SOFIA
To say Sofia was confused would be an understatement.
Her last conversation with Marcus at the Winter Lodge had left her feeling… adrift.
Within moments of the question of adoption being resolved, or at least addressed, what felt like an insurmountable roadblock slammed between them. Why would God bring her here to fulfill a childhood marriage pact to a prince that didn’t believe in Him?
Sofia believed in free will. It was a foundational truth in her mind that God called each woman and man to choose for themselves and allowed them the choice to believe, or not believe, that His son, Jesus, was the way, the truth, and the life. She had chosen Jesus as her Redeemer, but she respected it was a personal decision. One that each person needed to consider and weigh for themselves.
However, scripture was clear on “do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers.” Which Sofia understood to mean that God had a purpose and plan for each marriage. That He desired husband and wife to work together on the mission He set before them to serve His Kingdom.
Something that became much harder to do when partners didn’t share the same cornerstone and understanding, making it easier to be slowed down or deterred from the mission altogether.
Because of this, Sofia found it hard to reconcile the fact that her marriage would include a husband who not only didn’t know her God, but actively ridiculed those who did. What kind of partnership could they really have when Marcus didn’t even respect her choice? Let alone know her God?
In her heart of hearts, Sofia had always envisioned being able to share all of herself, her thoughts, dreams, hopes, fears, and prayers with her husband. To be able to navigate the struggles and hardships of life with a shared lens of faith and trust in God, the ultimate provider, the King of Kings.
It had taken fervent prayer in the moment for her to control her response to Marcus’s anger at God. Thankfully, in seeking help silently, she’d had peace laid on her heart to leave it be and retire for the evening. Which she’d done, after making sure that the door was open to talk about faith later, if Marcus wanted.
Still, she’d slept fitfully, only snuggling into the cocoon of sleep close to dawn.
The car ride back to the palace had been noiseless. Marcus sat there stoically the whole ride, leaving Sofia to guess at his thoughts. Eventually, she’d given up and turned to prayer. Which allowed her to find joy in simply soaking in the view of the majestic snowline that graced their route home.
Home. Funny that she already thought of the palace as home. Well, anywhere Marcus was, as home, when she adamantly refused to missionary date, much less missionary marry.
She simply did not believe starting a relationship with one person trying to convince the other, especially about something as fundamental as faith, was a good foundation for a long and happy marriage.
Which left Sofia with two choices. Run, or trust God.
With that ever-present phrase of, ‘Walk with me into the unknown,’ seemingly on loop in her mind, and deep in her heart, she’d chosen the latter. An action that she felt God was actively cultivating in her throughout this entire journey. Uncomfortable, even if Sofia understood it was necessary.
Necessary because, while it was true that she was faith-filled, it was also true that it was in her broken nature to always want to be in control. A mindset Sofia knew she needed to relinquish; she was not in control. But God was.
And so, here she was.
Back at the palace, not having seen hide or hair of Marcus since their return yesterday. But, here, nonetheless.
It hadn’t helped that she’d spotted a tabloid cover splashed with speculation about “Pudgerella” in the hands of a maid, who belatedly tried to hide it, as Sofia passed by on her way back to her suites. And it certainly hadn’t improved matters to arrive at the library within her suites, to find the room filled with now wilting blackthorn blooms.
The first had stung her pride, the second had pricked her heart.
It had felt like a sign, like maybe all she and Marcus would ever have was the memory of the playground long ago, and their brief but cozy time away at the Winter Lodge.
Grace had not been fooled by Sofia brushing off her attempts to ask what was wrong. Sofia knew she could trust her sister to understand, and even have sympathy. But it was too raw, too new of a disappointment, to discuss. And … it felt disloyal to talk about it with anyone other than Marcus.
So, after freshening up, Sofia had allowed Sir Zeke to take command of the rest of her day. Under his thoughtful direction, she’d spent long hours being put through a crash course on Ducklenburge.
And while she had been a dedicated student yesterday, her thoughts had continually returned to Marcus. Sofia knew he was already assuming his father’s responsibilities, even though his investiture ceremony would take place at the Royal Advent Ball.
All day she’d wondered how his first day officially taking on Crown Prince duties had gone. How Marcus the man, not the prince, was holding up.
She’d assumed that she would see him at lunch. Or at dinner. But both meals had come and gone without a sighting of the Crown Prince. Which had only enhanced her doubts.
Last night, Eloise and Grace had invited her to join them for a movie in the palace’s private theater, but Sofia had begged off. Instead, she’d waited for Marcus in her library, certain he would visit her even if his day ended late. He’d never come.
