Villainess [6]: Donavan’s Engagement
Red Pill [0]: Intrigues, Engagements
The ride was a silent one as Donavan and Rosalie sat opposite each other on both passenger seats without making any overt attempt at intimacy because of the presence of a dozen royal guards escorting them on horseback (while sitting beside each of them, unseen, were two of Janet’s clones keeping watch over the couple). After Baron Palmer had seen them off in front of the courtyard fountain, Donavan was looking at Rosalie in front of him and saw her hands fisted over her lap.
“Are you okay?” he said.
“I’m okay, don’t worry,” she said and smiled.
But Donavan knew she wasn’t okay when he noticed her forcing her smile and avoiding direct eye contact when he looked at her, instead looking out the window at a sunlit afternoon when she should be looking at him. Maybe it was the shocking details of Countess Valentine’s story, he surmised, or maybe it was the fact that she’s getting engaged to him, or maybe it was the accumulation of the past three days getting to her. Those were good guesses, but something else was digging at her, something she was keeping under wraps, something she couldn’t even trust with Donavan, and that in itself pained him. After everything he did for her, defending her whenever she was threatened or being with her whenever she needed to cry or even making love to her whenever she needed him that way, hasn’t he earned her trust? What more did he have to do to get her to trust him without any reservations or secrets?
He reached out across the gulf between them and attempted to rest his hands over hers, to let her know that he has her back no matter what happens, but she flinched and gasped and looked at him for a moment before averting her eyes again.
“What’s wrong, Rosy?” Donavan said.
“It’s nothing,” she said.
But he felt her hands tremble in his grasp and said, “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”
“I hope so.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
Only then did Rosalie return his gaze and keep hers fixed on his, pausing for a time before saying, “I do, Donny, believe me, but I don't know about their Majesties.”
“It’s gonna be okay,” he said.
“I swear, you’re so pathetic sometimes,” Rosalie said.
“What do you have to be so scared of?”
“Everything,” Rosalie said.
Donavan waited for her to elaborate.
But then Rosalie shook her head and grimaced, wiping her eyes of crocodile tears and saying, “I swear I didn’t mean for Janet to get hurt like that.”
So Donavan got up and changed seats (sitting where one clone sat, making her get up and pass through him and take his former place next to her doppelgänger like playing musical chairs), and the Prince said, “It’s not your fault.”
“But it is my fault,” Rosalie said, sniffling and wiping away more tears as Donavan hugged her close to him, letting her fall apart in his arms. “I stole you away from her.”
“That’s okay,” he said.
“You’re just too good for me, Donny.”
“Shhhh, hush now,” he said as he held her close, letting his embrace encircle her like a protective seal against all dangers. Within his arms, nothing could get through to harm her, not the collective malice of the godless world around them or the schemes of their enemies or even the bitter resentment of an old flame. “Everything will be okay, I promise.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll really protect me?”
“For you, I’ll do everything and anything,” he said.
So Rosalie raised her head and pulled him closer and kissed him before he could pull away—
(“Oh, you fucking bitch,” one clone said.)
—and held him by his tie, kissing him long and hard, till his mind blanked out as an upside-down tetrahedron fluoresced over his forehead yet again. With the Prince under her spell, Lady Dorian said, “Then tell me what I need to know, Donny, or else I cannot be with you anymore.”
“I will, my Lady,” the Prince said.
(“Ugh, here we go again!” one clone said.
“I can’t believe this bitch!” the other clone added.)
“Tell me where your mother sleeps inside the Royal Palace,” Lady Dorian said. “I want to give my future mother-in-law a little surprise to celebrate our engagement.”
(“Oh, my God!” one clone said.
“What does she want with her?” the other clone said.
“I’m not sure yet,” the clone said, “but if it’s what I think it is, she’ll set up Janet to take the blame for whatever she’s got planned for her Majesty.”
“Are you serious?” the other clone said.
“I know, but be prepared for anything,” the clone said, then to DeeDee: “DeeDee, we’ve got an emergency!”
“What is it?” DeeDee said.)
