The Historian’s Novel

The Capital’s streets bustled with movement. A family, swinging their son between them exited a theatre with smiles galore. Hailing a coach, amongst an unending number of taxicabs awaiting their future customer’s call, they left as one unit. 

   Amelia closed the blinds to her townhouse’s window, absentmindedly twisting the gold ring on her finger as she tried and make sense of the odd sentimentality which seemed to gnaw at the back of her mind upon spotting a child in the wild.

   She had thought herself long detached from such wants. Only, since awakening en-route to the Velvetican Kingdom’s capital city, it was like a part of herself couldn’t help but imagine what life might be like to hold in her arms a tiny bundle of joy.

   A side effect from reading too many romance novels involving baby-making, perhaps?

   Putting the thought down for later consideration, Amelia recalled the events leading up to their arrival in the capital city. She’d been a bit worried, when her father was greeted by an army of guards stationed atop the city’s portcullis. More so when a messenger among them made it a point to loudly announce the Baron of Strightsworth would need surrender his weapons before he could enter.

   The Baron of Strightsworth, to the noise of his complaining and hollering knights, had made it clear how kindly he took to being ordered, by leaping to land atop the walls, where nobody could stop him from stealing the messenger’s helmet.

   “Go ahead, take them,” Havoc said, crumpling the piece of armor like it were tinfoil to be dropped at the feet of the low-ranking noble.

   None appeared willing to try out their luck in determining whether the Baron was being sincere, or sarcastic. Thus, a compromise was found. Havoc’s knights would be granted permission to make camp outside the city walls, with their weapons untouched, while Amelia, Grace, and her father, were graciously gifted a townhouse to stay in. Amelia knew technically, they were being put under house arrest, but reality didn’t really match what must have been recorded on paper. Since Havoc made it clear that while he would keep to himself, it came with the caveat his daughter be allowed to walk wherever she wanted.

   The sound of clicking heels descending a set of stairs caught Amelia’s notice. Getting off from the windowsill, she met Grace who had slept well past morning, in the lobby. 

   “You should have woken me up,” Grace said with a great yawn.

   “I tried,” Amelia responded, as if it were obvious. Growing rather proud when the princess sighed in bleak acceptance, since she’d done no such thing.

   Amelia’s reason for lying, was a result of having woken up thirsty at about midnight, only to find Grace in a corner of their room, next to the door, facing the window, with a gun on her lap and a book in her hand. The small burning candle of a night-light showed how long the princess had kept watch. She hadn’t dared comment. Not when Grace fetched her a cup of water, nor when Grace tucked her back in to bed. If the princess believed the Marquess might try something underhanded while Havoc was away visiting the King’s castle, then who was Amelia to tell her she was overreacting. 

When underreacting was the reason they were in the capital to begin with.

“We’re going out,” Grace said to the pair of guards near the front door. They looked up from the game of cards they had set up on a small folding table. 

"Please be back before dark for our sake," one of them begged, "if anything were to happen to you..."

“Our lives would be forfeit,” finished the other, whose gaze nervously creeped past the kitchen to a side-room where Havoc now slept after having returned in the wee hours of the morning, snoring loud enough you could hear him.

Empathizing with their worry, Amelia promised the guards in passing that nothing bad would come their way, even if she did disappear.

“What’s on the agenda?” Grace asked Amelia, once they’d set foot on the streets, “Got any plans?”

Amelia shook her head no. All she wanted to do was spend time with her friend. Not that she hadn’t a destination in mind. It just wasn’t the priority.

“Then a touristy walk? Followed by shopping?” Grace asked, readjusting her basket.

The fact the princess was carrying a full set of daily necessities inside that basket, and twin parasols under her other arm, did not pass over Amelia’s head.

“I can help carry stuff,” Amelia offered. Only Grace turned at the hips; moving the basket she’d aimed for out of reach. Wondering whether she’d spoken too softly for the princess to hear, Amelia tried again, only for the same thing to happen.

   “Focus on enjoying yourself,” Grace said, handing Amelia a single parasol, like a mother gifting a child a sock in the hopes they’d distract themselves with it. “We both know you’ll get tired carrying anything heavier than the clothes on your back.”

   “Maybe I’d enjoy carrying the basket,” Amelia mumbled under her breath. Unhappy the princess would think she couldn’t last a short while with it. Even if Grace were right. It didn’t feel all that good to know the person she wanted to impress had such a low opinion of her. It was frustrating. If she were strong like her father, then Amelia could imagine carrying not only the basket, but the princess as well!

   Hold on, why did that image pop into her head?

            “Here, don’t pout,” Grace said, handing from her basket to Amelia, a purse, “See? Now we’re both carrying the same number of items. My parasol and basket, to your parasol and wallet!”

   Amelia frowned. Considered the logic, then found herself smiling since it made sense.

   So that’s how they walked. Amelia, with a skip to her feet, and two very light objects in arm, alongside Grace who didn’t show any signs of strain no matter how many knick-knacks they bought from the vendors lining the winding, colorful, well-maintained capital city streets.

   Talking as they explored, the simple act of spending time with a friend felt like a breath of fresh air for Amelia, who found herself so engrossed in their wandering, that she lost track of all else. Until the distant tolling of a cathedral bell announced it was noon. Finding her legs to have tired, Amelia made the executive decision to take pause in an adorable corner café.

   “They’ve got a kitty,” she whispered excitedly once inside, pointing to a fat cat that took one look at her before promptly high-tailing away.

   “We can ask to pet it after eating,” Grace said, as she found a private corner to seat themselves down.

