The early morning weather of the Dresnian Fall Pageant was sunny and pleasant, but then the sky typically shifted to a white gray that released a light drizzle over the entire city of Keridge. It wasn't unusual and wouldn't dampen anyone's spirit for the pageant.
I had woken when it was still dark, anxious about appearing in public with the Dresnian Royal Family for the first time since laying Cartwright to rest. I hoped nobody would single me out or yell anything obscene or weird to try to troll me. These days, lots of people were willing to do or say outrageous things for some viral internet fame at anyone's expense, but especially any sort of public figure.
I didn't have time to wring my hands in worry, fretting over potentially dreadful scenarios. Nephelle brought breakfast to me on a tray in my bedroom and it was nothing but hustle and bustle after that.
Sally showed up with my outfit in a black garment bag and my new makeup and hair stylist, a local from Keridge named Petra, was brought in and eager to work. I was up, showered and sitting in my makeup chair in my dressing room less than an hour after waking. My staff flurried around me, and even Layne was disgruntled and anxious, hurrying about to fetch something for Petra or speaking to Mary about the day's events.
I was to meet up with the Royal Family at the palace for a traditional morning church service at Yalford Chapel, right on palace grounds, that marked the beginning of the day's festivities. Thankfully, miraculously, nothing went wrong and I was on the way to Yalford Palace on schedule, being driven in an unmarked bullet-proof black Mercedes SUV by one of my new protection officers and Axel in the passenger seat. Layne sat beside me in the back, looking beautiful but distracted in a smart deep green pants suit with black boots and matching long beaded earrings.
The car ride took longer through the city due to detours from the pageant, but we made it to the gates at the end of King's Road, getting special access through the wooden barriers the city police were putting up for the parade route.
I had attended several Fall Pageants as a girl, and even the year prior as Cartwright's fiancé, though never as an official member of the Royal Family, but I was aware of the royal traditions that never changed. Every year, the country held celebrations in every city, town and village marking the Fall harvest and to honor the land of the ancient Dresnian Vikings for sustaining them, leading to the birth of our nation. Naturally, the capital city of Keridge held the biggest celebration, with a grand parade beginning from the palace gates all the way down King's Road, through the city, past Valden Square, Keridge University, the Keridge Museum and then the Keridge Opera Theater down to the quayside at the harbour. Tented stalls would be set up all along the cobbled paths at the waterfront, everything from fruits and vegetables, woodworking, homemade goods, and finely crafted items from artisans and apothecaries. The parade route would end there and everyone would crowd in the surrounding public gardens, buying and sharing local.
The car drove along the winding, uphill road that led to Yalford Palace at the top of the cliff. There were several standard black vehicles parked in the cobbled courtyard as well as motor bikes. Protection officers and royal guards were at several posts, some coming and going into the palace. It was a busy day.
A security officer appeared to open my door as the vehicle rolled to stop at the entrance, holding an open umbrella out to cover me from the light raindrops. I was careful not to slip on the wet cobbles or slide on the slick steps of stone as Layne and I entered the palace.
To the left was a spacious gallery room, its double doors opened wide. The babble of voices and the soft, haunting sound of harp and flute music floated into the corridor. Layne hovered behind me, unfamiliar with what to do.
A thrumming nervousness that made my body ignite with heat stole over me. This was it. This would be the first time the Dresnian peerage would see me since I laid my husband to rest. I wasn't looking forward to the conspicuous glances and the whispered comments. But I couldn't escape it, and I had been preparing for this moment for weeks. Straightening my shoulders, I took the few necessary steps to the doorway and entered the brightly lit gallery.
There were around seventy-five people socializing in the middle of the room, all of them aristocratic and rich with old money. Tables laden with trays and platters of tea cakes, fruit, hand pies, quiche, and tea and coffee were laid out in a decadent display. The gallery exuded warmth with its shining flowered gold wallpaper, red paneling, dripping chandeliers and gigantic portraits of past kings and queens, and princes and princesses, despite the misting rain outside.
All kinds of eyes turned my way as I walked further into the room, some expressions slackening with shock or eyebrows raised with a pleasant plot twist to the day.
