I had a newly discovered, occult practice of unlawful magic. An offense, if proven, that was punishable by death.
Indeed it was not some planned, strategic moment in some quiet, private space in which I almost blurted out the most horrendous, soul crushing thing I could ever tell my mother, the Queen. That her daughter's very existence goes against the most sanctioned law of the land, which she upheld scrupulously. No, it was just an ordinary day on a casual stroll in the gardens.
I often went to this particular sector of the rear courtyard garden to be alone with my thoughts. I spent many days there, as a younger girl, tucked away in a far corner, amidst the labyrinth of lilac bushes, reading folktales of the realm. I’d hoped to escape back in time to when magic and adventure enriched a land that I only knew to contain order, protocol and surface level social engagements. As I’ve grown older, and assumed more responsibilities, my time for such whimsy had dwindled so much so that I was grateful for even a brief stroll alone on a sun filled morning, or a breezy afternoon. If I was fortunate, I could manage such a feat in between sessions at court, diplomacy lessons, and various other royal social engagements that often filled my evenings now.
"Juuuniper!"
I winced and tensed as the musical, yet ominous, melody of my mother’s voice rang through the air calling me, only moments after I set foot on the gravel path. So much for a moment alone with the lilacs today.
"I’m glad I caught you dear, I shall join you for a stroll,” the Queen said, hastening after me. It was never a question with her, just an authoritative narration of her choices as she made them.
It’s not that I loathed my mother. Rather, I was painfully aware there was no arguing with her, evading her, or feeding her a half assed lie about why I'd prefer to refuse her company in this moment.
Truthfully, I was often awestruck by her–the strength and confidence she possessed. They were complementary to the beauty, grace and elegance that she exuded effortlessly, which made her a natural fit for her role as Queen. Her gifts allowed her to gain instant command over any space she moved into. What's more she could somehow express herself clearly to those in her presence with a single glance, gesture, or sound, at times, and not a soul would question her.
I simply looked back at her and nodded, then quickly turned my gaze ahead of me once again to hide any involuntary expression of disdain at the circumstance. Unlike my mother the Queen, I struggled at times to control my guise as well as my tone of voice. What was intrinsic to her, took the utmost concentration on my part. One would think it’d come naturally to me after years in her presence, that I should be well practiced, learning from the master. Alas, I was nowhere near as gifted with these abilities, and I was well aware of it.
This was just one of many obvious disparities between myself and the Queen, that perpetuated a tangible divide between us as mother and daughter as well. Yes, I admired so much about my mother–all she’s endured and much of what she embodied. She’d always upheld her duties flawlessly, living by the firm, but fair, boundaries brought forth by laws of this land.
At what point, however, does that strength start to feel like an unwavering rigidity? Rigidity that often hindered the chance that the Queen's own, very flawed, daughter might ever feel comfortable, let alone worthy, of being completely vulnerable in her presence? The kind of vulnerability needed to confide in one’s mother about the basic turmoil and joy of everyday life, let alone the darkest secret one could ever hold?
Known as Leona the Lionhearted, my mother, the Queen, had a coveted fierceness about her indeed.
With that, she had maintained quite the reputation for a bold, yet devotedly lawful rule alongside my father, King Viqtor. I admired how much they were seen as equals. She upheld a strong precedent for the females of the realm, and I would thank her for that some day if–no when–I took the throne.
When. I was still getting used to that.
Queens in other parts of the realm were not as lucky, merely a decoration embellishing a typically arrogant, all powerful King. This made the idea of choosing a husband before I could assume the throne all that more unnerving. For now, I was grateful my Mother and Father were alive and well, and happy to remain in power.
Once she had fully caught up to me, the Queen and I walked together in stride down the winding path past azaleas, roses, hydrangeas and various other blooms of the season. She commented on the weather, to which I murmured in agreement regarding how blessed we were for clear skies and a cool breeze. She also reminded me that after my, now our, little stroll we were hosting a high tea with a small group of ladies from court to discuss an upcoming gala I couldn't have cared less to think twice about.
Again to hide my indifference, which would likely come across off-putting, I only said “Yes, thank you. I’m aware and I will be there.” At least if she sensed my true feelings, she couldn’t use my choice of spoken words as fodder against me at a later point in time.
Her reaction was usual, though.
While my mother seemed to accept this acknowledgement for face value, I could tell she was feeling unsettled. She emitted a peculiar type of tension I was sensing. Her normal stoicism in place, I was puzzled as to why it seemed so obvious to me. Not something I could observe, something I just felt.
