Chapter 167

Divorce trials are a tricky thing.

True to any patriarchal society, the odds are far more in favor of a husband trying to divorce rather than a wife.

Long grow the days, the sun’s rays showering Radovalsk in warmth and good tidings. The seas were smooth, bringing in fine trade from across the Moor to the Old Continent. The Aidelish visit had been fortunate for many reasons: a marriage alliance had been forged between one of the empress’s “adopted” daughters and the kingdom’s prince. Trade treaties had been shaken on and signed, bringing in a wave of unique goods that satisfy my temperamental interests. Today has brought before me a kaleidoscope possessing the most intricate craftsmanship I’ve ever seen. It’s almost as intoxicating as looking into Elias’ eyes.

“Princess,” a familiar voice calls, using my title deliberately to get my attention.

It works. I set down the kaleidoscope with a frown. “How many times have I told you to use my name? Would you like it if I called you, Young Lord? Little Lord Wolfe, don’t try my patience.”

As if sensing my irritation, Devil, who has a black patch of fur on his snow-white butt, scuttles over. I pick him up and my irritation disseminates.

“Looks like I chose well for my gift.” Elias looks on with a knowing grin, his chin propped up on his hand as he casually leans on the armrest of his wheelchair.

.....

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Little Lord Wolfe,” I say, even though deep down I agree with him. My tone even comes out softer than I’d intended. “What did you think of the matter I had mentioned?”

“Of the divorce?” he asks.

I nod, my loose hair dancing at the edge of my vision. It is technically improper for me to present myself before a man with my hair unbound like this, but there’s no one around to scold me. “Yes.”

“It won’t work,” he responds without pause.

My lips pull into a thin frown and I take Devil and myself to lean on the armchair closest to where Elias’ chair sits.

“You underestimate the effect this divorce case could have,” I tell him. “You underestimate me.”

“You, I most certainly don’t doubt. But the case will have a negligible impact that will be difficult to capitalize on, even if you manage to sever the Berrick marriage and weaken the empress’s grasp on power.”

The grandfather clock on the far wall ticks in agreement. My frown deepens.

“Forget about the empress. What do you know of women, Elias?” I taunt, haughtily gazing at the boy before me. As clever as he may be, there are some things he has failed to consider.

A haughty expression overtakes his face, tugging the corner of his mouth into a devious smirk. “Enough.”

The sight of the self-confidence on Elias’ youthful face draws a surprised chuckle from me before I can stop it.

“You jest,” I counter. Devil nibbles at my fingers and I reach for the plate of carrots a maid left in here an hour ago to feed him. His sister, Angel, is resting on the sofa opposite us.

“Loving, but vengeful when crossed. Devoted to the point of self-sacrifice. Repressed, by themselves but much more so by society. Capable of much more than most would give them credit for,” Elias flicks through his argument like a bored student reading bullet points off a slide, but there is a ring of truth to his generalizations.

“What did you do, read a romance book or two?” I ponder aloud, tossing a playful look in his direction.

“I have learned much simply but studying you,” His head tilts to the side, as if he were a scientist studying a specimen. “You are, by far, the most intriguing person I have ever met.”

He’s always so good at looking sincere, the longer strands of his sandy-colored hair falling into his eyes and giving him a deceptively docile appearance.

Unsure if I’m getting Elias the trickster or Elias the friend, I fire back, “Well you’ve only met about 10 people so I will take that with a grain of salt.”

“Winter.” His voice is softer than a cloud, halfway between a whisper and murmur but still echoing with conviction. “I mean it.”

My heart trembles. “Do you... want something from me?” I ask, stroking Devil’s back to keep myself calm.

“Pardon?” His brows, the greatest resemblance to his father, arch up in confusion.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

“Why are you being so nice? I mean you’ve always been nice, but today, something is fishy.” The more I talk nonsense, the calmer I feel. But my word vomit takes me in an unexpected direction. “You’re not... in love with me, are you?”