Sofia had finally resigned herself to turn in for the night without speaking to her husband, or whatever Marcus was to her. She’d pulled out her bible and read, preparing her heart to have a serious talk with God.
Praying her worries out had helped restore a sense of calm, if not full understanding, about staying in Ducklenburge for now. And she’d crawled into the cloud of her giant four poster bed and let sleep take her.
Sofia had dreamt of the glorious garden again. But this time as she walked through the abundant blossoms, she couldn’t help but wish Marcus was there with her. Despite that longing, when she’d awoken this morning, she’d felt refreshed. Until her coffee was served with a side of disappointment.
On the tray had been a note from Marcus:
Called away to finalize father’s treaty. Forgive me? – M
She was disheartened, of course, that she hadn’t seen him when things were still so unsettled between them. But she tried to understand that Ducklenburge needed their Crown Prince, Marcus had a job to do. And if she stayed, she would too. Even if she wasn’t wholly clear on what that entailed.
With the knowledge that today would be another “princess prep” day, she’d snuck out before breakfast to enjoy a long ride with Chance. She’d let the Friesian gallop to his heart’s content as she enjoyed the crisp bite of winter air that tugged her hair loose as they raced across the snow-covered hills. Even allowing him to take some of the more daring jumps over fences they came across.
Now, hours later, Sofia clung to that feeling of freedom, as she willed herself to focus on Zeke’s instruction. Today’s lesson was an odd mash up of dining etiquette and Ducklenburge hierarchy.
They were in the great hall. A room as grand as its name signified.
Deep burgundy carpeting matched the rich velvet drapes of the same hue. The walls were cream with gold crown molding and accent columns, and the crest of the House of Abdiel was prominently displayed behind a table set perpendicular to the others that ran the length of the hall.
In front of her, artfully arranged on crisp white linen, were several elegant place settings. Which Zeke demonstrated with, as he described the events that would go with one during the Christmas season. The order and protocol that must be adhered to was … extensive. And dull, so dull.
She was a woman of action. Used to rushing to work early in the morning, usually in a messy bun kind of way, reviewing her cases, and making her rounds to spend time with children who needed to know someone was in their corner. Place settings and parties paled in comparison.
Sofia sighed and sent up a prayer covering the children that were on her docket and in her heart. And wondered not for the first time today what she was doing here, even as she struggled to trust.
Would her case review be improved if she was back in Sweetwater, idly sitting around her flat? Was staying here longer to make a decision endangering her life back home? Would she even have a life she could return to, if things didn’t work out with Marcus?
Enough of that, Sofia chastised herself. God had brought her here and He would see her through. Your will, Lord. Your will for my life. With that simple request, Sofia felt the worry lift off her and a warmth spread within. Yahweh. Exhaling a deep breath, Sofia tried to pick up the thread of Zeke’s lesson.
“Forgive me, Zeke. You lost me about three events back.”
The wise old man smiled warmly, his deeply etched crow’s feet evidence of how often he wore joy. “No apology necessary, Princess Sofia. I find when the Lord speaks, it’s best to listen.”
She grinned, not surprised that Zeke understood where her mind and heart had been moments before. During her hours with the Queen’s faithful aide, Sofia had witnessed his content countenance, his limitless patience and understanding. The man was filled with a presence that could only be the Holy Spirit. The present and guiding helper that completed the trinity of God.
A knock on the grand hall’s door prompted Zeke to check his pocket watch, an old-fashioned accessory that suited him. “Ah, punctual, as always. Princess Sofia, Her Majesty has engaged the services of another to assist me in, how do you Americans say, ‘bringing you up to speed.’ Shall I see her in and have her resume the lesson?”
Who else would the Queen trust with access to Sofia’s obvious shortcomings in becoming a princess consort? Curious, Sofia nodded and one of her ever-present guards opened the door.
The woman that swept into the room was still the picture of royalty incarnate.
“Lady Arabella.” Sofia blurted out before she could catch it. Baffled, she stood immobile as the graceful and poised Lady Arabella dropped into a flawless curtsy in front of her. “Your royal highness.”
Sofia was certain her eyes were bugging out of her head, she had to look like one of those looney toons characters that narrowly escaped a falling anvil right about now, because she could not stop staring at the top of the perfectly coifed blonde head still bowed in front of her.
A discreet cough from Zeke indicated that there was something Sofia was supposed to do, but, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember. Without thought, she reached across and touched Lady Arabella’s shoulders, “Please. Don’t.”