While the clone filled DeeDee in on the newest development, the Prince said, “Her chambers are in the northern section of the Royal Palace opposite the King’s chambers.”
“When does she go to sleep?”
“It varies,” he said. “On most nights, it’s around midnight but no later than one o’clock in the morning, but on Saturday nights before church services, it’s earlier.”
“She’s a night owl, eh?” Lady Dorian said, pausing for a spell as if she was reviewing her thoughts before licking her lips and smiling. “The Abbesses have already arrived and are talking with their Majesties, so you have an opening. You just have to repeat what they’re saying, that you’ve also had a dream about me becoming a saintess candidate, and the Abbesses will support your claim. And when the time comes for our title confirmations, proclaim to everyone in attendance that Lady Fleming is a fake, and we’ll do the rest. Got it?”
(“Holy shit!” the other clone said as her counterpart kept informing DeeDee of the newest development.)
“Yes, my Lady,” the Prince said.
“Good,” Lady Dorian said (as the other clone started cussing out Lady Dorian), then kissed the Prince again, dissipating the symbol on his forehead, as the coach approached and rounded the circumference of the enormous fountain and neared the guarded gate that served as a checkpoint past the curtain of defensive wall surrounding the Royal Palace. “Donny, we’re almost there! Wake up, you Sleepy Head.”
When Donavan regained his senses, blinking and looking around, he found himself sitting beside Rosalie and said, “We’re here already?”
“Yeah,” Rosalie said.
“How did we arrive so fast?” Donavan said.
“Beats me,” she said with the panache of a consummate actress. “It kind of makes me wish rides like this would last forever, don’t you think?”
“Maybe,” Donavan said.
“Oh?” Rosalie said. “Wanna get off?”
Donavan smiled and kissed her again, saying, “In more ways than one, yes.”
(“Oh, my God!” one clone said.
“Cringe! CRIIIINGE!” the other clone added.)
When the coachman took a detour towards the eastern side of the quad and parked the coach before the entrance into the King’s main antechamber, there were four other coaches there, each with the family crest of one of the four abbess families, as Lady Dorian had said. The coachman got off the front seat of his two-horse coach and opened the passenger door for the couple inside, and the Prince alighted first and held out his hand for Miss Edgeworth to hold, helping her to alight, before they greeted Jeremy the butler. But when the coachman closed the door (as a pair of Janet’s clones passed through it and the coachman himself in order to follow their targets walking with Jeremy to the double-doors entrance), he felt chills run through him and looked at the retreating trio.
“What was that?” he said to himself.
The coachman’s reaction caught the attention of one of the escorting guards, who dismounted from his steed and said, “Is something the matter, sir?”
“I’m not sure.”
Past one set of double doors and through the main antechamber was another set of double doors that bore Donavan’s royal family crest, past which the King and Queen have been talking with other people inside. When Jeremy opened the doors and ushered in Donavan and Rosalie, they found their Majesties and the four Abbesses of the Church of the Holy Light having a spirited debate inside the Judgment Circle. The four Abbesses were trying to convince their Majesties of the collective import of their dreams, but after Jeremy shut doors, their Majesties greeted the newcomers and waved the pair over to the Judgment Circle that doubled as the Dueling Circle and now tripled as an Audience Circle, introducing them to the Abbesses.
Donavan struggled to keep his eyes from roving down the nubile bodies of the four Abbesses when he greeted them, though Abbess Andrea Balthazar and Abbess Alicia Carmine didn’t seem to mind. In fact, of the four, Abbess Balthazar and Abbess Carmine were bosomy specimens that seemed to acknowledge his subtle advances with knowing smiles and lingering gazes. Yet the other two, Abbess Vera Knoxville and especially Abbess Kilala Machen, brushed off his greeting with quick nods and averting eyes, both women seemingly reluctant to engage in lecherous looks. Yet for the life of him, Donavan couldn’t help but steal more glances at these older-sister types, doubtless in their twenties, all of them dressed in veils and gowns or dresses of different styles, all of them picturesque, and all of them with clothes just waiting to get taken off in his dreams—
Which got him an elbow to the ribs from Rosalie.
Donavan winced but regained his composure, saying under his breath, “It’s not like that.”