I mentally facepalm myself internally, while I sheepishly smile on the outside and feel my cheeks grow red with embarrassment. I must abort the mission before I make this moment cringey enough to keep me awake at night.

“I’m just kidding! Oh god, your face! Wow!” I spit out a few seconds later before he even has a chance to answer, doubling over and pretending like my stupid joke was funny. Don’t laugh at me, I know you’ve done this before too.

To my great pleasure, a lot of the situation seems to go over Elias’ head as he fixates on the word ‘love’ and his thoughts circle around to an old topic.

“Speaking of love, you once asked me to help you search for eligible bachelors to potentially wed,” he orates slowly, rubbing his chin in thought.

“Why do you ask? Do you wish to recommend yourself as one?” I snort. I’m not usually so annoying, I promise. But I find myself on pins and needles with the strange direction our conversation has been going on.

“No, I-” he protests. I shush with a finger to the mouth, his mouth.

“Then stop changing the subject,” I order. “It doesn’t matter what you do or don’t know about women. I gave the matter some thought, after all I am occasionally prone to make rash decisions based on my emotions,” I say, barely admitting to my hotheaded tendencies.

“But now that I’ve thought about it, I don’t want to use this divorce to get revenge on the empress. Sure, winning the case will briefly expose a chink in House Duvernay’s armor when one of their growing strongholds in the army is crippled, but I don’t doubt they’ll find another young upstart to rise through the ranks of the army on their behalf.”

Elias nods tentatively, urging me to continue.

“I just want to use this case to get a feel for the political arena. See who sides with who. See whose morals haven’t completely eroded under the weight of their faction’s machinations. And of course, arrange my own revenge against Lord Berrick, excluding the empress from the narrative. It’s better to start small with revenge,” I finish.

Because once your fury calmed down, you remember that you aren’t ready to face Katya yet, my subconscious chides darkly. I ignore it.

“All this, you hope to obtain from a divorce trial?” The twinge of disbelief in his tone was unmistakable.

“You would be amazed to what extent an unprecedented trial of this sort can reveal the underbelly of a political court,” I grimace, my mind dwelling on the famous French case from the 1300s where the wife of a minor lord was assaulted and the case managed to inflate until it reached the king’s ear and became a duel to the death.

“Sometimes, cases that call on you to make a judgment with your emotions and personal experiences in addition to the law have a way of transcending the entire matter it was borne, becoming a reflection of society as a whole. That’s all I want.” A casual shrug tries and fails to dislodge the heaviness in my tone.

I wish I could quickly explain this matter by using the OJ Simpson trial as an example, but he’s not from my world so he wouldn’t understand. However, there is one clear connection between a French medieval duel to the death and an explosive ‘whodunit’ murder trial from the 90s, one that this divorce trial will possess as well: a wronged woman.

“It’s not possible,” he repeated. But he looks less convinced.

Meanwhile, I make my peace with not being able to fully explain myself to one of my oldest friends. There hangs between us the familiar divide stemming from my unique origins, one that will always hang between myself and anyone I meet in this world.

I placate myself by remembering that when this trial is through, the repercussions will be felt and heard by many. This is my chance to quietly introduce myself to the cutthroat political scene that ripples beneath the idyllic image the city presents, to show the world that I am not just a puppet for House Duvernay to trot out in front of the masses as they wish and heal whomever they command like a show pony performing tricks. I must show the world that in a subtler, less bloody way, I am indeed my father’s daughter.

“They’ll know you’re behind it,” Elias adds, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t attempt to sway me anymore, perhaps sensing my firm resolve as well.

“Of course. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already somehow caught wind of the impending divorce. They will try to stop it. Bishop Duvernay will no doubt give a sermon soon on the merits of fighting to make a marriage last and how Helio would consider divorce sinful as it spits upon the bond he has created between a couple,” I laugh. Religion is a powerful, manipulative tool in the wrong hands.