When Lady Arabella straightened from her deep curtsey, efficiently moving away from Sofia’s touch, her face showed no hint of emotion. The classic features were arranged in a neutral configuration, like the lady was posing for a portrait and not meeting the woman who might steal her man, and her future, face to face.
Under Lady Arabella’s assessing regard, Sofia was unsure what to say. It was the other woman who spoke first. “Marcus has chosen, and it’s not me.”
Whatever Sofia had been expecting, it wasn’t that.
But the formidable Lady Arabella didn’t even flinch with her declaration. Instead, the woman calmly stated what had to be a heartbreaking concession. “He informed me upon your return to the palace yesterday.”
“But we haven’t, I mean–” Sofia cut herself off. Should she admit to the woman Marcus had evidently dumped that she wasn’t sure she could choose him? Wouldn’t that be insulting at best, and rubbing salt into a fresh wound at worst? Oh, Lord. What do I say? Caught between a rock and a hard place, Sofia kept silent.
Lady Arabella arched a fine brow, her delicate voice infused with steel, “Perhaps … we could speak privately?”
The question made Sofia want to run for the door. She’d never been a part of a love triangle before, and she’d always been terrible navigating the politics of girls in school. She had no idea what to expect from being alone with Lady Arabella, and an irrational fear surfaced that the woman wanted Zeke and her guards gone so there wouldn’t be any witnesses. But witnesses for what?
It’s not like Lady Arabella was likely to harm her in the great hall in broad daylight. At worst it would be a threat, with an order to get lost, at best maybe just some pettiness. Sofia’s stomach knotted in dread, but if Lady Arabella could face this head on, so would she, “Of course.”
At her words, Zeke and her guards moved to exit the room. A whisper of ‘Say less,’ brushed across her thoughts, and Sofia attempted to quiet her mind while she waited for the door to shut. It snicked closed with a finality, and then she and Lady Arabella were alone.
Lady Arabella scrutinized her, and Sofia couldn’t resist the urge to speak, despite the admonition within her to stay quiet, “Lady Arabella, I don’t –”
“May we speak plainly?” The impeccable blonde returned Sofia’s searching gaze, with her own self-assured one. “I’m told that is one of your specialties.”
Sofia flinched. Told by whom? A litany of words rose within her to defend herself, but this time Sofia yielded to the ‘say less’ strumming through her mind. She nodded and Lady Arabella continued, “I also hear that you’re a woman of faith.”
“I am.”
Lady Arabella considered her admission. “Then, we cannot have discord between us. We are sisters in Christ, Princess Sofia. This … entanglement … we find ourselves in with Marcus, it cannot reduce us to fighting. The Queen has bid me to lend my knowledge and years of preparation to you. I have served God, and Ducklenburge, faithfully my whole life, and I do not intend to tarnish my loyalty now.”
Sofia considered this assertion.
Even in her short reacquaintance with Marcus, despite the question of shared faith, she’d begun falling for him and couldn’t imagine being in Lady Arabella’s shoes. And not just because they were impossibly high stilettos.
Despite Sofia’s initial fondness for the monarch, in her heart, Sofia felt that the Queen had been unbearably cruel to command such a thing.
Either Lady Arabella had never cared for Marcus, or she had indeed loved him and now stood before Sofia with a broken heart filled with malice just biding her time … Or … Lady Arabella was a woman who loved the Lord so well, that she could place her own disappointments and sorrow at God’s feet and take up the mantle He had given her to carry.
Sofia was having a hard time discerning which motive was driving the rejected woman in this moment.
Claiming sisterhood in Christ was a bold statement. It was how Christians were called to live. As brothers and sisters, loving God, and loving others. But how many times had Sofia been hurt by people claiming to know God? Too many. And she was not alone.
It was unfortunately present in some churches that were intolerant and duplicitous. In men and women professing faith on Sunday but attacking, or worse ignoring, those in need every other day. That hypocrisy of behavior often sullied the wonderful message with the imperfect messenger.
But Sofia knew the fault was with people, and not God.
At their core all people, herself included, were broken in their own way. Only able to show Christ’s love when they allowed Him to redeem and then lead them. It wasn’t Sofia’s place to judge others, but it did sometimes make trusting fellow Christians difficult because one could never really know the other person’s heart or where they were on their walk with God.
But she knew the One who had created them all, and she was committed to trusting Him.
Even if Lady Arabella hadn’t claimed her faith, even if Lady Arabella did hold hidden malice for the usurper, Sofia was compelled to extend the same love that she herself received daily. And she needed to start with an apology.