“Yeah, sure it’s not,” Rosalie said.
(“You’re both players,” one clone deadpanned.
“You two deserve each other,” the other clone deadpanned.)
King Blaise, dressed in a three-piece morning suit, stood with Queen Blaise, dressed in another tea gown, and both grimaced at their son’s conduct. “Good of you to join us,” the King said, then to the Abbesses and the couple in turn: “Since your visits have coincided like this, and since your dreams concern Miss Edgeworth in particular, let’s take our little chat somewhere else, shall we?”
And so, the six guests nodded.
With that, the King called for Jeremy, and when Jeremy opened the doors and asked what was needed, he told Jeremy to prepare something for tea time in the Tea Garden for a group of six visitors along with himself and the Queen.
Jeremy blinked, looking at their Majesties in turn and saying, “That Tea Garden, your Majesty?”
“Yes,” the King said. “It’s important.”
Jeremy obliged with a deep bow and then opened the other set of double doors in the antechamber and called for the maids and manservants to prepare snacks and refreshments in the Tea Garden, clapping his hands and adding, “Quickly now, for we have six visitors with their Majesties.”
While preparations were underway, the maids and manservants rushing to do their work, the King and Queen led the four Abbesses and the new couple to another part of the circular antechamber. Besides the two designated double doors that led visitors into the second antechamber and then into the main hallway beyond it, there was a secret portal that only the Queen as a Saintess could access behind a false wall. Here, Queen Blaise knocked on the wall, fluorescing the glowing outline of this secret portal, and pressed both hands against it and poured her light mana into it.
As the false wall glowed and turned into another set of double doors, Queen Blaise grabbed the handles and paused, saying, “A lot has happened since I’ve last allowed anyone else to pass through these doors. Lady Bartleby and I would have come here on the weekends to pass part of our downtime together, but we never got the chance because of her affinity. The Church of the Holy Light at the time had forbidden entry to any saintess candidate bearing the darkness affinity: one such candidate was murdered in her dorm just before graduation, and a former candidate was imprisoned under false charges and died behind bars. Out of respect for Lady Graves and Marchioness Fleming, I’ve allowed myself past these doors to repent for those days and to pray for better days to come,” and she looked back at the couple and the four young Abbesses. “I will only let you enter these premises if you swear to uphold their memories.”
The six guests were silent.
“Trust me: her Majesty means it,” the King said.
And so, one by one, the four Abbesses and Donavan and even Rosalie all swore to it.
With that, the Queen pushed open the double doors into a wide clearing with an overgrown lawn and groves of tall zelkova trees surrounding it, their branches canopying their heads from the glare of an afternoon sky, an earthy scent wafting through the air. In the middle of that clearing was a two-tiered garden fountain half full of sparkling water in its basin, its waters just able to overflow the brim of both its tiers and pool into the rippling basin as if the owner of that fountain was having trouble sustaining it.
One look at that fountain sent Donavan’s mind racing with images that Lady Dorian had implanted into his mind inside the coach, those of Rosalie walking into this very garden last night in her nightgown and sitting on the ledge of that basin and dipping her fingers into its sparkling waters. And just as Lady Dorian had primed him to do, Donavan said, “I dreamed of Miss Edgeworth sitting on this fountain last night.”
Everyone turned towards him, and the Queen eyed him for a second and said, “Did you now?”
“I did,” he said.
“What was she wearing?” she said.
“She was wearing a nightgown,” Donavan said.
And just as Lady Dorian said, the four Abbesses backed up his words with the same observations, which led the Queen to face Miss Edgeworth next, making her flinch.
“Pardon me, Miss Edgeworth,” the Queen said, “but what did you dream of last night?”
Rosalie’s face flushed as she averted her eyes, but then she faced the Queen and held her gaze like a rival and said, “It’s a little sexy, your Majesty.”
“Rosy, don’t!” Donavan said under his breath, thinking that she meant to tell his mother to her face about the steamy adventure she had with her son last night.
“Oh, really?” the Queen said, eyes narrowing to gleaming slits of blue flame, and the unmistakable aura of a saintess’s fury troubled the air around them.