I knew no matter what I did, I would draw attention today, especially in my cream-colored cashmere sweater dress accessorized with a thick black leather belt cinched at the waist and matching long coat from Givenchy that hung off my shoulders like a cape. I'd matched it with my knee-length black suede high-heeled boots and Petra had artfully pulled back my hair with a thick black braided headband. My flaxen hair fell in a straight, golden mass halfway down my back, the ends rounding into giant soft curls. If I was going to be a noted part of the church service or even the pageant, I needed to look my best, perfect and poised.
Lord Vidar Botulf was one of the first to have spotted me, his bushy, gray eyebrows jumping in surprise, creasing his forehead. He was dressed in a classic black and white suit with coattails.
He took a limping step toward me in greeting, his walking cane soundless on the red carpet as he broke away from the conversation he was having with Lady Erika.
"Ahh, Your Grace, the Duchess of Timberhall! What a pleasant surprise. You look as well as ever." His admiring grin lined his face and he bent as he took my hand that was covered in my wrist-length black lace glove and lightly kissed my knuckles, bowing.
Lord Botulf was a pleasant, cheery man but was ailed with a lot of illnesses at his advancing age, making gossiping his one and only pastime. Still, it was nice to see a familiar welcoming face.
"Thank you, sir. You look good as well." It was a lie, but one he welcomed with a pleased smile.
"I wasn't sure we'd see your face at the pageant this year. How are you feeling?" His gruff, inviting voice was friendly and interested, and I knew he was fishing for gossip to share with others.
"I'm well. And how is Lady Botulf? Is she here?" I tilted my head to look around his shoulder at the crowd.
"No, she's at home being plagued with another arthritis flair-up, I'm afraid. Have you been in Keridge for awhile? I thought you were staying out in the country, at Timberhall Castle."
The man wouldn't cease until he got some sort of morsel out of me so I decided to give it to him so I could move on.
"I've been back in the city for a month or so now. The king and queen invited me to attend the pageant and being that my six-month mourning period has finished, I thought it was appropriate to do so and gladly accepted."
His dull, gray eyes twinkled with the general information I gave him, no doubt weighing it in his mind, concocting some angle with it. "Well, I'm certainly glad you decided it was a good time to return to society. You look ravishing, dear."
I plastered on a sweet smile and gently touched his arm to subtly step past him and greet more people. "Thank you, sir. It was good to see you."
Several others rushed up to greet me and chat, everyone curious as to how I was and, I suppose, if there was any truth to the rumors swirling around that I possibly had something to do with my husband's passing based on my words or body language. It felt very much like going through a gauntlet as I made my way through the crowd, readjusting to the prim and proper ebb and flow of conversation and socializing.
Layne was deeply out of her comfort zone and opted to loiter by the food tables, picking at a china plate of breakfast items.
I had just finished speaking with Countess Orvyn when I felt someone brush my right elbow. I turned to see Boris Ironkov, the Duke of Mordaunt, smiling at me and offering me a delicate cup of tea and a saucer. For the first time since stepping foot in the gallery, a genuine smile lit my face.
Boris was an old family friend since even before I was born. In his late sixties, the duke was in good form and looked handsome with his salt and pepper goatee and combed hair. He was a well-distinguished man and was respected among the nobility, not just for his rank but his character as well. The Ironkovs were one of the oldest aristocratic families in Dresnia, equal to the Tempests and Volkirks. The Ironkovs had even taken over the throne some centuries ago, and there had always been stirrings and debates among fanatic royalists that the Ironkovs were the true royal family and had a legitimate right to the throne. The history between the Ironkovs and Tempests was a bloody and violent one, with both families battling for kingship for years. For the most part, the ancient feud was a thing of the past, but those within aristocratic circles still whispered about it. Boris was a stout monarchist and a proud traditional Dresnian. There was speculation he felt strongly that his family had a claim to the throne and he should take over once King Magnus passed, though of course there was no evidence to support that. Boris was a man of few words and didn't trust many, though he was passionate about governance and didn't hide when he disagreed with Magnus. He followed protocol and respected royal rank, and was on friendly terms with the king and queen. However, there was a bit of awkwardness anytime the two families had to interact, as if the tension from the past still pressed down on all of them in some way. Perhaps it was present because of the stirrings of the gossip-hungry peerage, who were always trying to fan the flames of dissension among their own ranks just for mere sport.