“Do you believe that?” he asks.

“Believe that Helio would say that about marriage? Of course not. They say my abilities, no, my gift comes from Helio. I’ve often wondered, why me? I mean, I did intend to profit off the prophecy in the first place, but for it to come true and bestow this power upon me, I could not have expected it in my wildest dreams,” I briefly set Devil in my lap and raise the unadorned hands I was born with before me. They’re just two ordinary lumps of flesh, but in many people’s eyes they are more precious than the gold a man could make a fortune out of, the gold that reflects in my very gaze with every blink.

“Old as he may be, Helio is still fond of his games and slave to his whims,” Elias wryly muttered, his face adopting that knowing expression one unconsciously has when they speak of someone they know well.

“You speak as if you know him,” I chuckle, lightly amused.

“I do in some ways, better than you might think,” he replies thoughtfully.

“Bollocks,” I counter. He has always had the most interesting sense of humor.

But Elias looks down at his lap, his face hidden away. “There had been a time when I’d once believed that if I prayed hard enough and were pious, my legs would be healed and my father would... would recognize me and forgive me for killing my mother. I prayed and prayed in the small chapel of my ancestral home, kneeling on these useless legs until even they could feel the cold seeping in from the floor. I would fast for days at a time and let servants eat my meals in my place until I fainted from weakness. Any and every religious and magical text we possessed, I read them. And yet, nothing changed.”

There was a somber shift in his mood, but underneath it, I sensed a rare emotion from Elias. Anger. True, burning rage, the kind that nips at your belly every second of the day and chases after your heels like a rabid dog. I’ve recognized the same within me before.

“I tried so hard to be the very image of Helio. But it seemed I could never be good enough to be seen by him... or by my father,” he smiled sardonically to himself. The sudden flash of white teeth looks razor sharp as if he’s actually a wolf wearing the skin of a boy. But just as quickly, the frightening appearance fades away and leaves a bitter sorrow in its wake. There aren’t any tears falling, only because he’s cried them all out ages ago.

My legs lift me up and carry me away from where I’d been seated before I even know what I’m doing.

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me,” I set down Devil and grab Elias’ face with both hands. My thumbs rub back and forth on his warm cheeks. “Fuck Helio. And fuck your dad.”

“Is that another one of your made-up swear words?” His mouth is a bit squished by the force of my grasp so I loosen it a bit. There are faint red marks on his tender skin and some terrible part of me feels a touch of pleasure at leaving my mark. But it’s buried away quickly alongside my other demons.

“It’s not made up, people say it here too and it’s considered quite crude. But yes, it’s one of the rudest ones,” I confirm, making an accidental slip of the tongue regarding my rebirth that I don’t pick up on in the heat of the moment. “We don’t need either of them. People like you and I, we make our own way. Ok?”

“Ok.” Up close, I can see that his amethyst eyes sparkle with unshed tears, the rippling water in them making them shine brighter than actual gemstones. The awareness of our proximity creeps over my slowly like a chill, lulling me out of our sudden emotional connection. I notice several things at once. Several strands of my silver-white hair have fallen around us like a curtain, blocking the world out around us. And Elias is the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen in both lives, truly.

“Elias, I’m sorry I-,” I let go like I’ve been burned, backing away from the wheelchair.

“Winter, wait-” Something warm grabs my wrist, the feeble-looking boy possessing greater strength than I could’ve imagined and stopping me in my tracks so thoroughly I tumble forward. My hands catch myself on the arms of Elias’ chair just as the doors to the sitting room are opened without warning, to the serenade of Marie’s loud protests.

“Your highness, please wait!” she cries. It’s as futile as using an egg to stop a rock.

Augustus stands at the mouth of the room, an unfamiliar expression overtaking his face as he stares us down. A hand rests on the large sword sheathed at his waist, one that he has grown into over the years so he no longer looks like a boy pretending to be a man. Today, Augustus looks like my father. He looks like Emperor Helio.