The Queen's Epistolary

by Dyanne_Hellen_Sotobod

Summary:

The crown of Amestris is up for grabs, and it's anyone's game...as long as you're willing to play.

Artefact: a diary kept by Queen Elizabeth, the Last, detailing her rise to power and the final years of the monarchy.

Chapter 1: 16 October 1882

My Dearest Elizabeth,

It is now weeks since I last held your hand, heard your laugh, and enjoyed your company. I am heavy with sorrow as I pen these words, knowing you shall never read them, for my world is darker without you in it. You have been my dearest companion, a sister to me, for thirteen years, and the knowledge that I shall never see you again I struggle to find the words to explain my feelings. You have left a void in my soul as I move through my days without you, and I spend so much time imagining the things you would do and say were you with me now. So I write to you, hoping that in doing so your spirit might linger with me a little longer.

The margrave, witness to the horrifying events that took you from me, was the one who carried you outside, then buried you, and in the aftermath, he brought me to his estate. It was very kind of him to do so, and he continues to treat me with kindness and respect, more than my station deserves, though he seems to me He has invited me to dinner several times, though he makes no protestations when I refuse, and leaves me to my own devices. He has ensured I have fresh clothing, which fits tolerably well, and he even sent this book this morning, with a short note hoping it will help aleviate any boredom I feel. It is a kind gift, but my listlessness comes not from a lack of things to do, but from grief. I believe he knows this, though, as all dresses supplied to me have been black.

But this is most odd: he has not housed me in servants’ quarters, as he ought, nor even in guest suites, but in the margravine’s suites. What do you think of that? I was shocked when I found out, and even nervous, for surely that meant he had adjoining rooms. However, one of the servants (her name is Meg, and she is the one who supplies my clothing, though, as you would expect, I still prefer to dress myself) told me he sleeps quite far away, in a guest room close to the backs stairs leading tot he library.

And what of the margravine? Well, Elizabeth, there is no margravine, the margrave being quite unmarried, though he is certainly old enough to be and not without the charm that many noble ladies must find attractive. He is a handsome man, and he carries himself with the confidence of one well aware of this fact. There is a certain way he moves and speaks: he is never hurried, never uncertain. I have noticed how the housemaids observe him when they believe no one is watching. He speaks to them in passing, and his manner is always proper, yet something passes between them that leaves the maids blushing and smiling when the exchange is ended. I have never heard him say, nor seen him do, anything indecorous, but it is clear that most of the maids are besotted with him. It seems to me that he toys with them, and not taking a lady of the house is part of his game. He is, as Mrs Haugen would call him, “every inch a rake.”

Oh, poor Mrs Haugen. For she is gone too. It is so strange, so terribly lonely, to be the only survivor. Even Albert is gone, and I feel guilty for not being as sad for him as I ought to be, when I know he would feel more for me; then again, that was always the way of things, wasn’t it?

And here I am, with no one to care for me anymore. The margrave treats me as a guest, which is discomfiting in its own way, and even Meg speaks to me very little (when she does, she calls me “ma’am,” as though I am so great lady deserving of the address), and the rest of the servants not at all. A friend of the margrave’s is here, a Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, and his wife, though I have only met the man. He is terribly friendly, but there is still some distance in how he interacts with me. I believe he must resent me for being so well kept, and the servants too, which makes me wonder why the margrave continues to keep me here, where I can do naught but wander the halls, haunting the place like some mournful spectre.

Oh, Elizabeth, what am I doing here? I wish, more than anything, that you were with me. I need your counsel, dearest friend, and I miss you more than I am able to say.

Notes:

No, I’m not giving up on TAC. I’m just ADHD. And this has been part of my warm-up process for years, and it’s just been gathering dust on my hard drive…So here you go. This is the one where they get to be happy :D

This is also going up 100% unedited. So, hooray for mispellings and type-o’s!

Chapter 2: 18 October 1882

My Dear Elizabeth,

How strange it feels to write you again, as if you were waiting for a second letter. I cannot help confiding in you, as I always have, and the events of today have only deepened my bewilderment about this house and those within it.

First, there is the master of this house: This morning, as I wandered through the halls in a desire to find my way to the gardens (even in the time I have been here, I find the house so sinuous as to make me lose and forget my way frequently), I came across a gallery filled with portraits of what, I assumed, were the present margrave’s ancestors. One painting in particular caught my attention—a striking figure, with a broad face, light hair, and a commanding presence. But what truly gave me pause was the lack of resemblance between he subject and the margrave, for the margrave is dark featured and lean.

It happened that the man himself passed me at that moment, and he spoke to me. I shall try to recall the conversation as best I can. First, he noted the painting I was admiring and said, “The previous margrave.”