I dipped into a curtsy and then took the cup and saucer the duke offered. "Thank you, I was getting parched. I'm so glad to see you, Your Grace." I lifted the gold-filigreed teacup and took a tentative sip.
"Drusilla, it's so good to see you among us, looking beautiful and radiant," Boris said, leaning in to kiss me on one cheek and then the other. "I hope you're staying in the city and not retreating back to Timberhall Castle, isolating yourself. I was concerned and was thinking of making a trip up there but my schedule wouldn't allow it."
My heart warmed at that. "No, I will be in the city for awhile." I debated on telling him why, but thought I should wait. The Ironkovs didn't gossip, but I was struck by the fact that the duke seemed to have no clue I would be present at the pageant and that I would be in the city indefinitely now. My mother was close to the Ironkovs and she was fully aware of what was going on within the palace, having spoken with the king and queen about me. Known for being a huge pot-stirrer herself, I was taken aback that she hadn't run and told the Ironkovs that I was transitioning into an immediate working member of the Royal Family. Then again, my mother was calculated and cunning. If she didn't tell anyone such boastworthy news, there was a motive behind the decision. There always was with Runa Volkirk.
I looked at the milling nobles, trying to spot her telltale white-blonde hair. Runa was a socialite and hardly ever missed an event, unless of course, there was something better to attend.
"Have you seen my mother? I was looking for her but haven't been able to spot her." Strangely, I hadn't received word from my mother since being called back to Keridge. Normally she would call or show up to the townhouse and give me stern lectures about my expectations.
Boris adjusted his cufflink at his right wrist. "Your mother isn't in Dresnia right now. I spoke with her on the phone a few weeks ago. She's been vacationing in Switzerland for the last month and half with that businessman, Karl. They're at some resort and wellness centre in the Alps. She should be returning soon."
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. It was just like my mother to disappear without a word and take an extended vacation with another one of her tech millionaire gentlemen, though it explained why I hadn't heard from her. Nothing came before luxury and princess treatment for Runa Volkirk.
I would've been embarrassed at someone knowing more than I did about my own mother's whereabouts, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary and the Ironkovs knew my family dynamic well. Boris had almost been like a father figure to me growing up after my own father had passed.
"I didn't realize she was still seeing Karl," I commented, taking another sip of tea.
Boris's smirk was wry. "I think this will be the last vacation she takes with him."
Not surprising. My mother loved being courted but got bored quickly.
"Now that you're out of mourning and back in the city, you must come over for dinner sometime. Hilda will be glad to see you, as will someone else." Boris's eyes flicked past me as he said the last part, the smile on his lips turning amused.
I tilted my head to see who he was referring to when the sharp, heady smell of some rich cologne invaded my senses. My heart nearly stopped as Leif Ironkov, Boris's only son and heir, appeared from behind me to join us.
I blinked in disbelief at him, taking the sight of him in. "Leif..."
He had always been tall, but I hadn't seen him for so long that I had forgotten how much he towered over others at six foot two inches. He had grown up a lot too, since the last time I had seen him several years ago. Even in his tailored dark cobalt military uniform, there was no mistaking the powerful breadth of his chest and the hard, lean muscle that filled him out. His face, which was clean-shaven, held no trace of his boyish handsomeness anymore but instead was chiseled and beautiful. The ridges of his cheekbones and the smooth, angular line of his jaw only enhanced his full lips, aquiline nose and deep set green eyes. His sandy blonde hair was cropped short in a buzz, a standard military requirement.
Those green eyes took me in and his smooth, confident cadence made my heart trip. "Drusilla. I can't believe it's you." He gave me a light bow, still sure to follow protocol.
"When did you return to Keridge?" I blurted, unable to contain my shock.
Boris gave a light cough, his amusement still evident. "I shall go find my wife. The Royal Family will be arriving soon and then we'll make our way to the chapel for service. You can sit by us if you like, Drusilla."