   Ordering their food, they each selected a drink while they waited. For Grace, tea. For Amelia, tea, with a helping of sugar. Amelia had barely taken her first sip, when the princess began eagerly drumming her hands on the counter; her gaze having found in the café; a newspaper rack.

   “Ooh, give me a second,” Grace said, sliding away to buy herself an edition, “Sorry, something caught my eye,” she said once returned.

   “Anything special?”

   “See here?” Grace showed off the headline, which featured under it a poorly captured black and white image of a handsome man with a sword standing over another. “I’ve heard a lot about this gladiator during my time at the bar,” she said, flipping pages, “pretty standard underdog story, but I’ll admit I might have gotten a bit invested in the sport… And it looks like Stanton’s been doing real swell as of late. Doesn’t help that he’s cute.”

   “Can I see?” Amelia asked, her interest caught upon hearing the man’s name.

   Grace placed the newspaper on the table between them. Most assuredly, the man Amelia saw pictured was the gladiator from the Historian’s novel. However, unlike in ‘A History of the Velvetican Kingdom’, where Stanton had been described as a struggling fighter with neither backer nor public support, the gladiator she now read about seemed like a local hero who just wouldn’t stop winning.

    Amelia couldn’t make heads or tails of why such a detail had changed. Could Vanridge’s death be the cause? The world now lacked he who would have eventually become a vampiric existence; intent on draining those foolish enough to allow him inside through gambling and vice. Perhaps, a rich backer once meant to flounder, had instead discovered Stanton’s good talent? She hoped so. Among the suitors, Stanton remained Amelia’s favorite. His earnest, if not a bit immature approach in seducing the princess had been sweeter than double dipped cinnamon rolls.

   Except, did this mean Grace and Stanton would never have an opportunity to meet? A no-name gladiator received different treatment compared to a prized fighter. Even if they went to the colosseum where he’d been meant to rescue Grace from an animal on the loose… the likelihood of it happening twice in the same way felt like grains of sand that slipped through Amelia’s fingers.

   And how could Stanton defend Grace’s honor in a duel if the two never met to begin with? Would that not happen as well, considering Gregory was probably even now recuperating in a hospital bed?

   “I… I know it’s you, but uh… Are you really going to eat all of that?” Grace asked, breaking Amelia out from her thoughts to discover their food had arrived.

   “Sugar helps me think better,” Amelia said, munching down upon her mountain of pudding. “Wha-aboot you?” she asked, before remembering she shouldn’t talk with her mouth open.

   “It’s not proper,” Ophelia’s voice echoed, as clear as the day Amelia’s mother had said it the first time, ‘You wouldn’t want to see all that gross, chewed up food in someone else’s mouth now, would you? Good. And remember, there’s a piece of chocolate with your name on it if you can finish your veggies.’

   The memory hurt. Amelia ordered another bowl of pudding while Grace kept talking about Stanton’s impressive winning streak. Soon, Amelia finished that also, and her stomach groaned in complaint. But she called for another and kept shoveling more food into her mouth. Faster and faster, until her spoon did slip from her trembling hands.

   “I’m… I’m sorry for being like this in public,” Amelia said, as the princess and café came back into focus. “I’m not sure what’s come over me,” she added, hurrying to use a handkerchief with which she wiped her face clean.

   First her tears, then her mouth.

   Grace, her back to the rest of the café, closed the parasol which she’d opened behind her for some reason.

   “We’re in a corner, whatever you’re talking about… nobody noticed,” Grace said with a smile. A smile, which suddenly felt too good for Amelia, who knew it shouldn’t be her who sat across such a considerate person.

    “Do you r-really think he looks cute?” Amelia asked Grace, pointing at the newspaper's image of Stanton. “I… I could arrange a meeting. If you’re interested.”

   Grace shrugged dispassionately, “He’s got too much of a baby face for me,” she said, raising her hand high for a waiter.

   Twenty seconds later, Amelia found herself with a pudgy kitten on her lap. Whose cheeks positively needed a good squeezing, despite how much it felt like the princess was trying to distract her with it.

   “Can I leave for three minutes?” Grace asked, “I saw a street vendor with cool stuff pass by the window, after I catch up to him, I’ll come right back.”

   This arrangement suited Amelia just fine. It wouldn’t do to be a busy-body; sticking her nose into each thought Grace might have. Plus, with the princess sallying forth to hail down a vendor, it left her with more time to think on which suitor she should really be trying to pair with the princess. The alchemist Richter, she couldn't get over. His clinical approach to getting his experiments done, even if he had become more moral about it thanks to the princess, underlined a mentality that was much too scary to deal with. Same with Vanridge, who had at one point outright professed a desire to keep the princess locked up in his room.

Also, he was dead. And Amelia still had no idea how it had happened. Sort of like how she couldn’t understand why Thompson Brown had failed to get off on the right foot with Grace this time around for some reason…

   But the remaining two suitors, Amelia liked. Even if Grace wasn’t enthusiastic about it, giving Stanton a chance with the princess was the least she could do for the gladiator, who had died protecting Grace unto the end. Martel was trickier, for while pretty decent, usually, he begged the question: Is a killer who has yet to kill, a killer at heart if they were destined to kill in the future?

   Amelia’s head started hurting. Somehow, she had managed to confuse herself. Which led to her asking Grace for her opinion once the princess returned.

   “If you do something bad in the future, travel back in time, and then don’t do the bad thing, are you still a bad person?”

   Grace stared at Amelia in such a way she immediately felt ashamed for having asked such a dumb question. But like the benevolent, patient woman she was, the princess answered with a smile.

   “Are we talking… In the eyes of the law?" Grace said, “Because I'd say if such a thing were possible, a fresh start should mean a fresh start.”

           It was enough for Amelia to put Martel down as a ‘maybe’.