by Maya Banks
So what bothered him? What had his chest clenched with dread, his hands shaky?
They walked in silence, drawing closer to the monastery. Then it hit him like a ton of stone blocks.
She had never said she loved him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Isabella and Merrick trudged through the thick brush that shielded the stretch of beach where the secret passageway from the monastery came out. She hoped they would be able to gain access through the tunnel, because she knew going to the gate would be suicide.
As they shoved aside another thatch of bushes, the landscape fell away to the sandy soil of the beach. She shouldn’t have been surprised to see Father Ling standing on the beach, but she was.
He watched them approach, his robe swirling in the breeze. He made no move toward them but waited until they drew abreast of him before he acknowledged them.
Sadness rimmed his eyes as he reached for Isabella’s hands. “You have seen Prince Stephane.”
Unable to speak, she nodded.
He motioned toward the rock outcropping that hid the entrance to the tunnel. “Come. There is much we must discuss.”
She and Merrick followed the monk down the long tunnel until they were well into the monastery. When they entered the main hall, Father Ling turned to Merrick. “My brethren will see to your needs. I have need to speak to the princess.”
He spoke dismissively, to Isabella’s surprise. He had never sought to exclude Merrick from any of their conversations, and it puzzled her now.
Merrick merely nodded and turned to the two monks who waited to escort him away.
Father Ling motioned her forward, and they walked into a small chamber she believed must be his private quarters. She sank wearily onto the silken pallet in the middle of the room and waited as he sat cross-legged in front of her.
Her mind swam in a crazy pattern, her head throbbing with each movement she made. So much had happened since she set foot back on her home soil. She wondered if she had stepped into some bizarre nightmare, and if she had, when would she wake up?
Father Ling probed her with his all-knowing eyes. “I am sorry for your pain, Your Highness.”
The knot grew bigger in her throat. She would not cry. She would not. “Thank you,” she croaked.
“Your father had concerns about Prince Stephane,” he said gravely.
“How long?” she asked, unwilling to believe she was the only one not to have seen Stephane for who he was.
“For some time.”
She blew out her breath in a long puff. “I don’t understand.”
“He worried for your and Davide’s safety,” Father Ling added, watching her closely.
She opened her mouth and closed it in rapid succession. “Father suspected Stephane might do something so horrible?” She shook her head in silent denial. “Why?” Even though he had done more than horrible. How could any one word describe the atrocities he had committed? But that anyone might have suspected. It was more than she could imagine.
“Your father was ill, Your Highness. He didn’t want you or Davide to know. Not at first.”
“Ill? How ill?”
“Sick enough that he knew he would not be able to perform the duties of the crown for much longer,” Father Ling said quietly. “He sent Stephane here to secretly seek the relics in the sacred quest. King Fernando’s hope was that Stephane would be successful and could succeed him to the throne despite his misgivings.”
“But I don’t understand…”
“He failed,” Father Ling said. “He chose the relics.”
Isabella stared at the monk in shock. That Stephane had embarked on the quest and failed was more than she could comprehend. But it was all beginning to make sense. What else would make Stephane so desperate?
She had thought it insane for him to go to such lengths to procure a crown that would be his anyway. She had never dreamed he had been removed from consideration. Which meant that she or Davide would have been the next ruler behind their father.
Stephane who had spent a lifetime preparing for nothing else than to rule. It must have destroyed him.
“Your father saw the darkness growing within the young prince,” Father Ling said solemnly. “The restlessness, the haste to make bad decisions. Your father had hoped he was wrong, but in the end he was proved right when Prince Stephane failed in the quest.
“After his failure, the prince was unapproachable. He sequestered himself for days, refusing to see anyone. Your father realized he would have to do something to ensure the safety of the rest of the family. But before he could act…”
He broke off. “You know the rest,” he said quietly.
Isabella knotted her fingers into a fist and pressed her knuckles to her lips. If only she had known. She could have prevented the deaths of her parents.
“You could not have prevented that which was fated to be,” Father Ling said softly.
She looked up at him, the knowledge burning in his wise old eyes. “Tell me, Father, what is fated to be? Will I be queen?”
He looked sadly at her. “You know I cannot reveal the future even if I knew such matters.”
She looked down, sadness, fatigue, despair creeping over her, invading every corner of her soul.
“What troubles you most, my child?” he asked.
She flinched as the question intruded on the heart of just what troubled her. Merrick. How did he fit into the equation? She had yet to tell him of her feelings. Hadn’t finished sorting them out for herself.
“I love him, Father,” she said simply.
“He is a good man.”
She raised her eyes to meet his once more. “Yes, but is it enough?”