Rosalie elbowed Donavan in the ribs again, saying, “I assure you it’s not as bad as his Highness makes it out to be, your Majesty. Honestly, he’s such a pure boy, but I promise it’s not outrageous.”
(“As if!” one clone said.
“He’s a two-timer!” the other clone said.)
“I’ll be the judge of that, Miss Edgeworth,” the Queen said.
(Now the clones crept up to the table, one clone saying, “What’s she trying to pull?”
“Beats me,” the other clone said.)
“I dreamed of Lady Fleming and Lord Woodberry having an affair last night,” Rosalie said. “Well, maybe ‘affair’ is too strong a word, but more like spending a lot of time with each other, kissing, necking, and few other things.”
(“Bitch!” one clone said.
“Here she goes again!” the other said.)
“Then tell me,” the Queen said. “What ‘other things’ are you talking about?”
Rosalie was just about to say—
When a pair of maids came in holding a big tray filled with saucers and tea cups and a tea kettle, and another pair of maids came in holding another big tray of tea sandwiches and muffins and sticks of butter on butter dishes. All the while, a pair of manservants came in carrying a rectangular tea table and setting it before the two-tiered fountain and draping a tablecloth over the tabletop, and a dozen other manservants came in carrying chairs and seat cushions for the King and Queen and their guests to use on this impromptu tea gathering. And amidst the movement of bodies and objects, Jeremy the butler was there directing the whole affair like a veteran man-at-arms directing the movements of a troop outflanking an enemy position. And just like a troop on the field of battle, the maids and manservants stalked off to their positions inside the antechamber, ready to move out at Jeremy’s command, who stood waiting at the table with a maid and a manservant awaiting orders.
Once the table and chairs and cushions and other objects were set in place, the King and Queen and the six guests took their seats (while the two clones stood sentinel around the table, marveling at the professionalism of these servants compared to the ones in the marquessate household).
For a time, the gathering ate and drank and traded small talk as if today was inconsequential, their chatting confined to subjects like the rustic beauties of the surrounding Tea Garden, how things were going at school, and yet another article about another supposed sighting of a masked incognito in the Student Commons Town from Count Kessler’s Memory Times. That last bit had become an inside joke amongst the aristocracy as of late, leading Donavan to speculate if his knight friends were the ones responsible for pulling that one last night, which had everyone around the table smiling. It was enough to take his mind off of the uncomfortable stalemate between the Queen and Rosalie, at least for the time being.
But the whole time, despite himself, Donavan managed to avoid taking up Rosalie’s glass and drinking from it, thereby avoiding further embarrassment. And even when he found himself getting hard in his chair at the thought of buttering up a pair of muffins and eating them, both of which belonged to Rosalie, both literally and sexually, he managed to keep a straight face throughout the ordeal.
Yet when the jokes grew stale, and after the King had Jeremy the butler summon his troop-like team of maids and manservants to take away the tableware and head back inside, he cleared his throat and said, “All right, back to the matter at hand,” and he nodded for the Queen to start.
So Queen Blaise looked at Rosalie, saying, “As I was saying, what ‘other things’ did you dream of last night between Lady Fleming and Lord Woodberry?”
“It’s nothing too outrageous, I assure you,” Rosalie said, “but it is worrisome. I mean, I dreamed of them eloping to the Schrader kingdom.”
“You think that’s ‘worrisome?’” the Queen said.
“Yes, your Majesty,” she said.
“Why would you dream of something like that about your peers?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe they’re planning something.”
(“Oh, you fucking bitch,” one clone said, while her double started relaying more of their observations to DeeDee via telepathic means.)
“Planning what?” the Queen said.
“Again I don’t know,” Rosalie said. “This might all just be hogwash. Dreams are like that, you know, but something tells me that there’s something to it.”
(“And something tells me you’re a lying fuck!” one clone said, while her counterpart informed DeeDee of Rosalie possibly trying to implicate Janet in connection with the disappearances of Lady Felton and Lady Childeron.)
“I see,” the Queen said. “Interesting.”