Curiosity drove me to say outright, “There is little in his features to suggest kinship between you.” The surprise in his expression was mild but definite, and I added, “I apologise, My Lord. That was impertinent.”

He waved a hand, as though he cared little for my apology. “Not at all. I prefer direct conversation.” He then came to stand next to me and look at the painting himself, moving with such slow, measured confidence that I was reminded of a cat. He then continued, “You are quite right to see no relation, and I’m afraid there is none.”

I did not press, but waited for him to continue. After a moment, he did. “I know little of my predecessor, except that he was fond of good wines and maintained an excellent collection.”

It seemed vulgar to ask how he had come into the estate and title, so I searched for anything else to say. “How did he pass?” I realised then that such a question might be interpreted as equally vulgar, but he seemed unperturbed.

“Disease took him,” said the margrave, “the same sickness that took many others. It was seven years ago now.”

I nodded. Albert’s family, of course was affected, as you remember, though all of our food entering the castle was well washed and cleansed in vinegar. “We were well protected from it.”

He turned his attention from the painting to me, and I felt hot under his gaze. He has a way of looking at a person as if he sees through them, Elizabeth, and I do not know what he makes of me. “Indeed,” he said, his voice dark, but when he next spoke, it was with the lightness of a casual conversation. “The margrave and the margravine passed childless, so the estate went to a distant cousin who never set foot in the place, for he caught the same sickness on the road and succumbed.”

“How awful!” I cried, but I thought I understood how he fit into the family puzzle. “Were you a distant cousin of his then?”

He laughed—or, rather, I thought it was a laugh. He could just have easily suppressed a cough. “The next heir fell from the king’s favour quite dramatically, and the king seized the estate and all of its holdings for the crown.”

I thought for a moment that he was toying with me, that as long as I stood there he would list all the hands through which the title had passed before arriving in his own, and I recalled that he had declared he preferred directness, so I abandoned thoughts of vulgarity and asked him plainly, “Then how did it come into your possession, My Lord?”

He was not plain with me. Again, his tone darkened as he said, “When someone loses the king’s favour, someone else always gains it.”

Well, Elizabeth, you can imagine my annoyance! For he is clearly fond of cryptic statements, so long as he is the one who makes them. “You said you prefer direct conversation.” I regretted my accusation almost immediately. I am his guest, Elizabeth! He could easily have me thrown out, or done worse, based on the disrespect I had shown in throwing his words back at him.

But he seemed pleased by this; his smile changed, for normally his smile is even, measured, but just then, one corner lifted higher than the other. I thought it peculiar that someone should have two distinct smiles. “It’s not a story for today,” he told me, and then he asked where I had been headed, or if the portrait gallery was my destination. He then asked if he could escort me to the gardens by way of the margravine’s room, and along our route he pointed out many notable features of the house, sculptures and paintings and interesting wall hangings, which might help me find my way in the future. I was most grateful for his assistance, and I apologised for occupying too much of his time, a sentiment he rejected, insisting that it would be his honour to escort me wherever I would like to go. I found this baffling, for how could he find the company of a common woman any sort of honour?

He left me to my own devices in the garden, however, and I passed a pleasant two hours admiring the flowers along the garden paths while I puzzled over how exactly he had won the king’s favour. I wondered if you and I might have achieved the king’s favour for your sake, were you still alive to try.

But when I returned to the margravine’s room, I found something which has perplexed me and made me quite uneasy. I have been invited summoned to dine tonight with the margrave’s guests. You recall I last wrote of the Lieutenant Colonel Hughes and his wife, but yesterday morning, the margrave welcomes two more guests, both of whom I have seen but not spoken to. The first is a dark-haired woman who looks about our own age. I understand that she is a the Countess Catalina, and she travels in the company of the second guest, the Archduke of the East Region.

A duke! Elizabeth, how am I to dine at the margrave’s table with a duke? I fear I shall be utterly out of my depth. Yes, we had a tutor to help you through the finer points of dining etiquette, to which I paid attention for you at least, so I feel I will at least not insult their sensibilities with poor manners, but how am I to make conversation? What could a duke—what could any of them!—have in common with someone of my status?

And yet this is still not the most troubling thing. Meg came to help me prepare for this evening. She is now drawing a bath in the next room—Elizabeth, the margrave has running water in his house. All one must do is turn a small knob, and water flows through a spout set in the wall. And even more wondrous, above the bathtub, there are two such knobs and spouts, one which sends cold water, and the other hot! Hot water whenever one should desire it! It is such a stark contrast to how we used to live, boiling kettles of water to fill a tub, just for the water to cool in the time it took to boil the next.