The monk’s expression softened. “What is it that you are really asking?”
She sighed and covered her face with her hands, rubbing her eyes with slow, circular movements. “I don’t know what to do,” she said helplessly.
“I think you do,” he said gently.
She raised her head and looked questioningly at him.
“You are who you are, and he is who he is,” Father Ling said, an enigmatic expression on his face. “You would not want half a man. He would not be happy with half a woman.”
Her brow furrowed and she pursed her lips in confusion. She was too tired to decipher riddles.
A knock sounded at the chamber door and another monk appeared. “Father, the captain is here at your request.”
“Ahh good,” Father Ling said, nodding his head approvingly. “Tell the captain we will join him shortly.
He turned back to Isabella. “We must hurry if we are to prevent Prince Stephane from taking the throne. His coronation is set for an hour’s time.”
“Stephane has already planned his coronation?” she demanded, sitting upright on the pallet.
Father Ling nodded. “That is why I have summoned the captain of the Royal Guard here. We must act quickly.”
“But he failed the quest!” she exclaimed. “How can he be crowned if he doesn’t produce the relics?”
“Desperation always makes a way,” Father Ling replied. “He has bent many of the Order to his cause. They will vote to rescind the laws regarding succession.”
“Over my dead body,” she vowed, launching herself to a standing position.
A small smile curved the monk’s lips upward. “Come then. We have much to discuss with the captain.”
* * *
Simon paced impatiently in the main hall waiting for Isabella and Father Ling to reappear. He felt completely at odds with himself, a sensation that was foreign. He hadn’t suffered such a battery of emotions since learning of his brother’s suicide.
He didn’t regret telling her he loved her. Even if it was something she didn’t want to hear. But what he thought would free him, had instead lain a heavier burden on his heart. He hadn’t really considered that she didn’t return his feelings, and now that he considered the possibility, th
e slow burn of disappointment snaked its way through his heart.
He looked up as Isabella and Father Ling strode into the room followed by a man in military uniform. He started toward Isabella, but held himself in check. He waited instead for them to gather in the center.
“Lord Merrick, I apologize for your wait,” Father Ling said with a bow of his head. “I fear I had rather distressing news for Her Highness. News that she must hear.”
Simon tensed and looked searchingly at Isabella’s strained features. What news had the monk imparted? The pain etched into her brow squeezed incessantly at his entrails. He wanted to reach out and hold her, soothe the worry lines in her face.
The monk gestured for the soldier to come forward. “Your Highness, this is Captain Lucien Montforte, captain of the Royal Guard.”
The captain knelt in front of Isabella and laid his sword at her feet. Then he looked up at her and placed a fist over his heart. “I am here to serve, Your Highness.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, though she tried valiantly. Simon watched her struggle with her emotions as she reached out to touch the man’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” she said in a wavering voice.
“Prince Stephane’s coronation is set within the hour,” Father Ling spoke up. “We must stop him.”
“I must challenge him,” Isabella said quietly.
“Aye, you must,” Father Ling said in a solemn voice.
Simon stared at them, thoroughly confused by her statement. “Challenge him?” He didn’t like the sound of it. He much preferred a plan that called for them rushing in pistols firing.
Isabella nodded, her mouth set in a firm line. “I would be asking him to prove his claim by fighting me,” she said. “Winner takes all. May the righteous prevail.”
He frowned. No, he didn’t like it at all. Sounded positively medieval. “And what if you lose?”
“The idea is that good will overcome evil, therefore the winner is the one in the right.”
“May the righteous prevail,” Father Ling echoed.
“That’s absurd,” Simon said in disbelief. Fear threatened to smother him entirely. The idea of Isabella honorably challenging her treacherous brother ran his blood cold.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” she said, recounting words she had said to him on more than one occasion.
“Don’t,” he cut in. “This isn’t about me understanding your customs. It’s about reality. You can’t expect your brother to play by the rules. He won’t act honorably. He’ll do whatever necessary to remove you as a threat, the only threat to his being crowned king. He’s already killed your parents and Davide. He won’t so much as blink over killing you. I’d prefer to kill the bastard myself and get it over with,” he added after a pause.
“I must do it myself,” she said firmly. “No matter how you may want to help, it is something that I must do on my own, even if I die trying.”
Her words sent chilling fear down his spine.
She placed her hand over his and smiled sadly. “I now know how you must have felt when Kirk betrayed you. I cannot ever remember feeling such awful pain as when I learned of Stephane’s perfidy. I don’t know that it shall ever go away.”
He squeezed her hand, his chest tightening as he digested what she asked of him. “Asking me to stand idly by while you place your life in jeopardy is to ask me to cut out my own heart. I can do neither.”
