Chapter 99
Winter, in its long and quiet reign, had finally begun to loosen its grip. I was now seven months with child, and though the air still held a chill, there was a soft promise of spring upon the horizon.
Kyle remained unmovable. The divorce papers had been drafted and redrafted more times than I cared to count, each version meeting a swift and undignified end beneath his fingers.
The investigation into Annette's crimes had reached its conclusion. After months of testimony, and unflinching scrutiny, Millicent had pronounced the sentence herself. Her own mother was to face the gallows.
And that day… was today.
Millicent, Vincent, and I stood in quiet vigil in one of the drawing rooms, gazing through the tall panes of glass that framed the estate's northern view. Far in the distance, just beyond the rise of the lawns and the black iron gates, gathered a sea of citizens. At the gate stood an immovable line of guards, their armor gleaming beneath the pale light.
I reached for Millicent's hand and her fingers curled around mine. When she glanced down at me, I asked, "Are you certain this is what you wish to do?"
"My mother's transgressions were neither slight nor few. This is what must be done, Florence. It is not vengeance. It is justice."
"You might have imprisoned her, as you did my father."
"For all your father's cruelty, he did not spill blood within these walls. If he did, we found no trace of it here."
I rested my head upon her shoulder, hoping to ease the burden she bore with such dignity. "Millicent, you need not carry this alone. If the grief presses upon you, I am here. You may cry."
"Thank you, Florence," she said quietly. "But I am quite well now. Her heart reserved its affection solely to those in whom her own blood runs. To all others, it held only shadow. In the end, I could not accept it. I could not preserve it."
Silence settled upon the room once more. The three of us remained there, standing like shadows stitched to the windowpane.
I glanced at her now and again, searching her face for any sign of sorrow, for the tremble of a lip, the sheen of unshed tears, but there was none. Her expression was unflinching. Not the face of a daughter in mourning. Only the face of a duchess who had chosen the weight of justice over the pull of blood.
"I am sorry, Florence." The silence fractured at last.
"For what?"
"I questioned her, about the whereabouts of your cane. She admitted to destroying it."
"The one Cecilia designed?"
"Yes."
"I contacted the artisan who crafted it. He regrets to inform that the blueprint was discarded upon completion. There exists no replica. It was singular in its make. A piece never to be fashioned again."
"It is all right. Even if someone were to recreate it perfectly, it would not be the same. There is no replacing it."
Vincent's voice rang out, bright and curious.
"Why are there so many people out there?" he asked, wide-eyed, pressing closer to the window as if expecting a parade.
I had expected him to ask sooner.
"Whenever I consign a soul to the gallows," Millicent replied with quiet certainty, "a crowd will always gather. Many arrive to express their gratitude. A few come to curse my name."
Vincent tilted his head, squinting. "Will I send someone to the gallows too, one day?"
"Yes," she answered, still watching the mass beyond the gate. Her gaze did not waver. "And when your time comes, you too shall witness this very scene."
He was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Can grandma send folks to the gallows too?"
I glanced toward Millicent, but she did not flinch. We had told him Annette was away on a long journey, far from Ivoryspire. He was far too young to comprehend the truth, and if we revealed it now, he would surely cry. For all her sins, Annette had indulged him, and he had loved her in the unknowing, uncomplicated way that only children can.
"No," she answered. "Such authority rests solely with you and me. It is a burden reserved for those who govern, and one not to be borne lightly."
Vincent had just opened his mouth, poised to speak, when a knock sounded at the chamber door.
"Enter," Millicent called.
Issac stepped inside and offered a respectful bow. "Your Grace, I bring word from the eastern border. Princess Charlotte and Princess Consort Cecilia have just crossed into Ivoryspire. Their destination is here."
My head turned at once to Millicent, eyes wide. "You never told me. Why?"
"Because I had no knowledge of it either," she replied with a light chuckle. "But it is hardly unexpected. Charlotte has ever been fond of appearing without warning. It is a habit she cultivated in our youth and one she never quite abandoned. The day you first encountered her, yes, that too was entirely unplanned. A stroke of providence, truly, for it led her to Cecilia."
"Well, come along then, we must prepare for them!" I seized her hand and began to pull her toward the door, fully intent on orchestrating a proper welcome.
"What about me?!" came Vincent's indignant cry from behind us.
I paused. Ah. Right.
"Oh yes. I had quite forgotten you were present," I said without shame, extending my other hand backward.
Millicent let out a full, rich laugh. "Florence, you are the finest mother in all the realm."
"Oh, do be quiet," I muttered. "I was momentarily distracted by royal matters."
Vincent, content to be included once more, eagerly clasped my hand, and the three of us made for the hall.
As we passed, Millicent called back over her shoulder with perfect composure, "Issac, ensure the household is made aware. A princess and her consort shall soon cross our threshold."
And so we hurried down the corridor, a flurry of movement and rising joy stirring in my chest. My dearest Cecilia, my anchor, my soul's echo, was coming.
A harrowing day for Annette, but within these walls, laughter stirred again. We jested, we moved as a family. And as my hand remained in Millicent's, I looked ahead with hope, all the while praying earnestly that when she said she was well, she truly was.