But, Elizabeth! Not five minutes ago, I asked Meg from where the dresses I have been wearing come, for they are not made for me, but they are close enough to my size and far finer than anything I have ever worn: tonight’s ensemble in particular is a marvel. It is, like all the other dresses I have worn since my arrival, completely black. The fabric is so soft and so smooth that it must be silk, and the overskirt is decorated with raised embroidery of irises. Well, when I asked her of its origins, Meg said, “They belong to the baroness, Your Highness.”

I was taken aback. I confess I still am. At first, I thought she must have misspoken, or perhaps I had misheard, but not ten seconds later, she said she would run a bath, and she called me “Your Highness” again! Oh, Elizabeth, it seems the servants do not avoid me out of resentment, but instead some sort of awe, for it seems they believe I am you!

It now occurs to me that even the margrave must be under this false impression, for why else would he insist on keeping me here, dressing me in a baroness’s clothes, allowing my frank questions and disrespectful accusations, declaring that escorting me is an honour? I cannot allow the mistake to continue, but I fear what might happen if I corrected a maid and it then reached the margrave’s ears. Would he consider me a liar? Would he do worse than throw me out? I must correct him first of all, and he might take some mercy on me for the misunderstanding.

Chapter 3: Artefact: A dinner invitation

Esteemed Madam,

I hope this note finds you well and adjusting happily to life here at Skathwald. For this evening, I am hopeful that you would be willing to dine with myself and my guests. They have expressed some desire to meet you, and I must confess some desire to make further acquaintance of you.

I have sent a maid to help you prepare.

Margrave Osteburg

Chapter 4: 18 October 1882, cont.

Dear Elizabeth,

What a strange evening it has been. I have just returned from dinner, and I scarcely know where to begin.

From the moment I arrived downstairs, it was clear that I was to be the centre of attention. Each of the margrave’s guests did his or her best to supply me with canapés and sparkling wine (the countess declared it “barbarous” that you and I were denied such a luxury at the castle, to which the lieutenant colonel’s wife reminded her that there are many more barbarous things in the world). The margrave, for his part, spoke very little, contenting himself to watch the proceedings with a certain quiet satisfaction.

When we went through to dinner, I found myself seated across from him, at the opposite head of the table. The lieutenant colonel sat to my left, and the duke to my right. I recall from the etiquette lessons, and I am proud of myself for remembering something from so many years ago, that one is supposed to speak to the person on one side or herself during one course, then switch to speak to the person on the other side during the next course. But in such a small party, this rule was abandoned. Instead, they all preferred to question me.

I do not remember who asked what, but the questions included:
⁃ Had I lived in the East my whole life? (I admitted I have)
⁃ Did I have any family living? (I confessed I did not know)
⁃ When had I gone to the castle? (Shortly after my ninth birthday)
⁃ He’d we really not been allowed to leave? (Yes, though I did not explain that I had slipped out several times with Albert’s assistance)
⁃ What did I know of the conflict with Creta, in the West? (I had not heard of this conflict, isolated as we had been for so long)

And so many more. So often was I questioned and so often did I answer that I scarcely had any time to eat; though my nerves were so tight and my appetite so diminished by it, I do not think I could have eaten much besides. I know the food was exquisite, but I ate so little I can hardly recount what was served.

All of their questioning seemed to demonstrate that they believed me to be myself, and you to be yourself, so I decided the mistake must have been on Meg’s part alone. When one of the courses had been cleared away, and another was incoming, the lieutenant colonel’s wife asked how I was settling in.

I told her, “Very well, thank you. Everyone is so kind.” She smiled at me, and I continued, “Though something strange did happen today.” I told them what Meg had called me, ‘Your Highness,’ and the effect was immediate. Each of the guests fell silent turned to look, not at me, but at their host, who drank from his own wine glass as though nothing were wrong.

“Curious indeed,” he said finally. “How interesting that a maid should make such a mistake.”

The lieutenant colonel returned to conversation—he is all merriment and politeness—and the mirth of the evening returned, but I could not shake the feeling, as the margrave continued to watch me for the duration of our meal, that the mistake had somehow been mine.

After dessert, we went through to the drawing room, and I made my excuses to come upstairs. I feel I have stumbled into something beyond my own understanding. For now, I shall retire, and try to still my restless thoughts.

Chapter 5: 20 October 1882

Dear Elizabeth,

The margrave is mad.

I have little time to explain now, but let it suffice for now that I have discovered something horrible, and that I must leave as soon as I am able. It is clear that he has brought me here for an awful purpose, one which I cannot abide and will not willingly support. I do not know what he will do to be should I refuse—he is dangerous, I believe—so I cannot stay.