Curses. It was already arranged I would be seated in the row behind the king and queen, with Prince Alaric.
Before I could reply or curtsy, Boris left us and melted into the sea of people.
Leif casually put his hands in his pockets, still gazing at me with slightly narrowed eyes and a half smirk, as if I were something intriguing. "I returned a couple of months ago. I finally decided to take some down time for a while." We continued staring at each other, the rest of the room melting away. He cleared his throat, lowering his voice. "I'm very sorry about the duke."
A strange, inexplicable sensation of regret washed through me. "Thank you. It was difficult but I'm trying to move forward." I remembered my cup and saucer I was holding aloft and lifted the cup to my lips for another sip, grateful for something to do in that second. I hadn't anticipated seeing Leif and it was sensory overload for me with everything else I had to face today.
I hadn't seen Leif since before I left Dresnia to move to the UK. We had grown up together as children, along with his three younger sisters, though I was never as close with them as I was with Leif. We had spent countless hours playing tag or hide-and-seek in the gardens at dinner parties and balls, and spent summer holidays at each other's family country estate with our parents. As we'd grown into gangly, hormonal youth, we had bickered and then the strangest thing had happened. Leif had hit a growth spurt and his voice had changed, dropping. I had started feeling butterflies when I was around him and began to notice the lingering looks he would give me when he thought I wasn't paying attention. The attraction between us grew and I had started developing a serious crush on Leif as teenagers. And then Leif enlisted in the Dresnian military, packed up and headed to boot camp. It was out of the norm for the heir of a dukedom to join the army and not go abroad to Oxford or Cambridge, graduate, and return home to add to their family's wealth and learn their responsibilities. But Leif had always been different, beating to his own drum. He attended The Dresnian Royal Air Fleet College, prestigious for having successful military pilots, generals and politician alumni. Even living in the UK, I had heard through the grapevine (and mostly from my mother during her phone call gossip sessions) about Leif's success in the military as an airplane pilot. He had served actively in the Preevan War across the sea and was so ambitious and passion-driven (my mother's words, not mine) that he had become Dresnia's youngest captain in history, leading several successful airborne squadron attacks on the Levarathonian army on the Preevan frontlines.
He was the pride of the Ironkovs and rightly so; a dashing, capable son who served his country and was so successful at it that he quickly surpassed his betters and ascended to the highest rank in the Dresnia Royal Air Corp. There was concern from the peerage as well as from Boris and Hilda themselves about Leif's decision to join the Air Corp since he was the only son and heir. There was a real risk something could happen to him. War was unpredictable and dangerous after all, but Magnus was inspired by his grit and determination to join. Leif was considered a national hero for his air raid attacks on Levarathonian army bases and was a trophy among the peerage, not to mention the most eligible bachelor as my mother loved to point out.
My eyes flicked over the colorful row of medals pinned on the left breast of his cut jacket. "You've taken a leave of absence from the Air Corp? I heard from my mother and your father that you loved the Air Corp."
Leif's lip curled in a slight smile. "I do love it, but I've also dedicated the last twelve years to my career and have served seven of those years on the frontlines in active duty. I figured it was time to come home for a while and handle some personal matters."
We both knew he meant the prospect of a wife. He was 31 and it was the appropriate time for him to settle down and resume his responsibilities as the next Duke of Mordaunt.
"So you will return to active duty?" I asked conversationally, realizing he said 'time off' and not 'retirement'.
"That is the plan, unless something were to change it in some dramatic fashion. I'm not necessarily opposed if something more appealing came along that made me not want to run back to the war."
"It's amazing what you've accomplished at your age. You were always so passionate about warplanes I remember." I smiled, taking another tentative sip of tea. The polite small talk was growing awkward. The tension could be felt in the air between us, so many things left unspoken.
Leif's green eyes watched me. "Thank you, Drusilla, but it's the least I can do for a country that has offered me every opportunity. How is your mother? The last time I saw her was two years ago at Christmas with my family."
"She's in the Alps vacationing with some man right now. And how are your sisters?"
