The Historian’s Novel

Peaceful days are best enjoyed when knowing the future might be cloudy.

   Which was why Amelia had been spending time inside her mother’s greenhouse garden, whenever she could. Despite taking The Historian’s novel as a serious warning of the future, there really wasn’t all that much she could do while waiting for Thompson Brown to answer her request for a meeting.

   “Are you sure it’s not going to break?” Grace asked from close by, her head tilted upward to look with great doubt at where two cords stretched from a branch; extending to end in a flat, wooden swing seat upon which Amelia sat.

   Tucking her legs back, Amelia urged the swing to go even higher. “There are two steel pegs thicker than my wrists keeping the rope in place,” Amelia told Grace confidently, “Dad climbed up to put them in himself, I’m pretty sure the tree will die before they come loose.”

   Reaching about as high as she could force herself, Amelia let go of the ropes for a launch, landing on both feet; perfectly balanced. Grace enthusiastically clapped in support, despite Amelia having not even managed to jump a full meter.

   Truly, what a relief it had been to find out Grace could care less for status or most social norms. She really was like a story-book character who also happened to be smart, well-spoken, understanding, and beautiful too.

This was a good thing, what with Amelia’s failure to maintain the illusion of being a serious, reliable woman. Only, that good thing led back into a bad thing, because now Grace seemed to be under the impression that Amelia was but a lonely girl who had approached her for the sole purpose of making a friend.

   No matter. Amelia secretly liked how her plan had developed. Since it was a whole lot more fun, and not entirely false.

   “Are you taking a break?” Amelia asked Grace, while they walked together in the greenhouse, along a mossy brick road.

   “Not really. I just came by to give you this,” Grace said, pulling from her brand-new sky-blue dress a document which she passed Amelia’s way, “Heimdall says it’s got information about a person who you’ve been wanting to meet?”

   “Thank you,” Amelia said, still a little surprised by the fact that, among the few details The Historian failed to mention, the princess happened to be a driven workaholic. Despite her insistence all Grace needed to do was exist, and lend a hand on occasion, the princess since being hired had spent every moment not with Amelia helping round the manor with chores.

   This worked well, since it erased Amelia’s concern Grace might be ostracized by the maids due to perceived nepotism. Even Heimdall had taken the time to commend Amelia for having found such a hard worker. But then again, if Grace was a workaholic, then Heimdall would be the fanatic; Her request that he gather information on Thompson Brown to help in negotiations had been made only two days ago. And her estimates for how long the task was expected to take her father’s aid had been in the weeks.

    On the downside, Heimdall’s proficiency meant less time to bond with the princess.

    “Yes, I do think this is the right person” Amelia said, after skimming the document over, deciding to include the princess in her next town visit to make up for the lost hypothetical progress between them. Maybe she could even bring Grace to her meeting with Thompson? No doubt parading the woman who had enamored him in ‘The Historian’s Novel’ would earn her a discount for services rendered.

   Hmm… No, better not. Something about that felt kind of immoral.

   Especially when of all the suitors in The Historian’s future, Thompson was the one who had taken Grace’s eventual rejection the lightest. Having settled for his second love in the end. That second love being of course, money. If you looked at the novel from a storytelling perspective, Thompson, despite being labelled a ‘suitor’ wouldn’t even really qualify as a secondary love interest in most romance novels. He was more just the guy who got the story a ‘rolling with a few cute moments placed here and there. She couldn’t dangle the princess in front of him to save a few coins when he had proven who Grace was for free the first time around.

   “Splendid,” Amelia said, making sure to praise Grace, “But surely you’ve been working hard at it all day, why not sit down with me to relax?”

   “Well…” Grace began, looking over her shoulder as if there were at least a dozen tasks she still needed to do, “I suppose I’ve got some time to spare,” she said, with a playful smile that let Amelia know the princess thought she simply wanted attention.

    A bearable grievance if it meant they could spend time together.

   “All settled in then?” Amelia asked, once they had found a nice corner of the garden where a spot was set up to sit down, curious as she was to know Grace’s current state now that a week had passed since the princess took residence in the room beside hers.        She could tell the princess still felt awkward in her new clothes. But since Grace only made a few half-hearted complaints about not being used to her state-of-the-season threads, Amelia patted herself on the back for a good deed done well.

   “My new room is larger than my old apartment,” Grace answered, rubbing the back of her head as if both thankful and burdened, “are you sure there aren’t any smaller rooms I could use?”