I will pack what little is mine, taking nothing from this place, for it is best that I am rid of it, and it of me.

I will write again, if I can.

Chapter 6: 22 October 1882

My Dearest Elizabeth,

I finally have a moment to write, though I tremble when I recall all that has happened. I have settled in a small inn, several towns removed from the margrave’s estate, and I pray I am safe for now. Safe enough, at least, to relay the truth of what occurred, what forced me to run away.

It was two nights ago, now. I couldn’t sleep, and I decided to take a walk through the halls, and go to the library, hoping I might borrow something to read that might calm my restless thoughts. There is a back staircase in the east wing, close to the guest bedrooms, which leads downstairs and ends just next to the library, so I crept down it, not wanting to disturb the other guests. When I arrived at the landing, I saw the library door slightly ajar, and I heard voices—his voice, and that of Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. I then made up my mind to leave, as I was in my nightclothes and not decent to be seen by two men, so I turned to go the way I came.

Then I heard the lieutenant colonel say your name, and I stopped to listen, and I am glad of it. If I had not, I would be unaware of any danger, and I would still be a fly in the margrave’s web.

The lieutenant colonel then said, “But no one will believe it. Her manners are well enough but not courtly—”

“I will explain to the king that she is staying here while she recovers from her ordeal and mourns the loss of her friend. We can perfect her manners in that time,” said the margrave.

“Even so,” said Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, “she must look differently enough from Princess Elizabeth that someone will notice.”

This made little sense to me. True, we were far from dissimilar, but I could not understand how this mattered at all to the two men in the library.

I fear, Elizabeth, that I soon did.

I stepped closer to the door, and I could see beyond how the two men sat, the lieutenant colonel in a chair facing the fire, his face obscured, and the margrave in a chair just beyond, turned just enough that I could see his face. The flames illuminated his expression and he drew one finger along his mouth in thought.

“No one else alive has seen the princess for at least a decade, but I saw them together,” the margrave said. “They could have passed for sisters. Their hair and eyes were nearly the same shade, and the girl is not noticeably taller than the princess was. Their countenance was quite similar, enough to convince anyone who might need convincing.” He reached for a decanter on a low table between them.

“And how will you convince her?” asked Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. “I do not think that she will agree, even if you ask as politely as you can if she would pretend to be her dead mistress.”

I then understood the enormity of their conversation, what the margrave plotted. My heart still pounds and my head feels light when I think on it! The very idea, that I would pass myself off as you, is repulsive to me. But even then, I did not think he was serious. I thought, perhaps, I had misheard.

The margrave sighed and poured drinks for himself and his friend. He leaned back in his chair and swirled his glass. “Things would have been simpler if the princess had lived instead. That would have required only a little seduction. This will be more difficult, to be sure,” he smiled, and in the shadows cast by the darkened library, and in the flickering of the firelights’ glow, he looked like a devil out of a nightmare, “but I am confident in my abilities. Perhaps I shall first make her fall in love with me, and then convince her the only way to be together is through the pretence.”

“And then you’ll marry her.”

“Naturally.”

They drank together, and I found myself struggling to breathe, for everything from the past weeks began to make sense. The margrave had every intention of passing me off as you, and he had already begun that work. The maids thought I was a princess not because of any mistaken identity on their part, but because he must have told them as much, and he would manipulate me into agreeing.

I ought to have run then, but I longed to know his reasons for it, and soon, I learned this as well.

“She is pretty,” said Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, and my cheeks burned when I heard this, but they burned hotter still when he continued, “but I think you have always taken notice of more handsome women. Are you sure you’ll be satisfied?”

You cannot imagine, Elizabeth, how it feels to be discussed in such a manner, as though one is a belonging to be considered for sale.

“When she is queen,” said the margrave, “I shall have everything. Of course, I will be satisfied.”

The lieutenant colonel laughed. “You’ve always been ambitious, old friend. I’ll give you that.” He raised his glass in a toast, which the margrave mirrored, and he said, “Well, then. Long live the king.”

I turned to go, knowing then that I must flee, but a step creaked under my foot when I was halfway up the stairs, and their voices ceased. I ran. I ran as fast as I could to the room and threw myself onto the bed and pulled the covers over my head. I had early enough time to steady my breath before I heard the door open. Someone stood there, not saying anything, though I am sure I would not have heard them if they had spoken, so loud was my own pulse in my ears, and after what seemed an eternity, the door closed.

I waited until I was certain I was alone, and then I changed into my old clothes, those I had worn when I had first arrived. I meant to take nothing from the house, but, I confess, I did take this book, and I took one pair of earrings from the vanity, meaning to pawn them for enough money to keep me alive until I could find work.