Leif chuckled, the sound smooth and attractive. "Junia is happily married and settled with her husband in Florence the last I heard and Ingrid and Isolde are attending university in New York in the States," he said, referring to his youngest twin sisters.
I briefly noticed we had attracted enough attention over the course of the few minute conversation to be uncomfortable. Glances were being shot our way, curiosity and excitement at Dresnia's noble golden boy and its tragic, beautiful widow both being present for this year's pageant. The flurry from the crowd was restless, and I saw several people inching their way over to us, wanting a chance to speak to me or to Leif.
Trying to block out the sea of faces and the babble of whispers and hushed discussions, I focused my attention back on Leif when a striking figure emerged from the group of bodies, confidently sauntering up to us.
"Leif, you're back home. It's so good to see you. And Your Grace, The Duchess of Timberhall. You're looking so beautiful after the trying year you've had. I hope you've been doing well." The ethereally beautiful auburn-haired woman dipped into a seamless curtsy while holding a dainty cup of what looked like a very frothy latte in her gloved hand.
I froze, blinking at her when her lashed gaze swept to mine, her darker cobalt blue to my lighter cerulean. It was Lady Stellina Bledsoe, the Earl of Middlestone's only daughter. We were age mates and had grown up together, and had been close once as young children. As adolescence hit, petty girlhood jealousy had taken hold of our friendship. I had never once thought I was above her in any regard but she began to resent me, turning into such a horrid frenemy that we stopped bothering with each other and grew apart as teenagers, though we saw each other all the time at royal gatherings and events over the years. We'd simply kept our distance from then on.
Here she stood now, transformed into a bewitching beauty. There was no trace of her shyness or clumsiness that was ever present as a young girl. She stood confidently, her small, dimpled chin raised and a lovely smile on her face. Her dark crimson hair that seemed to glow red in the light curled artfully to her waist and was covered with a chic emerald green beret. Her skin was creamy and flawless, and an endearing small smattering of freckles dotted the bridge of her nose. Her sense of style had greatly improved as well, I noted, taking in her emerald green silk jumpsuit and matching trench coat and (gasp!) Jimmy Choos. Her red lipstick and Cartier jewelry completed the look, offering just the right amount of sophistication and sultriness.
"Stellina, it's been a while." Leif's smile transformed to one of pure warmth as he took a step toward her, inviting her into our conversation.
I knew, of course, that they had a friendship. We had all grown up together and Leif had gotten along with almost everybody within the nobility. Anyone in general, really. I ignored the flair of annoyance that ignited inside me at her interruption and at the fact Leif was genuinely happy to see her and so familiar with her, whereas he and I were practically strangers.
"I only just arrived. Traffic is terrible," Stellina said cheerily, lifting her latte to her lips.
"I'm glad you made it before the Royal Family arrives. I was going to call you, I've just been busy getting settled back here," Leif assured her. He turned and gestured to me. "Drusilla is also settling back into the city. Perhaps I can host a dinner party soon, as a chance for everyone to get together."
Stellina glanced at me over the rim of her cup uncertainly, and my manners automatically kicked in. I took a step forward and nodded politely at her, the smile plastered on my face feeling like a grimace. "Of course, that sounds great. It's been a long time, Stellina. You look really well yourself."
The answering grin she gave me was dazzling. "Thank you, Drusilla. I feel well." She fixed her attention back on Leif. "You know you still owe me 2,000 drus from our last card game..."
Just then I remembered the last piece of news I'd heard about her, from my mother the gossip of course. Stellina had been engaged to a filthy rich lord from England a year and a half ago when she'd found him in bed with her maid. It had ended up in the society section tabloids in Dresnia and England and Stellina had been mortified and devastated. Clearly, she was doing much better.
"I'll see you at the service, Drusilla," Leif said distractedly, bowing and turning back to Stellina, who respectfully curtseyed her good bye, still sipping her latte. They both started chuckling and headed for the food tables, teasing one another. They were evidently close.
Before I could pinpoint the unpleasant sensation churning inside me, the piping shrill of trumpets pierced the air, followed by the shouting voice of the herald. "Presenting King Magnus II, Queen Concordia I, and Crown Prince Bertil and Princess Edith."