Furthermore, I’d done nothing wrong that I could pin-point. Not technically, anyway. Nothing they could possibly know about, or prove. In fact, I had been the picture of decorum and virtue the past few weeks, if perhaps a bit absent at times. Yet it was increasingly apparent to me that the Queen had something brewing in her mind that she seemed eager to discuss with me.
The question was: would she hold back and decide now was not the place or time; or was she desperately searching for a chance to break character, and have an honest moment with her daughter?
When I looked up to meet her gaze she blinked and looked away as if something had caught her eye–or as if she realized I had caught her in a sensitive place she wasn’t ready for me to witness. This put me at ease for the moment, thinking we might be able to at least enjoy our walk for what it was, even if we continued in silence until the path wound around again, and we made our way to tea.
As we strolled on, the sun danced on her golden hair, warm in comparison to her sharp nose and icy blue eyes–Thoby’s eyes.
My late brother, Thobias, former crowned Prince, favored my mother’s appearance more than I had, despite me being her only daughter. I shared my mother’s golden hair but many of my other features, including my more than average height, my green eyes, and head full of curls, were bestowed from my father’s side of the family.
Though I now stood tall enough for my eyes to graze over the simple, bejeweled crown perched on the Queen’s head, she still had the ability to make me feel as small as the stone garden gnomes we passed as we walked. Should I step out of line or fall short of expectations, the right glance from the Queen made me wish I could simply dissipate from the room.
In fact, if I could do magic publicly, I probably would conjure the right spell and do just that.
Surely, she never meant to make me feel this way, I would often remind myself. Losing Thobias had a powerful effect on us all, and she was still very much a grieving mother. Mourning her only son certainly had caused her to tighten down even harder–steadfast in her rule, and in her expectations of her now only heir to the throne–me. Somedays I just wished she could see that I was doing my best, even if I felt that it often meant coming up short of her standards.
Lost in thought, still quiet, we turned a corner near my favorite group of lilac bushes, fragrant as ever in the heat of the day. If I wouldn't be able to take refuge here alone, at least I could linger long enough to drink in a few moments, inhaling deeply the blissful scent. As I leaned in to put my nose to a luscious purple cluster, I felt a small, but firm hand enclose around my arm. A force lightly but swiftly, and spun me about, to reveal my mother inches from me, her brows furrowing deeply. This wasn't the look of someone angered, however; rather, distraught...perplexed? I was immediately alarmed as I seldom saw a break in her otherwise collected exterior, and fought hard to maintain my own.
“Juniper I’m not going to coddle you nor dwell on this unpleasantness, so I will ask you once forthright,” she said, sternly, before pausing. She took a breath, released my arm and softened her features. Her hand returned to meet the other in a clasp at her waist. She looked down briefly then focused back on me earnestly, “are you alright darling? Is there something you need to tell me?”
If she hadn’t said the word “darling”, so softly yet clearly, almost eagerly, it may have been easier for me to ignore the inquiry altogether. I felt a strange pang of guilt for not making more of an effort to meet her in the place where she extended herself to me in that moment. I had been spending a lot of time alone lately, and she’d noticed. I knew I could play it off as fatigue, brooding from the arduous task of finding a suitor, or general melancholia with an unknown underlying cause. But there was a rare softness in her voice–a genuine concern letting her know she wasn’t the Queen trying to straighten out the Princess, she was a mother trying to connect with her only daughter. But would she remain so soft if she knew the truth?
The garden, usually a place of sanctuary and quiet contemplation for me, now felt like a trap. I was cornered by the cunning lioness, who was carefully assessing her query. The only way out would be through making a decision I had been dreading since the day I learned I could do magic, only a few weeks prior.
I had often thought about how I would tell her, if I would tell her. Some part of me, deep down felt my mother would understand–that she would love her daughter unconditionally and know that it wasn’t my choice to accept this gift. But could my mother the Queen, Leona the Lionhearted, ruler of a land that deemed magic dangerous, chaotic and unnatural see the potential good that could come from one of its own royals wielding the power to control it; thus, reap its benefits on behalf of the realm?