I held my shoes in hand as I crept out of the room and down the hall, through the baize door leading to the servants’ quarters, down through the kitchens and out into the yard. There, I put my shoes on, and I fled, through the estate grounds and into the woods beyond, the cold biting into my skin.

I came upon a stream within the woods, and I knew it would do to cover my tracks. Wading upstream was awful—the water was freezing, and my skirts and stockings did little to keep me warm, and soon my legs and feet grew numb. On I walked, for miles, I think, slipping on rocks and shivering so violently, but, soon, the stream led me out of the woods, where I found a little farmhouse.

No lights shone in the windows, but a thin stream of smoke still rose from the chimney. A little shed sat in the yard, and as I passed, geese honked, loud and insistent, and soon I heard voices from within the house. I feared there was no place to hide, save the way I had come, but then I spied the opening to a hayloft in the roof of the house, and a ladder leading to it. I scrambled up just as the farmer and his wife emerged from their home, armed with lanterns to quiet the birds.

“Damned foxes,” I heard the farmer say, and he observed to his wife that the lock on the goose shed was firm. The started toward their house again, and I thought I might rest for a few hours. The loft was warm, filled with the sweet scent of fresh hay, and I readied myself to remove my wet things and spread them to dry.

But, then, hoofbeats.

Horses and riders descended upon the farm, and the farmer and his wife cried out, first in confusion, then in wonder. I strayed as close as I dared to the opening of the loft, though I already knew: the margrave was among them.

He greeted them, all charm and politeness, begging them to be at ease. Their admiration for him was clear, and they were all compliance when he told them that he was looking for a thief.

I became too aware of the weight of the earrings in my pocket, and then he said, as if the farmer and his wife were his superiors and not he theirs, “Would you please allow my men to search the house?” The farmer and his wife, poor souls, were honoured to allow it, and the margrave gave an order for the two to be taken back to his own house, to be fed and put up for the night, which sent them into rapturous thanks. Most of the soldiers left to escort them, leaving behind the margrave, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, and two others.

Once the farmer and his wife were gone, the margrave gave another order, and the two men entered the house. I could hear their conversation through the floorboards beneath me, and I lay still, scarcely daring to breathe, as they searched below.

“What’s this thief meant to have taken?” asked one, his words drawn long and lazy.

“Margrave says we search, so we search,” said the second, his own tone humourless and low.

“Still,” said the first, “it would help if we knew what we were looking for.”

Their voices lowered, the conversation indiscernible to me, until the first cried out, “The princess?”

“Quiet, Havoc!” said the second. “Do you want the whole country to know we’ve misplaced a whole princess?”

They whispered between themselves, then left, slamming the door behind them. I could still see them through the window of the hayloft as they approached the margrave.

“Well, Breda?” the margrave said.

The first man, who was rather short and round, said, “Nothing,” while the second, taller and with lighter hair, shook his head. The margrave spoke to them then in low tones, and the two mounted their horses and rode into the night, headed away from the farm and the margrave’s lands.

The margrave and Lieutenant Colonel Hughes were alone.

“What happens if we don’t find her?” Lieutenant Colonel Hughes said. “She’s been smart enough to sneak out, to avoid leaving a scent trail, and to evade being spotted.”

“We’ll find her,” said the Margrave. “She’s on foot. She can’t have gone far.” And he turned and lifted his gaze to the hayloft.

I jumped away from the hole through which I had spied, my heart hammering and my breath short. He hadn’t seen me, he couldn’t have, but nonetheless I burrowed into the hay, pulling it over me like a blanket. No sooner had I covered myself than I heard Lieutenant Colonel Hughes say, “Up there? It’s too small.”

“And she’s small,” said the Margrave. “She could squeeze.” And then I heard the terrible sound of the ladder creaking. “Lantern,” said the Margrave after a moment.

I pressed a hand against my mouth, and my whole body shook so much I was sure he would see. The little loft filled with light, which came through the little cracks in the hay over my face, and I held my breath. But then the light receded, and the Margrave said, “Not here.”

“I told you,” said Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, and the ladder creaked again. “I think we ought to decide what to do if we don’t find her. Everyone knows you brought the princess home. I say we find another girl who could pass for her, you work your charm, and then—”

“For God’s sake, Hughes,” the Margrave snapped. “That was her in the hall. I’m sure of it. She knows far too much, and as long as she is out there and alive, she’s a threat.” A horse whinnied and stirrups clanged.

“Are you going to kill her?” When no reply came but the pounding of hooves leaving the farm, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes called, “Roy! Are you going to kill—oh, for God’s sake.” A second horse galloped away, likely following the first, and I at last dared to breathe.