After listening to their words, Donavan said, “What is, your Majesty?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” the Queen said. “I was just curious about the dream Miss Edgeworth had last night in light of the dream you had, but it looks like I was wrong.”
“What do you mean, your Majesty?” Rosalie said.
The Queen faced her, saying, “Believe it or not, I’ve also had a dream of my own last night, one that I thought concerned you, and it most definitely wasn’t a ‘sexy’ or an ‘outrageous’ piece of ‘hogwash.’” Before Rosalie could speak, the Queen turned to the four silent Abbesses and added, “Just like you, I’ve also dreamed of finding that fountain in this very garden,” and she pointed towards the fountain before them. “That’s why I had you and his Highness come for a visit here to see it for yourselves, Miss Edgeworth,” she said to Rosalie. “I thought that fountain was yours, because the results of your magic aptitude test said you had the light affinity, but since you dreamed of something else last night—”
“No, you misunderstood!” Rosalie said.
“Oh? How so?” the Queen said.
“That wasn’t the only dream I had last night.”
Donavan and the others at the table (and even the clones) all watched the skirmish of words, in which the Queen had the upper hand on Rosalie.
“You’re quite daring, Miss Edgeworth,” the Queen said, “but you need to work on your tact. Am I to understand that you’ve also had a dream about that fountain, in addition to the utter ‘hogwash’ you told me beforehand?”
“Mother, that’s not—”
“Silence, you!” the Queen hissed.
It was the first time since childhood that Donavan Blaise had been scolded in that manner, let alone in front of guests, so he held his tongue while squeezing his hands into knuckle-white fists as if he was hitting a pillow to blow off steam. At the end of it, he said, “Sorry, your Majesty.”
Then the Queen turned to Miss Edgeworth and said, “What say you? Did you dream of that fountain?” And again she pointed out the one before them in the Tea Garden.
“Yes, your Majesty.”
The Queen stood up and walked over to the fountain and peered at its shallow basin with half of its water level gone, saying, “Miss Edgeworth, tell me the truth: did you recognize this fountain when we first came in?”
“Yes, I did,” she said.
Queen Blaise turned back to Rosalie for a time, staring her down like a White Queen looming over a Black Pawn with nowhere else to move in the chessboard, and said, “Did you ask his Highness to tell me your dream in your stead?”
“Yes, I did,” she said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me if I just said it myself.”
“I see,” the Queen said, making Rosalie flinch underneath her piercing gaze. “I understand why you would think that, but why would you tell me that other dream about Lord Woodberry and Lady Fleming? Is that dream more important than the one about your own saintess candidacy?”
(“You’re so screwed,” one clone said.
“Try talking your way out of that,” the other said.)
Rosalie stared at the Queen, eyes wide and mouth parted but unable to speak for a time, till she said, “It’s because I had that dream after the dream about the fountain.”
(Both clones deflated at her response.)
“Dream recall is finicky at times,” the Queen said.
“Yeah,” Rosalie said, then looked around the rest of the Tea Garden. “Where’s the other fountain?”
“It’s not here.”
“Wait,” Rosalie said. “There’s only one candidate?”
“I said the other fountain wasn’t here, but yes,” she said, “You’re the only saintess candidate.”
“How can there be two fountains,” Rosalie said, “but only one saintess candidate?”
“How that is, I have no idea,” the Queen said and returned to the table, seating herself again. “Since everyone here, except for his Majesty, has seen the fountain in the Tea Garden, have you seen the second fountain?”
Donavan and Rosalie and the four Abbesses all traded glances around the table but shook their heads in the end.
“I see,” the Queen said. “The Guardians are really cagey this time around, but given the past few days, I don’t blame them for not trusting us. Even the Guardian of the Light hasn’t told me anything about what’s going on, only that a special saintess has appeared in this kingdom.”
“A saintess?” Abbess Balthazar said.
“And not another candidate?” Abbess Carmine added.
“Yes and yes,” the Queen said. “Since there’s one fountain in the Tea Garden, we only have one saintess candidate, and that’s you, Miss Edgeworth. Yet besides you, a special saintess has also appeared in this kingdom, and I should know, because I saw her fountain in my dream last night.”