My head whirling and my cheeks grew hot (it felt as though the sun now directed every beam of light it shone down onto my face), I made the mistake of meeting her gaze. In a panic, I was frozen and unable to speak for a moment. I did my best to search for a lie, an excuse, or even a way to possibly begin to tell her the truth about my secret. I didn’t allow myself to attempt to find words before I was ready, though. If the Queen witnessed me stumbling audibly, she would know I was lying in an instant, and I didn’t want to guess at how she’d react. It was better that I keep to the safety of my internal monologue for as long as I could before speaking.
And for once my shortcomings in finding the right words became a blessing in disguise.
“My apologies, your Majesty,” a familiar voice interjected from a small distance just beyond the hedge. "Greetings your highness," it added, acknowledging me briefly, along side my mother.
The voice belonged to one of our small council members, Heinrich. He was a former member of the royal guard turned advisor, as a severe injury had taken him out of combat. Fortunately, his skill for tactics and reconnaissance made his mind just as valuable to the royal high court as his gift with a blade was to our defenses.
In unison, we turned our attention to him. The Queen and I made simultaneous attempts to banish any look of surprise upon our faces that might give away the nature of the private moment we were just sharing. I was certain my mother had performed this act far better than I, though I couldn’t have been more grateful for the relief that washed over me, which I felt aided me in my attempt.
The Queen said nothing but rather spoke with one of her gentle nods and kind, but serious, looks that said “Go on then, I’m sure this must be urgent if you’re so keen on interrupting us."
“Apologies again, Queen Leona,” Heinrich repeated, his voice also kind but firm. This must have been an urgent matter. “I don’t mean to interrupt your promenade with the Princess but the King is sequestered with a small council issue and there is another pressing matter that he wishes you see to in his stead.”
That balance of power. The way he trusted her with even the most seemingly important matters in his absence. I could only wish and hope for that kind of partnership one day.
While the Queen’s gaze remained fixed on Heinrich, carefully weighing the news he carried, I felt a moment of clarity in the reprieve this situation offered, regardless of its severe sounding nature.
“Mother, don’t worry!" I replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Please go tend to the issue at hand. I’ll go greet the others in the tea room in your absence, and then join us when you are able!” I offered, trying not to sound too eager. My hope was to be more reassuring than anything, and demonstrate that I was also happy to support the family effort, if even in the most trivial of ways.
Of course royalty needed no excuse to be late, or absent at all. However, another aspect of my mother’s charm was her innate sense of upholding expectations she’d set for others when it came to social graces. I knew she’d appreciate this gesture and, even if it alleviated only a small amount of concern, I was grateful for the distraction.
With a nod of her head, whilst lowering her eyes, the Queen replied “Very well then.” Then she glanced back up at me with a knowing look that told me our interrupted discussion wasn't finished. I feared she wouldn’t let this go, but then at least it would buy me some time.
Heinrich waited for the Queen to approach and they left together as he escorted her back up the stone steps towards the castle. I watched her bright, brick red gown disappear through the entryway, as I paused for a moment to reflect on all that had just transpired. I assumed they were to meet back in the throne room. I hoped everything would be alright.
I had a few more moments to take in the sweet scent of the lilacs before I dutifully set off to join the ladies that would now be congregating for afternoon tea.
While I still found it dull and repetitive in both protocol and conversation, tea was a welcomed reprieve when considering the alternative of facing my mother's inquiry just then. The favorable weather, highlights from court earlier that day, and how lovely I looked in my simple flowing gown of peach and gold, with its matching tiara, comprised the bulk of our conversation before the Queen emerged from her unexpected engagement to join us.
The ladies were gossiping fervently about a potential suitor, a Prince, I might meet in the coming days at the gala we were planning, when I heard my mother down the hall. I had always had an unusually heightened sense of hearing, which came in handy when I chose to hone in on hushed conversations that were not meant for me.
“Yes, and don’t bother the King with this matter right now. I will tell him myself personally, once we conclude our tea. Thank you, Heinrich.” Was all the Queen said. But it was enough for me to guess the severity of the matter they were facing, whatever it may be. This piqued not only my curiosity, but also my concern for my parents; not only as King and Queen, but also as my mother and father.
Perhaps it was the first time this concept dawned on me in such a profound way, but I contemplated the weight of their dualistic lives. Not only do they shoulder the troubles and triumphs of the realm, but on a daily basis, also discerned what information to share with their most trusted advisors, their high court, and me: not only their daughter but now sole heir to the throne. The layers of thought that must go into so many of their routine decisions and delegations were likely countless at times. I didn’t envy them for that, though I often grappled with fathoming my inheritance of that same responsibility one day. They made it seem so second nature. Could I ever do the same?