My lungs burned as I lay there, panting in the darkness, and I knew I could not stay any longer. I had to go as far from him as possible, and I could not rest until I was sure of some measure of safety.

So I pulled myself from the hayloft, descended, and I confess, I did steal from the farmer and his wife. They had some copper pieces on the mantel in their home, and I took the heel of a loaf of break and a small portion of cheese, leaving behind the pilfered earrings. Perhaps they will turn them in for a reward. On and on I walked, until the sun was rising. I kept far from roads, changing my direction whenever I saw one, walking with the sun at my back. I was so tired by the time I came to the first village, but I only stayed long enough to sneak into a stable to cup some water from a trough, and then I was on my way again.

I passed a second village around midday, and came to this one at nightfall. I was exhausted when I pushed into an inn, and I offered the copper pieces to the innkeeper.

The inn is not crowded, so I am alone in this room, and it has a simple desk and chair, from which I write to you now. I fell into the bed just before midnight, and. it is just past noon now. The innkeeper’s wife has been good enough to bring me some warm water for washing, though I drank more than half of it. I will sleep tonight, and then I will go again in the morning. I hope that when I next write, Elizabeth, I shall be out of the wretched East and hidden in the crowds of

Chapter 7: 23 October 1882

Dear Elizabeth,

He found me. I lingered too long in one place before moving on, and I am now back at his estate, locked away int he margravine’s bedroom. The door is bolted from the outside, the windows are sealed—there will be no easy escape for me again.

When I wrote to you last, I was interrupted by calls and shouts from below, then a great clamour in the hall. I had no time to wonder what had happened, for then the door to the room in which I stayed flew open, and he stood there, shoulders heaving and fury burning across his face.

I jumped to my feet and backed behind the desk; a poor shield, but all I had.

He stepped inside, closed the door softly behind him, and said, “You’ve given us quite the chase.” His voice was as smooth as it ever was, but there was a definite menacing edge to it that reminded me of how the lieutenant colonel had asked him if he meant to kill me.

“Let me go,” I whispered. “I’ve stolen nothing, and I will say nothing—”

“But you have stolen, haven’t you?” he said, and he stalked toward me. I backed away until my back hit the wall, but he did not stop. “You stole a pair of earrings from me, and then you stole from that poor farmer.” He picked up this book from the desk as he passed, and he held it in front of me. “And you stole this.”

I shook my head and reached for the book, which he snatched back, out of my reach. “It was a gift—”

“Gifts are between friends,” he said sharply, “which we clearly are not.”

I looked to my left, toward the window, considering how it might provide me a way out, and he seized my jaw, forcing me to look back at him again. His grip was tight, and I could feel callouses on the tips of his fingers.

“And, of course,” said he, “you took the most valuable thing of all: yourself.”

He reached into a pack at his side, and I was certain he would produce some weapon with which to kill me.

All at once, I could not breathe and my eyes stung. I tried to pull back from him, but his grip was firm, and he held firmer still when I struggled. “Please,” I begged him, my voice catching on the word.

But when he pulled his hand out, he held not a weapon but a bundle of black cloth. “Put this on,” he said, before releasing me, tossing the bundle onto the bed, and leaving, still holding the book.

I sank down against the wall and took a moment to catch my breath. I had not changed out of my clothes, so overcome with exhaustion that I had fallen asleep the night before in my corset and dress. My shoes were by the door, and I thought that if I were quiet enough in retrieving them, I might still be able to escape through the window.

But when I looked through the glass, I saw the two men who had searched the farmer’s house, Breda and Havoc, speaking with a coach driver. I would never be able to climb through the window and drop to the ground their seeing, and the margrave was certainly still outside the door. The inn had not proven the refuge I had hoped; it was a trap, and I was fully ensnared.

I went to the bed and fingered the black cloth. It was a soft wool, and when I unfolded it, I found it was wrapped around a full travelling suit made from a heavy block cotton and trimmed in black satin. There was a skirt, a bodice, and a jacket, and even a hair cloth pad to hold up the bustle in the back of the skirt. It seemed odd that the Margrave would dress me to kill me, especially if he wanted to continue his story of my theft. But I had dined with the Margrave and seen what a spectacle these nobles make of their meals—they dress a bird with beautiful flowers and berries just to tear it apart and eat it.

Left with no other option, I removed my skirt and blouse and folded them neatly. At least, if I was to die, I would be wearing something finer than I ever had in my life.

The skirt fell across the pad and down to the floor in soft waves, spilling down the back in pressed, pleated waves trimmed in a deeper burgundy. The bodice proved a challenge—it buttoned up the back, and try as I might, I could not reach them all.

I began searching the room for a button hook or something that would make the task of dressing easier, when the door flew open again, and the Margrave said, “What is taking so long?”

