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Logically, I know Aika isn’t the one who killed Louis, but her loyalty to the woman who had him murdered is a lot to bear in the wake of his memory.
When Grandmère stops in front of a family portrait in the Great Hall, one we had painted just before Louis turned eighteen, I try to look past it. I focus on the baroque frame, following its gilded edges as they twist and curve around the depiction of our family when it was whole.
Aika is stiff as a board at my side, an uncomfortable tension wracking the space between us in violent waves. After several stilted moments, I register that there has been a pause in the conversation for too long.
Grandmère’s rich brown eyes are assessing me and even the hold Aika has on my arm. She doesn’t comment on what does—or doesn’t—lie between me and my wife, though I know she’s picked up far more than she lets on.
Instead, she steps forward, reaching out a hand to place on my cheek, a comforting gesture she’s repeated countless times in my life. Aika releases her hold on me and turns away, giving us the illusion of privacy.
“We can’t just never speak of him again, mon chéri.” Her tone is firm, yet gentle. “He lived, and we loved him, and we will not pretend for the sake of our feelings that he was never here.”
The admonishment stings.
I’m not sure I’m ready to stop pretending just yet. It’s easier not to think about him. Or to stay angry enough that I don’t miss him, to lose myself in all my vices and ignore the fact that he’s gone.
Especially since everyone in this palace knows he would have made the better king, but they’ll all be stuck with me one day. One day soon, if my father has anything to say about it.
But that’s not something I can tell Grandmère, even if she can see it written all over my face. So, I swallow hard, giving her a sharp, silent nod in response. She hesitates a moment before patting my cheek and taking her place next to Paule.
Aika steps back to my side, wrapping her arm around mine once more. I could almost believe she was doing it to comfort me, rather than because she needs a crutch.
And I could almost lean into that comfort if it weren’t coming from someone so enmired with the source of my grief.
As it is, I remain staunchly upright and close off my features as we continue with our tour. I’m ready to call the end of this delightful excursion when fate steps in to do it for me.
A loud commotion sounds from around the corner, which leads to the palace menagerie. A tiny shape, much too small to be responsible for the noise, speeds by in a blur of movement.
“Was that—”
Before Aika can finish her sentence, five uniformed caretakers are rounding the corner at a dead run. She’s still entwined with my arm, so I spin until I’m standing in front of her, my back to the men.
Paule has taken a similarly protective stance with Grandmère. It’s not unwarranted, since the men barely stop in time to avoid barreling right into us.
The guards from down the hallway come running, sandwiching themselves in between my back and the menagerie workers at the last second. I tilt my head in a motion for them to step aside, turning until I’m next to Aika again.
The men are coated in a sheen of sweat, their faces red and expressions agitated as they dip into hurried bows and stammer out apologies. Their backs are barely straight before they’re attempting to look around us, their eyes homing in on our feet and the corners of the walls.
“Did you misplace something?” I ask with a raised eyebrow, though I know the answer.
“Again,” Paule adds irritably.
“Apologies, Your Majesties,” the man in front dips his head respectfully before continuing, “The furriers are here, but the blast—the monkey escaped again. He was running around the corner just before we ran into you.”
I sigh, having already gathered that. In all the commotion, I have lost sight of the minuscule beast entirely.
Aika squeezes my arm, as though to steady herself, but her expression gives nothing away
“A monkey, you say?” Her voice is a little too disinterested, in spite of the question, and I resist the urge to narrow my eyes.
“Yes, Your Highness,” the man responds. “Did you see him? It’s very small—a pygmy mutt. It’s a bright golden-orange color and about this big.” He holds up his fingers to indicate four or five inches at most.
“We did,” I tell him. “Though we’ve lost sight of him now. He was moving rather rapidly down the hall.”
Aika nods her agreement, and again, there is something off about it. The men thank us and make as though to leave, but she raises a hand to stop them.
“May I inquire as to why you’re sending the creature to a furrier? Surely, the famed royal menagerie is a suitable home for such an animal...” She trails off, but I don’t miss the way she formed the ending like a question.
Does she actually care? Or is she giving it time to get away out of some misguided protective instinct?
