Running to the Army to Escape my Bride-to-be - 3

My mother swept us both toward the great doors of Santo with the same air she might have when ushering a visiting duchess into her drawing room—except the duchess, in this case, was her own son.

“Come along, Francisco, you mustn’t stay in the sun too long,” she said, looping her arm through mine as though I were some delicate ornament liable to be snatched away by a breeze. “The day is too hot for you. And if I catch you walking about without a hat again, you will answer to me.”

“I’ve marched under heavier suns, Mother,” I protested, though my voice was mild.

“Marching! What sort of talk is that? I did not raise you to be tramping about in the dirt like a common trooper.” She turned to Mária-Lujza, her tone becoming warm and conspiratorial. “You must see to it, my dear, that he takes better care of himself. I can only do so much when he is at that dreadful academy.”

Mária-Lujza smiled sweetly, lowering her eyes in modest deference. “Of course, my lady. I will care for him as you do. Even more, if I may be so bold.”

I felt her glance flick toward me—quick, measured, a momentary spark beneath the veil of meekness—before her eyes returned to my mother with practiced devotion.

Inside, the world seemed to belong entirely to women. Footmen were rare; the staff were mostly female—maids, stewards, secretaries—moving briskly through the marble halls with the confidence of those who ran estates as deftly as they might a regiment. The portraits along the walls bore the stern gazes of generations of d’Arpad countesses, all matriarchs in their own right.

“Men must be guarded,” my mother often said, “for there are too few to waste, and too many women to mourn them.” I had grown up with this truth pressed upon me—doors opened for me, chairs pulled out for me, every courtesy of chivalry until I thought I would be driven to madness. It was so horrible that I even dared to beg my mother to allow me the honor of taking the position a dutiful daughter should have, and attend the academy. As a young man, this is obviously unheard of, and many young ladies did faint upon seeing me in the military academy at stellasophia.

Mária-Lujza seemed to understand it too well.

As we crossed the east hall, she walked a half-step behind me, letting my mother keep my arm. Her hands were folded demurely, her head slightly bowed—yet she observed everything. I could feel her eyes boring in the back of my head.

“I had the violet salon prepared for tea,” my mother was saying. “You’ll enjoy it, Francisco; the Countess of Aritia has brought gifts for you.”

“How kind,” I murmured half-heartedly.

“It is nothing,” Mária-Lujza replied softly. “When one is blessed by God to be given a husband, it is only right to honor him with even small gifts as these. I pray every day for the grace to make him happy.”

My mother nearly glowed at that. “See? Such gentleness. She will be good for you, my son. Perhaps you will even begin acting as a proper son ought and give up on these silly dreams of soldiering like a common lady.”

Gentleness. Yes. Ignoring that last part my mother said out of courtesy, That was the word everyone would use for her. But when we entered the violet salon, she moved closer, under the pretext of adjusting her skirts, forcing me to slide closer to my mother, who just beamed.

She drew back slightly as my mother started on about the tea and cakes the servants had provided, I glanced out of the corner of my eye, and met the countess’ eyes staring right at me, I shuddered uncontrollably, which started my mother fretting over me yet again, thinking I had contracted a cold on the carriage ride back to the estate.

And so we sat, the three of us, sipping tea from gilded porcelain while my mother fussed over my appetite and Mária-Lujza asked careful, innocent questions about my studies. From the outside, it must have looked like a perfect arrangement: a doting mother, a dutiful bride-to-be, and the treasured son at the center of it all.

But even then, I could feel the faint tightening of a noose around my neck as I glanced at her eyes.

The world might see a sweet, blushing lady of Aritia. I saw something else—a fox in silk, a devil walking among the good people of the world, intending to possess or destroy all.

I had to flee was the main thought screaming like a banshee in my mind.