I pressed the bodice, half buttoned and slipping from my shoulders, against by chest and backed away from him. My back hit the wall, and I shook, fearing what he would do because I did not dress fast enough for his liking.

He was before me in three strides, and he grabbed my arm and spun me about. Then he stopped, for I know he saw. We both stood silent for a long while, my throat tightening and by cheeks burning, and he finally tapped his finger lightly between my shoulder blades twice. When he spoke, his voice was soft, “When did this happen?”

I could not summon my voice, and I felt the bodice tug against me as he fastened the last of the buttons. He stepped away from me, and I caught myself on the wall as my knees buckled. When he returned to my side, he had the matching suit jacket in his hand, and he helped me into it. He was not as forceful as he had been before, but his motions were still firm and hurried.

He stepped back as I buttoned the jacket, and he nodded to the bed and ordered, “Sit.”

I did, and the mattress shifted next to me as he did the same. He held my shoulders and turned me away from him, and then I felt his hands on my hair, pulling it all behind me. The pulling stopped, and one of his hands appeared in my periphery, holding a piece of hay that had lodged itself in my hair.

“So you were in the loft,” he said, and I nodded. “While I was there?”

When I nodded again, he hummed and flicked the piece of hay onto the floor. He continued pulling my hair, then winding and pinning it at the nape of my neck.

Then he stood and pulled the black cape around my shoulders.

I reached up to pat the braided knot at the back of my head. “You can dress ladies’ hair,” I said with some wonder.

He pulled me to my feet by my elbows, then released me. “I have a great deal of practice redoing hair and redressing women.”

My stomach turned, and I said, “And I suppose you’ve had equal practice in the undoing and undressing.”

“Obviously,” he said, and he smiled. This smile was uneven, one side of his mouth tipping higher than the other, and it was restrained, not reaching his eyes. It is, I believe, the first genuine emotion I have seen from him.

He pulled this book from his waistcoat pocket and tapped it against my breastbone. I took it and held it tight against my chest, afraid to ask if he had read anything—though he had to ask if I had been in the loft while he searched it, so he must not have read much if anything at all.

He crossed the room and held the door open.

I stood still. If I went with him, then it was back to a prison until he decided what to do with me. If I refused to leave he might kill me where I stood. Neither choice was appealing.

“What will you do?” he said, his tone one of mockery. “Jump out the window? I’m sure you’ve noticed my men are outside just in case the thought crosses your mind.” He held out a hand, and the taunt in his voice faded to complete seriousness. “There is one way out, and it’s with me.”

I gathered up my old jacket. The skirt and blouse I left, for I had no particular attachment to them, but it was my blue jacket. The one you embroidered for me. He watched with seemingly mild disinterest as I crossed to him, the jacket and journal clutched tightly against my chest.

I did not take his hand, but he held me in place with his arm as he closed the door behind me. As he did, his mouth hovered close to my ear, and he hissed, “There is nowhere in the country you can go that I will not find you.” Then he pulled back, and that measured, even smile came across his face as he proffered his arm. “Your Highness.”

Again, I refused to touch him, so he pressed his hand against the small of my back. I walked quickly to avoid his hand, but he kept pace and ushered me downstairs, through the main room, and into the daylight.

Havoc opened the door to the coach, and I pulled myself in, again refusing the Margrave’s offer of assistance. Havoc seemed to think this very funny, but he quickly silenced his laugh and said, “Apologies, my lord,” though he did not sound sorry at all.

I settled myself into the corner of the coach far from the door, and the Margrave climbed in after me. A few moments later, he rapped his knuckles on the roof of the coach, and we lurched as it began to move.

I pressed myself into the back of the seat, wishing I could go father from him, and he watched me, indifferent to my discomfort.

We must have ridden in silence for an hour before I finally said, “What are you going to do with me.” One of his brows lifted, and I continued, “I know what your plot is, and I have no intention of cooperating. So you must mean to kill me.”

He snorted. “Don’t rush me.” Then he lifted a hand to his mouth in thought. His next question surprised me:

“What is your surname?”

“What?” I said.

He huffed, clearly unused to repeating himself and not liking the need to. “Your surname,” he demanded.

I told him, and the only reaction he gave was a slight narrowing of his eyes. “And how did you come to be in that castle?”

I could see no point in refusing; he would find out on his own if I did not tell him, so even my refusal would have no sting. So I told him of my childhood with my father, of how the king had ordered the search for companions for you, and how, after several girls had come and gone from the position, I had been selected the day after my sixteenth birthday. I told him that for the first year I had been allowed to leave, bringing home wages to my father to supplement his earnings from teaching various apprentices. I told him that I had been forbidden from leaving myself in my second year, and that we passed the next three together in near isolation, having one another and various tutors as our only company, but that even the tutors had stopped coming. I told him that the last four years of our captivity were spent alone, just the two of us and the cook, and that we had loved one another as sisters do.

