Mermaid_ A Twist on the Classic Tale - Carolyn Turgeon [84]
She nodded, close to tears. This was why she had come.
“We shall have his answer soon,” she said, looking down. And then back up at him. “And it will be for you to decide then.”
He smiled sadly and reached out his hand to her.
Nervous, she placed her hand in his, watched as he leaned forward and lifted her hand to his lips, the way he had in the garden. She shivered as his mouth pressed against her skin.
“This is not how I envisioned my life, Margrethe. It is a strange journey that has brought us here, to this moment. Don’t you agree?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
MARGRETHE WOKE UP the next morning feeling lighter than she had in days. He had not made any promises or declared his love, yet there was an opening.
A chance.
Margrethe berated herself for being so selfish. This was not about her happiness but about the good of the kingdom. She could do so little in the world, and yet she had done this.
But still. He had not forgotten her.
She lay back and allowed herself this moment, this one moment to luxuriate in that feeling.
Margrethe looked over at Edele, who was asleep beside her. It was early. Outside, the sun simmered across the water, casting a sweet light over the darkness. There was an ache inside her. Suddenly she wanted to see him again. There was so much more she wanted to say to him.
She dressed carefully, then left the room and told the guard outside where she wanted to go.
“I am not sure that is safe for you, Your Highness,” he said.
“Oh yes,” she said. “It is fine now. Take me there.”
Reluctantly, he led her down the spiraling staircase, through the corridor, past the great hall, and up to the prince’s chamber.
The door opened just as she approached, and Astrid walked out of the room, her hair loose and falling past her shoulders, and just the barest hint of shimmer on her skin.
Margrethe stopped in her tracks. Their eyes met. Not knowing what else to do, Margrethe turned to the wall, her face burning, as the prince’s lover rushed past her.
She stood with her forehead against the wall, her heart racing.
And then she turned and ran through the corridors. All her high-minded ideals, and it had come down to this. This: that the prince was in love with her. Someone else. Someone more beautiful.
Margrethe ignored the faces she passed as she ran back to the tower, and, when she reached the top of the stairway, she wanted to cry out with relief. She passed the guard and entered.
Edele had just awakened and was sitting, sleepily, by the window. There was a fire crackling in the hearth. Outside, the sea was calm and clear.
“Where were you?” Edele asked.
“Just taking a walk,” Margrethe said, not meeting her eyes.
“I asked for some wine, for us,” Edele said, “and cakes. I was not sure how you would be feeling.”
“I don’t know,” Margrethe said. “I …” She shook her head, then burst into tears. Great, wracking sobs as the words tumbled out of her. “Yesterday, we talked. Finally. Talked. He remembered me, he did not forget me. He feels something still, I saw it. This morning I went to his chamber, I wanted to talk more, and then I saw her leaving. He spent the night with her, Edele.”
“But, wait,” her friend said, wrinkling her brow. “That is not anything new. Right?” When Margrethe didn’t respond, she went on. “It will be different when you are married.”
“I know.”
“And it will happen. Everyone says so. That is the only reason your father is taking so long to respond. It will happen. And then you can be rid of her.”
“I know,” Margrethe said. “It’s just hard. It’s just …”
“It would be hard for any woman,” Edele said gently.
“That woman,” Margrethe said. “She cannot even speak. She gazes up at him with those eyes, adoring, like a puppy. That is all she does,