The royals and dignitaries all throng the open casket, which will be wheeled into the crypt. I am once again three rows deep. I am told that the old King’s body has been embalmed and he will be put together with his ancestors, who date back to the sixteenth century. One day, Alex will grow old and die, I’m morbidly aware, and he too will be interred here together with his father, who once disapproved of his choice of a wife.
The Archbishop of Moldavia is the highest cleric in the land. He prays in Latin, something I reckon most of the audience does not understand. He is a man of seventy, with shocking white hair and stern eyes as piercing as the sky. As he prays and blesses the casket with holy water, his gaze rakes over the audience.
Although I’m behind two bodies, I swear his eyes alight on me for a tad longer than usual. They blaze with derision. So, they seem to say. You are the one who has caused such grief.
And then the moment passes and his eyes flit away.
I swallow. Could it have been my imagination?
It is Alex’s turn to say something. In black, he is somber and serious and very handsome, as befitting a young new King. He speaks in French, something I will have to learn if I am to be his wife. I don’t understand most of what he’s saying, but I believe he is asking for forgiveness.
Forgive me, Father, for hurting you.
Forgive me for not being at your side when you were first taken ill.
Forgive me for failing to be the son you wanted.
Forgive me for constantly disappointing you.
Although I am not sure what Alex is saying (nor do I intend to ask him), my mind runs over with things he may be saying.
Forgive me for choosing to marry a woman so far beneath my station and bringing this family shame. Now that I am King, I will rectify this, Father. I will cast her aside and take Tatiana to be my one true bride.
OK, I’m still insecure and paranoid. I can’t help it. Look where I am. A chilly breeze whips up and sends leaves scuttling against the mausoleum. It’s much chillier than any wind present today by far. It’s as though the ghost of Alex’s father is omnipresent, guiding the proceedings and fueling my newfound fears.
Thankfully, it is over. The casket is wheeled inside the crypt and laid into a cubicle carved into one of the walls. I am not allowed inside, but I imagine the ghosts there whispering to the Alex as he vanishes into the mausoleum, bidding his father goodbye a final time.
With a final blessing, the iron doors clang shut, never to open again until the death of the next monarch. Queens are not allowed to be interred here. It is strictly for Moldavian Kings. When we die, Alex and I will not be buried together.
I’m being horribly morbid today. Blame it on the atmosphere.
We slowly walk towards the waiting limos. Alex has his arm around his weeping mother as he ushers her to the lead car. A pang stabs my chest. The Queen must have loved her husband so, so much.
“Elizabeth Turner?” a female voice calls me.
I turn.
Alex’s sister, Marie, walks towards me. She resembles her mother – all long dark hair and flashing eyes – but somehow she does not possess the same beauty, as though she is a faded version of a beloved painting rather than the real deal. She is less austere however, as one would expect of a student from Yale. I have never officially been introduced to her because she just flew back in yesterday.
“Hello?” I say cautiously. I have already been exposed to the toxic Claire, Alex’s youngest sister. I don’t expect Marie to be much better, especially when Claire tells her I’ve been rifling through her closet.
Marie holds out her hand and smiles warmly. Well, that’s a start.
“I’m Marie . . . ”
“I know. Alex has told me so much about you.”
She scrutinizes my dress. “Moldavian, huh? Good strategy.”
“It was Madame Fournier’s idea.”
“Yes. Good woman, that.”
Her eyes do not mirror her words, and I get the impression she’s not very fond of Madame Fournier. Then she smiles again. I don’t know if I’m correct to assume this, but she does not seem overly upset that her father is dead. Or perhaps true royals behave like this. Still, perhaps she copes with her grief differently.#p#分页标题#e#
She says, “I do hope we’ll be able to get to know each other better. My mother told me that Alex has asked you to marry him.”
I cringe inwardly, waiting for another barrage of ‘Leave my brother alone, you lowly gold-digger’. But she continues, “I think that’s a splendid idea.”
Huh? I must have heard wrongly.
“Beg pardon?” I say. My surprise must have shown on my face because Marie throws back her head and laughs.