   This placed Amelia, who wanted to do whatever the princess wanted, in a dilemma. There were a ton of smaller rooms in the Strightsworth manor that remained unoccupied. But then the princess wouldn’t be sleeping next to her own. Having once read the fastest way to bond with another person was by proximity, Amelia shook her head no.

   “There might be other rooms, however most of them are already accounted for guests… Or… or storage.”

    “Guess I’ll try and adapt then,” Grace said, kicking back on her lawn chair to better bask in the sun.

   Amelia found herself staring. Finding it hard to believe before her reposed a story-book princess. A picturesque image of a future regent taking in the beautiful view of the green house.

   It really did feel as if The Historian’s novel had sprung into life.

   “Did you make this place?” Grace asked, leaning on the side of her chair to get closer to a bright red flower that had caught her attention.

   Putting aside her desire to call over a painter for another time, Amelia swelled with pride. “No, all of this was designed by my mother,” she said, stretching her arms to the heavens.

   It was why the greenhouse would forever remain special in her heart. In fact, besides the maids, the princess happened to be the first outsider Amelia had ever allowed in. She felt nervous. Worried Grace might find a problem with what her mother had built. Which didn’t make any sense, until Amelia’s stomach tightened into an unpleasant knot upon realizing she really did want to become Grace’s friend.

   But if the princess didn’t like her mother’s garden. Then that wouldn’t be possible. Except… they were also still on paper an employee and employer. Which meant there lay a power dynamic in their relationship. The princess would probably lie, even if she did hate the garden.

   Amelia didn’t want that. She couldn’t let such an obstacle continue to threaten her future.

   Good thing she knew politics. Moving off from her chair, Amelia intentionally put herself at a lower position than Grace by sitting down on the grass. A cunning solution. Until Grace started to stand, and Amelia abandoned what little scheming her brain could come up with to desperately catch the princess by the edge of her dress, keeping the woman seated.

   “I… I hope you don’t see my actions as being purely transactional,” Amelia said, “I intend to keep you employed for a great deal of time. And harbor a hope that in the days we will spend together, a mutual friendship might develop. Despite our social positions. Even if you don’t like my mother’s garden… I… I promise I won’t hate you.”

   Amelia found the words slipping out from her mouth like water. She might have said a bit more than intended.

   “Amelia, I find your mother’s garden to be wonderful,” Grace said, and Amelia felt her anxiety blossom into a flower that joined their surroundings.

   “And you’re not just saying that because I’m your boss?” Amelia asked, still somehow finding the need to ask the question directly.

   Grace gave a one-sided shoulder shrug as she pulled out a hairbrush from the workbag she had tied round her waist, “It would be impolite not to give friendship a try if you’re going to be so sincere about it,” she said, patting the inside of her thigh upon moving to the edge of her chair, “but this means you’ve got to let me tidy your hair again. Because what we did this morning has gotten completely messed up.”

   Amelia, like a cat surprised to learn of how dirty it had become from playing in the garden for too long, gingerly slid between the princess’s legs to allow the woman access to her hair. She couldn’t refuse. Not after what she had just said. And also, because Grace looked super invested in this for some reason.

   Workaholics were weird.

   “A-And what do you think of the manor?” Amelia asked, as Grace began brushing.

   Grace took her time in returning an answer, “It’s a lot less lively than I thought it would be. Almost feels like…”

   “Like most people are just going through the motions?”  Amelia guessed; happy the princess had chosen to bring up the problem. “Spot on, most here are only still around because they hope my father will wake up and begin a second golden age for the Barony. Feel free to invite any friends you might have for a visit, it’s incredibly easy to get bored around here.”

   She felt Grace’s hands stop moving for a split second.

   “Most girls my age… They don’t really want much to do with me.”

   Amelia was pleased she already knew the answer to that mystery; being that the princess’s looks were simply too strong. Which was silly. Get angry at your man for looking sideways while walking, not the beauty for existing.

   Geez.

   “A rumour about your father I remembered…” Grace said out of the blue, “Is there a reason your family is so wealthy despite Havoc being a Baron? Travellers have shown me photos of what the King’s castle looks like. And I’ve seen things in your house that could give even that place a run for its money.”

   “It’s mostly from the hostage money dad made while serving in the army,” Amelia answered, only for Grace to purse her lips in a clear display of not knowing what to say.

   “Well... You know, ransoms,” Amelia said, flustered. “My dad made it a habit to march into the enemy camp, grab the richest looking noble and…”

   “And…?”

   “Uh, he would leave with them. Then demand money for the safe return of his victim.”

   “Just like that?”

