain more profitable to us both. Soaked in satisfaction, I smiled a deep, lingering smile.

The banquet wound on at a comfortable pace and then drew to a close. Immediately afterward, I followed Henrik into his carriage. From Henrik to the northern knights to the carriage itself, everything was swift and stripped of all excess.

I didn't so much as glance out the window.

How long this journey took meant nothing to me. My thoughts were fixed only on what I would do from here.

As we left the Kingdom of Francia behind and traveled farther ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠northeast, a strange scent began to drift in — a damp, humid fragrance I had never smelled before.

There was even a taste of salt in it. Henrik must have caught it too, because he spoke in a languid voice.

"We're nearly there."

I had heard the northern kingdom lay open to the sea. That bracing, briny scent stung my nose. So this is the smell of the ocean.

Even alone in a carriage with Henrik, I felt a crisp, vivid energy lingering in the air. Yet knowing he had arrived at his homeland, his face showed not a flicker of feeling.

The scent of the sea was new to me as well, but I was hardly drowning in the thrill of travel. I turned my gaze to my husband in name, seated across from me.

His black hair, the sharp line of his nose and jaw — everything about him conspired to make him look like a man carved of ice.

"It was a long journey. It wasn't too taxing on you?"

On its surface, the words sounded kind — but there was not a trace of worry in Henrik's eyes or his voice. Taking it as yet another of his little tests, I answered evenly.

"Not in the slightest, Your Highness."

Henrik regarded me with that familiar, unhurried composure. And I pictured myself standing tall at his side.

To achieve my purpose, I first needed standing of my own. Only then could I carve out a place for myself in the Kingdom of Bwędowska that no one would dare dismiss — a place from which I could act.

And for that, two things mattered above all else.