“I am deeply sorry. It was never my intent to cause you pain.” Sofia struggled to find the right words. “I didn’t know Marcus was engaged when I was summoned ... I wouldn’t have come if –”
“But you did.” Lady Arabella drifted to the table’s edge. Her dainty fingers lightly traced the clothe napkin that was artfully folded into the House of Abdiel’s sigil, a lion’s face on one side, and a lamb on the other. “What’s done is done … Princess Sofia.”
“Just … Sofia. Please.” At a loss, Sofia spoke from the heart, despite the other woman’s outwardly dismissive demeanor. Even if she couldn’t hear it, Sofia needed to say it, and she hoped it would be enough. “Whatever happens, I pray that someday you’ll be able to forgive me.”
The woman’s eyes glistened, but Lady Arabella turned away, and Sofia wondered if she had imagined the hint of tears.
Without acknowledging Sofia’s words, the regal woman directed her attention to the table and began instruction in a no-nonsense manner. “This setting is for the Royal Advent Ball which heralds the beginning of the Christmas season in Ducklenburge and will be your royal debut. During Marcus’s investiture ceremony beforehand, you will be seated next to –”
Sofia struggled with the whiplash of how quickly the other woman returned to business, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to tutor her replacement.
They were not to be best friends, then.
Sofia understood, even if it was with a touch of regret. Because, Sofia realized, a woman who could be unceremoniously dumped, then ordered to help her successor, and bear it all with fortitude and grace, was a woman worth befriending.
Unlike Zeke’s lessons, infused in Lady Arabella’s version were layers of observations about the players that would be in attendance. Honed by years of rubbing shoulders with the peerage, as one of them. Sofia struggled to commit to memory the whirlwind of personalities and ambitions, as well as what responsibilities each guest owed the Crown and Ducklenburge.
An hour into the exhaustive run down, Sofia was almost ready to throw in the towel.
She was not cut out to be a princess, let alone a Queen consort. Lady Arabella, who had remained determinedly polite, if cold, in her instruction, sensed her pupil flagging.
“This is only the surface of what you must learn, and swiftly… your highness.” Lady Arabella’s properly delivered rebuke did little to motivate Sofia. In fact, it only discouraged her more.
“All of this is just so…” Sofia grimaced as her flailing hands tried to complete her unspoken frustration. That all this frivolity seemed meaningless. And the idea of decades of overseeing such superficiality made her want to scream.
Lady Arabella studied her carefully. “Have you seen much of Ducklenburge yet, Princess Sofia?”
In their hour together, Sofia hadn’t been able to get the other woman to drop the honorifics.
It grated on Sofia to hear the title that would’ve rightfully belonged to Lady Arabella, and one she wasn’t sure she would ever be ready to claim, come from the other woman’s lips. The woman who had prepared for this life, who had earned those titles with more patience than Sofia herself possessed. Her frustration boiled. “Please, just Sofia. Just plain Sofia.”
The blonde pursed her lips but conceded. “Very well. But only in private, just-plain Sofia.”
Sofia’s mouth quirked up. Had the impeccable lady just joked with her? Well, that was a good sign. Even if she kept calling her just-plain, as long as princess wasn’t in front of it.
“So, have you?” Lady Arabella waited for an answer. Had she what? Oh, seen Ducklenburge. “Just the Winter Lodge.”
A flicker of surprise, tinged with possibly hurt, flashed across Lady Arabella’s features.
Features that were immediately composed when she spoke again. “And do you know what a royal consort’s primary duty is?”
“To breed heirs and oversee parties.” The moment it left her mouth, Sofia wished her sarcastic reply unsaid. A look of wistfulness briefly touched Lady Arabella’s face before her neutral countenance locked back into place.
“Fetch a deeply hooded coat and meet me at the back entrance. I will speak with Zeke about security.” Lady Arabella spoke with authority and moved for the door, leaving Sofia to catch up to her abrupt departure.
“Where are we going?”
“It is time… Sofia, for you to see some of our country.”
⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎
“Want me to tag along?” Grace asked as she jumped onto the four-poster bed. “I know you’ll have bodyguards, but will they really step in if Lady Arabella tries to… disappear you?”
Sofia chuckled as Grace did her best impression of a cartoon villain steepling her fingers.
She stood in front of the magic mirror in her room. She really didn’t desire the wealth or power of royalty, though she had to admit the ability to get dressed and feel confident in a matter of minutes was a nice perk.
While it was clear others took issue with her weight, Sofia loved her body. It had seen her through a lot, and she wasn’t ashamed. But it had been nice to skip trying on multiple things to find what made her feel put together that day, like slipping into armor, it helped her feel ready for battle.