   “Pretty much. Unless you’re willing to kill your own guys, there’s not much anyone can do to stop my dad from going where he wants. Unless you’re going to bombard him, his regeneration would probably outpace any damage you could do. To take him out, you’ve got to be capable of at least destroying a house in a single shot. He’s a genuine monster.”

   “It kind of sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into this subject.”

   “Not really,” Amelia said, when in fact she had put an immense amount of effort into predicting how her father could have managed to off himself in the future. Sure, he might be a drunkard, but with his body, liver poisoning couldn’t have done it. “Though, I am getting worried. I’m worried he might make a mistake if things continue as they are.”

   “You don’t say,” Grace said, her words warbled by the hairpins in her mouth. Having finished combing, she swiftly moved on to tying things up.

   Amelia wondered if enough time had passed between them to properly broach the subject of helping her father. Grace should have by now gotten the chance to see for herself just how absent Havoc could be. And she needed a partner in attempting anything with her father. Her feet wouldn’t otherwise work.

   So, when the princess calmly asked, “Do you want to help him get better?”  as if commenting on the weather, Amelia’s head turned around so fast she completely ruined all of Grace’s progress on her hair.

   “You would help me?!” Amelia asked, excited, and hopeful.

   Grace gave Amelia an amused smile. Gently turning Amelia’s head to restart her work, she laughed in what could only be the language of angels.

   “Sure, why not? It sounds like you’re not happy with how things are, so if there’s anything I can do, ask away. Though I am curious, your dad wasn’t always this way, right? Did he change all at once? Or has this been a more gradual problem.”

   “We started drifting apart after mom passed away… That’s when he started drinking a lot more than he used too.”

   Grace hummed in frustration, “Anything else?” she then asked.

   “Not that I can think of,” Amelia said, while in her heart of hearts, she apologized to Grace for having actually lied.

   Amelia simply wasn’t ready to admit aloud the fact her father’s resentment against her might have played into making things even worse. Since she was the cause for why Havoc had been unable to save the woman he loved. She could only be grateful her father had merely begun to ignore her after Ophelia’s passing when Amelia knew she deserved far worse than that.

   “Do you have any ideas on how to get my dad to care more for himself?” Amelia asked Grace. Hoping to move things along.

   “I think you’ve been thinking about this for longer than I have. Why not first tell me what you’ve come up with? Then I can offer suggestions.”

   That sounded good to Amelia, who despite bouncing a few ideas around in her mind hadn’t been able to come up with much.

   “I… I think the answer will be found in motivation. But I’ve had little success in finding a method to achieve that. After all, how do you appeal to a man’s inspiration when he has given up on the world? He needs not money, for he has enough for a lifetime. He wants not love, for that instinct has been supplanted with drink. And if you’re thinking ‘he’s a meathead, find him someone to fight,’ you’re only going to run into a brick wall of a problem real fast.”

   “I take it there’s no-one?”

   “That’s right!” Amelia said, snapping her fingers to make them pitifully click. “He’s king of the mountain. How on earth do you wake up such a man from the depths of depression? I don’t know, and I hate it!”

   The princess finished tying Amelia’s hair. Though they remained seated as they were.

   “If the Barony was at its most prosperous when the Baroness lived,” Grace said thoughtfully, “maybe you could do something to make him recall how happy he once was? Nostalgia can be a powerful tool if used right.”

   Amelia seriously considered the suggestion. During the patrol with her father, when she had mentioned her mother, he hadn’t reacted in anger at all. Could the princess be right? Could enough time have passed for them to try exploring Grace’s idea? In her own opinion, enough time would never pass. But wanting to do everything she could to wake up her father, Amelia thought it might be worth a shot.

   “Maybe I could prepare a few meals my mother used to enjoy?” Amelia said, thinking out loud. Already doing her best to reign in any expectations such an endeavor entailed.

   “Good idea, but do you have a way to make sure he won’t slip back into a rut if you manage to succeed?”

   “Does there exist such a thing?”

   “Not without me,” Grace said smugly, before Amelia felt an icy-cold sensation press up against her cheek, “here, take a sip.”

   Accepting the glass of lemonade from the princess, Amelia took a drink while wondering how Grace could have kept it cool in her bag and without spillage. Finding her tongue blissfully coated in what could only be described as pure honey water.

   “Now take a second drink,” whispered the princess. And this time, when Amelia did, she found herself spitting the lemonade out onto the grass.

   “Do you really think it would work?” she asked with excitement.

   “Once I’m done with him, your father won’t want to touch another drop of alcohol ever again!” Grace stated proudly.

   Amelia clambered to her feet. “Then there’s not a moment to waste! Quick, let’s go to my room and plan it all out!”