“And that means?” Abbess Knoxville said.
“I’m still trying to figure it out,” the Queen said.
“That doesn’t tell us much, your Majesty,” Abbess Machen said.
“I know it’s vexing, but there it is,” the Queen said. “Even though I haven’t laid eyes on this special saintess, I did find her fountain last night, and it was enormous.”
“How enormous?” the King said.
“Bigger than the one in front of the Palace,” the Queen said. “How I wish there was a way for me to show it to everyone here, because I was floored at the size and beauty of that thing and at the clearing it was in. It was like a scene from a fairytale, and the fountain itself was glorious beyond anything I can say to describe it, but I couldn’t get any closer to it than I did last night.”
“A pity,” the King said.
“Indeed, it is,” the Queen added.
“Then to whom does it belong?” Rosalie said.
“I wish I knew, for I would love to meet her, but even then, I’d make sure to not to offend her,” the Queen said. “Whoever owns that fountain is not one to be trifled with. She might be the most powerful saintess this kingdom has ever had or ever will have, for all I know. I just hope she’s here to save this kingdom and not destroy it.”
“What makes you say that?” Donavan said.
“Do I need to spell it out for you?” the Queen said. “Rumors of your own actions yesterday might already have spread to other kingdoms by now.”
Donavan winced and grimaced and said, “I know that, your Majesty! You don’t have to rub it in my face like everybody else,” and he rose from his chair.
“Donavan, wait!” the Queen said, standing up.
But he ignored her and walked towards the double doors.
So the King stood up, saying, “Get back here, you stupid boy!”
But the Queen elbowed the King’s arm, hissing under her breath, “Don’t make it worse!”
“I know, but he needs to learn his place,” the King said. “Otherwise, he’ll keep acting out.”
“And who do you think he gets that from?”
Before their spat turned into an argument, Rosalie rose from her chair and said, “I’ll go get him, your Majesties,” and she went after the Prince and grabbed a hold of his arm, till he yanked his arm free. “Donny, control yourself!”
Only then did Donavan stop and regain his composure in front of four gaping Abbesses and his two pale-faced parents, all of them now standing from their chairs and looking at the Prince the way a knight would look at a lame horse that needed to be put out of its misery. Even so, the Prince followed Rosalie back to the table, still stinging from the fact that his own mother was against him now like all the professors at the Academy, so he bowed before his parents and the other guests.
“I’m sorry, your Majesties and Reverend Abbesses,” Donavan said. “I will reflect on my actions.”
Everyone was silent around the table (including the pair of clones surveilling the gathering), so Rosalie bowed alongside the Prince and said, “I’ll look after his Highness, your Majesties, and I’ll try my best to keep him from making more mistakes like that in the future.”
The couple maintained their bowing postures.
“You seem to have a lot of influence over his Highness’s behavior, Miss Edgeworth, more than I expected,” the Queen said. “For your sake, I hope you’ll have an easier time of it than Lady Fleming.”
“Thank you, your Majesty.”
“Raise your heads,” the Queen said.
Donavan and Rosalie stood erect and faced the Queen.
“Miss Edgeworth, I’m aware that Lady Fleming tried to give her engagement ring to you on Monday,” the Queen said. “Do you have it with you right now?”
“I have it with me,” the Prince said, reaching into his inner jacket pocket and pulling out the ring and handing it over to his mother.
“And yours?” she said.
The Prince grimaced but took his ring off his left ring finger and gave it to his mother, saying, “What’s going to happen to Lady Fleming afterward?”
“Don’t concern yourself with her anymore,” the Queen said and snapped her fingers, dissipating the rings from her hand, then snapped her fingers again and manifested two small boxes atop the table before the couple. “Open them.”
The Prince and Rosalie traded glances, then took up their boxes and opened them.
“They’re new engagement rings for a new couple,” the Queen said. “Now put them on, both of you.”