The royal fashion stylist had preloaded her wardrobe with a variety of options for every occasion, based on Sofia’s preferences. And everything fit her curves perfectly. If she and Marcus decided they didn’t suit each other after all, she idly wondered if she might be allowed to take the mirror, and the clothes that came with it, as a remembrance.
Currently, she was trying to decide between two deeply hooded cloaks. The debate had less to do with fashion and more to do with function. How warm of a coat did she need? Would they be outdoors or indoors?
Sofia deduced from Lady Arabella’s directive, and vague mention of seeing Ducklenburge, that the hood was needed to shield her from prying eyes. Or more precisely, the press.
They had been camped out, on the edges of the palace grounds since the Pudgerella headline hit. Like a pack of hungry wolves prowling for their next meal. If Ducklenburge paparazzi were anything like America’s tabloids, Sofia wondered if stepping out of the palace and into public might not be a good idea, after all.
Belatedly, she wondered if she should check with Marcus. Not that she had his number or any direct way to contact him. Something she recognized; she would need to remedy. A wife should have her husband’s number, right?
Wife. The thought brought her up short.
It was still strange to her that children playing pretend had led to this surreal reality. But if Marcus had released Lady Arabella, that meant he had committed himself to this marriage with Sofia. Even with their last conversation becoming heated. A fact that she hadn’t fully processed in the other woman’s presence, and didn’t really know what to do with now.
“Go with the lighter one. Eloise says the royal family isn’t allowed to ‘disrobe’ in public, not even coats. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“Not as ridiculous as how many names Lady Arabella expects me to remember at the ball.” Sofia memorized the newest rule and selected the lighter coat on the mirror’s touch screen. Hoping that whatever they were doing would be mostly inside.
“Do you trust her?”
“I want to.” Sofia watched as the automated closet brought her choice forward. She reached for it and put it on. “I don’t have a reason to dislike her, while Lady Arabella has plenty of reason to dislike me –”
“Exactly!” Grace bounced off the bed and grabbed her phone. “Let me text Eloise that I’m ditching. You need back up.”
“No, seastar …” Sofia paused to gather her reason. She wasn’t stupid, Lady Arabella may not be as altruistic as she appeared in the great hall, but the woman had extended an olive branch. Bringing reinforcements would be a sign of distrust. And the more of them there were, the more conspicuous they would be … wherever they were going. “I think I need to do this alone.”
“That’s what you think about everything, seastar*.”* Grace grumbled, unconvinced, but she put her phone away as Sofia deflected, “How’s recording going?”
Once Eloise and Grace had explored all the instruments in the palace, Marcus’s cousin had shown Grace the recording studio that the Queen used to live broadcast, or tape, her national addresses. Though it was set up for filming, the two industrious young women had discovered that with minimal alterations they could use it to record Grace’s music.
It had made Sofia feel a little less guilty about that fact that Grace had dropped everything in her life to accompany her across the ocean and into this strange royal world they found themselves in. Because, while Grace had been able to get someone to cover teaching her music classes, Sofia knew that her sister was using savings to cover bills while they were here. Savings, that her sister had earmarked to take time off and work on her own music.
“We couldn’t decide on a movie last night, so we skipped it and finished the demo instead. I think …” Her sister’s exuberance turned bashful, and Sofia waited to give Grace time to share what was on her heart. “I think … it might be good enough to send to Uncle Charlie.”
“Of course, it is, seastar. You should send it.”
“Yeah, maybe I will.”
Sofia beamed at her younger sister, who had so much talent that anyone who witnessed her play immediately heard it. For years, their uncle had campaigned for Grace to move to Nashville, where he was based. Had encouraged the younger Truit sister to pursue her passion of music and not just teach it. Sofia prayed that their time here would bring fruitfulness to Grace’s dreams.
After all, God did have an extraordinary way of making a winding road lead to where a person was meant to be. Something she should remember for herself. “Play it for me? When I get back from … wherever I’m going.”
Grace snorted, “Obviously,’ and then gave Sofia a big hug.
Sofia held onto Grace a moment longer, as she fortified herself for whatever Lady Arabella had planned. “It’ll all work out, seastar. You’ll see.”
Sofia wasn’t as confident. Because if she was being honest with herself, really, truly honest with herself. Her misgivings about Lady Arabella had more to do with her own feelings of inadequacy and yes, envy, at how perfectly the other woman fit into Marcus’s world.
Something Sofia doubted would ever be true about herself.
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