When I had finished, he was silent, considering for a long while. Then he drew the curtains of the coach closed until the light was very dim, and he said, “Sleep. I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

I did not think I would be able to sleep with him so near and with my future so uncertain, but the rocking of the coach lulled me, and the next thing I knew was the distinct feeling of being carried with hushed voices around me. I could smell something warm and spicy, rather like wood smoke, oddly comforting and pleasant.

Someone laid me on a soft bed, and a warm hand brushed my hair from my brow. I recall nothing else.

I woke alone, back in the margravine’s room, with this journal and a pen on the table beside the bed. Someone had brought in jam and bread and a pot of tea and left it on the bench by the window, next to a folded suit of black cotton—this one buttons in front and has a high collar in the back. The suit is a near perfect fit, and I have no idea how it was finished so quickly. I have spent the better part of this morning writing and eating—but I have no intention of staying.

Chapter 8: 24 October 1882

My Dearest Elizabeth,

Since writing last, I have discovered there will be little chance of escape for me again. The windows, which opened when I was last here, have been sealed, the wood frame melded to the sill, the barest hint of transmutation lines where they were once separated. There is obviously an alchemist in the house.

I have continued to search, in vain, for another way out. There is a hidden door in one of the walls, but that remains locked. The main door leading to the hall is locked as well. I waited for hours for it to open, hoping a servant might enter with food, giving me just enough time to run, but no one has come.

I am utterly—

Dear Elisabeth,

I have made the starling discovery that there are two children in this house: young boys, in fact. I do not know if they are the Margrave’s; he is unmarried, but that does not preclude his begetting two bastards by some poor maiden nearby. If they are his blood, however, I would be most surprised, as he does not strike me as a paternal sort of person, and they did not seem fond of him as children might be for their father. Indeed, one in particular seemed to despise him.

In that child I might have a kindred spirit.

I shall tell you how I learned this:

I was writing to you when I heard voices in the hall, outside the door to this room. Naturally, I dropped my pen at once and rushed over as silently as I could, for I thought it might be my chance at escape.

But imagine my surprise when I heard a child’s voice say, “This is the old margravine’s room, isn’t it?”

The Margrave corrected, “The late margravine’s room, yes.”

And I was further astounded when a second child cried, “You mustn’t call ladies ‘old’!”

“But she was old when she died,” said the first one. “Wasn’t she?”

The first child was never to receive an answer, for the second one said, “Why are we practicing here?”

I heard the rustle of paper unfolding, and the Margrave said, “I thought we might apply some of the work you’ve been doing.”

The voices lowered for a time, and I could not make out the words, though I could discern their tone: one of them sounds rather sweet, the other quite petulant and unimpressed, and I believe I heard him mutter “bastard” under his breath a few times, though I may be mistaken.

At last the Margrave said, “Go on.” Then there was a scratching sound on the door, as though someone were writing on it, and suddenly a bright current of light erupted near the floor, stretching up the wood of the door a short way. I jumped back in shock, and I might have made a sound, though no one seemed to mark it.

When the light faded, I could discern a faint outline of a rectangle the size of a large book at the bottom of the door.

“Well done, Alphonse!” said the Margrave. Something clicked and clacked on the other side, and he said, “You made smart work of the latch.”

And my middle sank, for I knew then what it was. He had directed the boy, Alphonse, to create a small trapdoor, too small for me to fit through, but large enough for a tray of food to be pushed through. I do not think the door to this room will ever open again.

“It’s boring!” cried the other boy. “You didn’t add any decoration to it—”

“That is precisely the aim,” said the margrave. “If I had let you do it, it would have been offensive and terrible.”

“You mean terrific.”

“I do not.”

“What’s it for?” said the boy called Alphonse. “Is it for a dog? Or a cat?”

The margrave’s voice was softer, warmer, when he said, “Perhaps.”

“Are we getting a cat?” cried the boy as footsteps moved away, though it seemed the children remained in place. “Ed, did you hear that?”

“Don’t get excited, Al,” said the other. “He won’t give us anything that doesn’t suit him.”

“Boys!” called the Margrave from down the hall, and a series of footsteps departed. Then, “Edward, leave it,” and a second pair of feet left me, though not without first groaning in annoyance.

There! What do you make of that? Two children, deceived my the master of this place into making my imprisonment more absolute. Should they return, I will attempt to make myself known to the one called Edward, for he might be willing to at least make the Margrave’s attempts to keep me here more difficult.