Chapter 5: How to Win a King

Samuel Charlotte often came to pay respects in the palace, so we met frequently. Habit turned chance into pattern.

I looked after his horse, Midnight, which now recognized me and was very affectionate. Midnight nudged for treats and gave forgiveness freely.

Each time, Samuel would chat with me, asking about Margaret Charlotte, sometimes describing the scenery beyond the frontier. His words made me taste wind.

He made it sound beautiful. I wondered—didn’t he lose his eye there? How could he still see beauty? Some people find it through pain like it’s a secret door.

But he spoke so movingly, I wanted to see it too. Wanting is the first travel.

I hesitated. "But I’ll be here all my life." Destiny felt like a wall painted the color of duty.

He said nothing. Silence held my fear gently.

I heard he’d killed the enemy chief while his eye was still bleeding—a feat that promoted him rapidly. The story was told the way courage gets told in halls that love titles.

Margaret Charlotte told me he used to be called the Angel-Faced Knight for his fair looks. The nickname came like a ghost; he didn’t carry it now.

"Watch over him for me." She said it like a prayer tied to a command.

Next time I saw him, he gave me another pouch of money and a rough crystal. It looked like the frontier in my palm.

"Found it on campaign. Not worth much, but it grew in the frontier soil. Touch it, and it’s like touching that land." He wanted me to feel where he’d lived.

I looked up at him—skin tanned, one eye clouded, the other sharp, but his features resembled Margaret Charlotte’s. The likeness lit me up and quieted me down.

He didn’t look like an Angel-Faced Knight anymore. He looked like someone who kept going.

"Thank you," I said, my voice catching, but I managed a smile. Smiles steady more than hands.

He rubbed his nose. "You smile like my sister." He was teasing himself as much as me.

I was flustered, but also happy. The air felt lighter for a second.

"I’ll be leaving with the army tomorrow." The words dropped and stayed.

I nodded. I was sad, but knew this day would come. Goodbyes arrive like debts.

"Take care." It wasn’t enough and had to be.

When I fetched water, I looked at my reflection in the well for the first time. The water gave me back someone I didn’t know.

I couldn’t see any difference. Aren’t all servants the same? I wanted to hate the thought and couldn’t.

But because Samuel said so, I suddenly wished I were prettier. It was a small wish that felt big.

On my last day in the stables, I volunteered for the night shift. Night quiets the palace’s ugly secrets.

"Everyone’s helped me so much—let me take tonight’s duty." I made it sound like gratitude; it was also strategy.

It was just me, so when the king, drunk, wanted to see the horses, I was the only one called. Drunk kings want audiences from whoever doesn’t say no.

"A stable girl? Why is it a maid?" The king’s voice was low and tipsy. He wasn’t old, but sounded exhausted. Exhaustion walks with entitlement.

I soothed the horse and led it to him. Animals don’t care what anyone is called.

"I’m Evelyn, a stable maid." It felt like introducing a ghost to a mirror.

He looked at me with amusement. "A stable girl? Ride a lap for me." The command was play and power at once.

I lifted my pale pink skirt and mounted. The fabric tugged around my knees; I ignored it the way I ignore everything that tries to stop me.

He watched with a smile. I calmly patted the horse—it was very gentle with me. We rode a lap, then I knelt before him. Kneeling made my heart small without making it quiet.

He approached. "Stand up." His voice softened just enough to make my skin cold.

I looked up timidly. That look was a key I’d learned to hold.

He was elegant—power made him even more handsome. Handsome is cruel when it sits on cruelty.

"You said your name is Evelyn?"

I nodded. "Evelyn as in peace." I offered the meaning like a gift you want someone to keep.

That night, the king summoned me. The palace says “summon” when it means “claim.”

Everyone said I was lucky. Luck as a verdict is always suspect here.

But I was just following Margaret Charlotte’s instructions. She’d given me a script; I played it.

I bowed to everyone. "I’ll never forget your kindness." Bowing is easier than debt.

Yesterday was the anniversary of Margaret Charlotte and the king’s first meeting. I wore a pale pink dress he liked. Memory is a dress in this palace.

How could he not be drawn to a woman who looked so much like Margaret Charlotte, but was even more gentle and obedient? Echoes soothe men who hate originals.

The magnolia blossoms wait high above, dazzling and out of reach. The same-colored azaleas bloom low, easy to see and more pleasing. Beauty is a tool and a test.

Because of my lowly birth, the king only granted me the title of Lady Evelyn. Titles come like rations.

When I paid respects to the queen, I wore lake blue. I knew which colors danced on which nerves.

She looked startled, then quickly hid it. She was skilled at hiding what would kill her.

"So it’s you," she said, idly playing with glass beads. "How is Lady Charlotte?" Her question was a blade wrapped in lace.

The king frowned. "Lady Charlotte?" He tasted the name like poison he wanted to enjoy.

The queen smiled. "Yes, Lady Evelyn used to serve her in the West Wing." Her smile added sugar to the trap.

The king said nothing, but his face grew cold. Cold is his favorite mood.

After I left, the chief steward hurried over.

"Lady Evelyn, no need to wait tonight. His Majesty is summoning Lady De instead." He looked sympathetic. Sympathy is small in rooms like this.

I nodded obediently. "Thank you for letting me know." My voice stayed smooth; my stomach didn’t.

The king was fickle—new favorites got three days’ attention. Except me. Exception as punishment is a palace art.

After the first night, he never summoned me again. Silence is my old friend.

The queen was polite, but I saw the mockery in her eyes. Politeness is cruelty measured with a spoon.

With the king ignoring me, I had time to visit Margaret Charlotte. Time is what you spend when you run out of other currency.

"She’s a distant cousin," she snorted. "Always fawning over me, washing my feet, dressing me, cooking for me, even serving when I saw the king." She built the queen out of verbs.

"Later I realized how deep her scheming went—she hated me but smiled sweetly, just waiting for her chance." Sweet smiles carve deep.

I said nothing, just picked at the weeds. Weeds tell the truth about any garden.

"Who knew she’d get pregnant first, and the king made her queen." The sentence had a birth and a sentence inside it.

I made mint water—it was getting hot, good for cooling down. The mint smell cut through heat and grief.

But Margaret Charlotte kept talking. "Still, I got my revenge." Revenge is its own food.

I interrupted. "I know, you’ve said that." Sometimes you have to cut the rope of a memory to keep from hanging.

She smiled faintly. The smile was old and tired and still wanted company.