And so, with the King and Queen and the four Abbesses (and even Janet’s clones) bearing witness to a private engagement ceremony, Donavan and Rosalie performed the act of exchanging rings and acknowledging their future vows as husband and wife. It was a private rehearsal for a wedding that should have promised a bright future for himself and Rosalie, but all Donavan felt at that moment was a sense of foreboding. So many things have happened today that yesterday afternoon before the summons may as well have been a dream and the horrors of yesterday’s lunch period may as well have been a nightmare that he has yet to wake up from. Gone was the confident young man he once was when he thought he was doing the right thing standing up to Lady Fleming for her deeds against Rosalie and for her seeming betrayal when Rosalie had him and her new friends bear witness to Janet dating Lord Woodberry at the dessert shop in the Student Commons Town, but before he knew it, here he was committing himself to an engagement with a woman he had wanted to protect without ever expecting to attain, like a goddess on a pedestal, for once attained, the brief climax of satisfaction now bled out of him in droplets of resignation. It was a difference of night and day, in which the night held promises that thrilled him into indulging his wildest fantasies, while the day foretold the stale banalities of keeping up appearances for obligation’s sake.
“By the powers vested in me with his Majesty the King and the Reverend Abbesses present,” the Queen said, “I pronounced you two engaged to be married in the future. We’ll announce your engagement tomorrow morning.”
Then Donavan’s parents and the four Abbesses started clapping their hands in acknowledgement of their promised union, their faces vacant of anything resembling joy, their acclamations subdued and brief, and their gazes flicking back towards the double doors of the antechamber as if they were done participating in this charade.
The Prince sensed their discontent, and one look at Rosalie told him she was feeling the same way, yet he couldn’t bring himself to break the ensuing silence.
“We’re finished here, Jeremy,” the King said.
The double doors opened, and the King’s butler said, “Shall I guide them out now, your Majesty.”
“Please do,” he said.
So as a group, the King and the butler led the guests from the table and out through the double doors, first the Abbesses, then the new couple, till the Queen said, “Donavan, stay for a bit. I need to talk to you.”
Donavan and Rosalie stopped in their tracks before the doorway (and so did the clones), but Donavan told Rosalie to wait for him in the coach outside, so Rosalie nodded and headed out on her own. Then the Prince faced the Queen again, saying, “What is it, your Majesty?”
“No more formalities,” the Queen said.
“Do you need me to be with you, dear?” the King said.
The Queen shook her head, saying, “It’s just me and Donavan.”
The King nodded before saying to Donavan, “Whatever you say, don’t make your mother cry, you hear?”
Donavan answered with a nod.
With that, the King went out, his footfalls echoing in the antechamber, where Donavan heard double doors opening and closing and then more footfalls fading away in the main hallway. In the wake of those steps, a silent chasm between mother and son remained in the Tea Garden beneath the afternoon glare dappling the canopy above their heads. When a breeze rustled the leaves and branches around them, the lingering warmth of a dying season seemed to usher them together, so that Rubella Blaise waved her son back over to her side.
So Donavan walked up to her and got enveloped in his mother’s arms, and before he knew it, he was saying he was so damn sorry for talking back at her and embarrassing his father and making a scene like that.
Yet Rubella Blaise remained true to her divine title, the Great Giver, and said, “Donavan, your father and I will always love you: nothing’s going to change that. We may get angry or disappointed, but that’s just because we want the best for you. Do you understand?”
Then Donavan broke down in his mother’s arms, releasing the pent-up turmoil of the past twenty-four hours through the tears trailing down his face. Yet Donavan’s hands hung limp at his sides, a part of him still unwilling to accept the balm that was given him like an unworthy penitent.
(The two clones stood there in the Tea Garden watching Donavan and his mother, at a loss for what to say about the scene before them that now brought both girls to tears. For all his faults, Donavan was so damn lucky to have a mother like that, to get to experience something they themselves never had in their past lives: a mother’s love in the flesh, a heart to heart, a catharsis on the level of forgiveness of sins through the human act of a motherly embrace.
Such love was too precious for someone like Lady Dorian to screw over, so both clones wiped their eyes, and one clone said, “We need to let the Queen know.”
“Do you think DeeDee will allow it?” her double said.
“We need all the help we can get,” she said. “A saintess like her will be a big help for us.”)