The Queen appeared a moment later, and though it was only a flicker of a distraught expression, I was shocked to see her still so affected as she approached the entryway to the tea room. She quickly schooled her features, as she walked into the room, and I wasn't the least bit surprised that I was likely the only one who noticed any sign of distress upon her face. With her usual calm exterior, she greeted the other ladies in our company. They looked up at her adoringly and rose to greet her. They must have been so engrossed in their gossip that nothing had phased them.
The rest of tea went on as usual and the final details of the gala were sorted. Prince what's-his-name came up several times over and I was content to let the other ladies fawn over the anticipation of his arrival. Again, I was just grateful to not be the center of concern. While they yammered on, I thought of how I might address my mother when the next opportunity presented itself.
Now, she had information I was curious to know–though it still wouldn’t fully counter the heavy burden of the secret I carried. Perhaps I would kindly tell her I was tired from all of the excitement of the day and hope we could speak tomorrow, just the two of us, in my drawing room? If the truth had to come out at least it could be on my terms and in the comfort of my own private surroundings. Then I could better prepare myself for the multitude of ways she might react if I was completely forthcoming about my new found abilities.
When tea concluded, the Queen and I customarily were the first to excuse ourselves and leave the room. I braced myself for her to make another attempt at a heart-to-heart. I was as puzzled as I was grateful that she simply said, “Thank you for meeting them ahead of me, it was lovely to have you at tea. I have further business to attend to that needs my focus today. I’ll see you at dinner,” and she hastened down the hall.
I wasn’t sure if I should be more grateful or concerned that I was being let off the hook, again. For now at least, I thought.
The intensity with which she seemed to want to speak with me in the garden was now officially overshadowed by whatever occupied her undivided attention. And, I remembered, if it was something she was holding off telling my father, once he knew, would it consume them both until they had it sorted out? Surly she wouldn’t hold off telling him long? Then I realized something I couldn’t believe I hadn’t before–I would have to tell the King what I was withholding too. I wasn’t sure who’s heart I would break more, whether or not I should even tell them together or separately. But I would have to tell them.
I doubled back for another stroll in the garden. With the stifling pressure of the decision I needed to make, I welcomed the fresh air and was delighted by the added scent of sea salt now dancing on the breeze as the winds had shifted from earlier. Instead of meandering back toward the same path the Queen and I had traversed hours prior, I followed the source of the ocean air toward the sea cliffs that lined the edges of the castle.
Another one of my favorite spots to think–to be alone.
Though it was often thought unlady-like of me to clamber amongst the rocks, much to the Queen’s chagrin, I often did so anyway. My goal was always the same; to get a better view of the sparkling sunlit water and watch it dance at its distance below, while simultaneously making myself more hidden from view.
I knew I wouldn’t have much time until I would need to freshen up for dinner, and if I lingered too long various servants would come searching. After the day's events, however, I would gladly indulge myself in whatever few precious moments alone by the ocean I could spare.
I gazed out to the horizon, then followed the current in toward its destination. The often ferocious white caps of the water were instead lazily lapping the shore line, as if they matched my current energy after a long, trying day of their own. Their rhythmic cadence allowed me to slip into a bit of trance as I carefully worked out the most pressing issue that continued to plague my mind.
Once I’m skilled enough. Once I can really show them what magic can do–for good, I decided. That’s when I can tell them about it. When I could not only tell them but show them that it can be controlled and used to help the people of this kingdom. That it’s worth the fight to have it back after banishing it, and many of its practitioners, for centuries. That we could instead embrace its power to heal our broken world. That’s when I would reveal my secret, when I could confidently show them the good it could do. They couldn’t argue with what I could prove, I reasoned.
Though it may not have been as sound of plan as I wanted it to be, it was a place to start. Until then, I would do my best to pass off certain behaviors, such as absences, as melancholia and fatigue, common after affects of grief. People seldom questioned those who have known significant loss. I hated the idea of using my brother's death as a scapegoat and yet deep down, I knew Thoby wouldn't mind. He'd want to help me through this and, in a way, he would.
Feeling firm enough in my resolve I let out a large exhale as I scanned the sea one more time before peeling myself up and out of my rocky envelopment. Then, I made my way back to the castle for the evening, curious what other surprises the dwindling hours of the day might have in store, though I hoped for all of our sakes it would prove uneventful. I hoped in vain.
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