Father Ling placed a hand on Simon’s arm. “All will be well, my son. You must have faith.”
He glanced up at the monk, at the knowledge in his eyes. Then he looked back at Isabella. Remembering his earlier words to her—that he had faith in her—had him cursing to himself. He was well and truly caught. He could not protest her choice when he had voiced his faith in her in the caves. “I have faith in you, Isabella,” he said in a low voice.
He eyed Father Ling, who looked a bit too smug at Simon’s proclamation. “Do you have a plan for how we will prevent Stephane’s coronation?”
“I would hear your thoughts,” the monk said evenly.
The two men stared at one another for a long moment. The monk was allowing Simon a way to protect Isabella. He nodded at the monk then focused his attention on the matter at hand. “Where is the coronation to be held?” Simon asked.
“In the town square. The townspeople will be summoned so that he may gain their support,” Father Ling replied.
Simon rubbed his chin thoughtfully and glanced over at Isabella. She was pale, but determination sparked in her eyes. Her gaze sought his as she waited for him to speak.
“How large a contingent do you command?” he asked the captain.
“One hundred men comprise the Royal Guard. Our only duty is the safety of the royal family.”
“And how many are loyal to Prince Stephane?” Simon asked.
The captain’s eyes grew steely. “My men follow me. I follow Princess Isabella.”
Merrick nodded, impressed by the man’s loyalty. “Can you plan a large distraction, Father?”
The monk smiled. “Of that you may be certain.”
“Captain, direct your men to protect Stephane as they would if he were the rightful heir. Only when Princess Isabella makes her appearance do you let your allegiance be known. Then see to her protection at all costs.”
The captain nodded. “It will be done.”
He turned to Isabella. “If you are set on challenging your brother, it must be after all other threat has been eliminated. The royal guard will be responsible for evening the odds.”
“I won’t fail,” she said, determination flooding her voice.
“I know you won’t,” he said softly.
He looked around at the others. “We haven’t much time.”
The captain bowed to Isabella and hurried from the room. Father Ling swept after the captain to gather the other monks. The only two remaining were him and Isabella.
He gathered her hands in his and pulled her closer. He was at a loss as to what to say to her. The task ahead of her was enormous, and though he had faith in her abilities, madness had a way of empowering an individual. Her brother would not be easy to defeat.
“I would thank you, Merrick,” she said softly.
Irritation surged through his veins. Frustration. “It’s not your thanks I want, Isabella.”
She looked away, turned away from him, her expression uncertain.
Guilt plagued him. She should be focusing on her upcoming challenge, not be distracted his needs.
“Forget I said anything,” he murmured. “You should direct all your energy to the upcoming challenge.”
He motioned for her to precede him from the room, and they trailed after Father Ling. Relief shadowed her face which only served to darken his mood.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Their path to the platform in the middle of the town square was impossible. Guards lined the perimeter, making it difficult for anyone to come from the crowd. Intermixed in the throng were several soldiers, all keeping a keen eye on the villagers gathered for the coronation.
Isabella stood anxiously beside Merrick, awaiting the distraction the monks had planned. She surveyed the platform where the Royal Guard stood at attention. At the forefront stood Stephane, his expression triumphant. Anger shook her when she saw he wore the same ceremonial robe her father had worn at his coronation. Merrick’s hand closed over her arm, soothing her wrought nerves.
Her eyes narrowed when she saw the members of the Order, standing shoulder to shoulder behind Stephane.
Isabella stiffened. Were they there to proclaim that the old ways would be done away with? Not if she could help it. She glanced around anxiously, wondering when the distraction the monks had planned would take place.
“It won’t be long,” Merrick murmured beside her.
“My fellow countrymen. All citizens of Leaudor. Gather around and hear me.”
Isabella whirled back around to face the
platform as Stephane spoke. He stood with his arms raised, trying to quiet the crowd.
“I have grievous news and a story to tell as well. Several months ago King Fernando and Queen Marie-Claire were ruthlessly assassinated. My mother and father,” he said in a choked voice. “The assassins tried to kill me as well, but I escaped. I’ve remained in hiding all these months in an attempt to find and punish the ones responsible for throwing our country into turmoil. And,” he said drawing out the last word. “To my shock and horror, I discovered that Princess Isabella, my beloved sister, was behind the sordid plot.”
The crowd erupted in a frenzy of shouts, questions, and exclamations of disbelief.
Isabella clenched her fists and tried desperately to control the red hot rage that rolled over her. Beside her, Merrick’s arm tightened about her, and she knew he sought to contain a rash reaction.
“She conspired with the Prince Regent in a plan to hand over Leaudor to the English. Indeed, when my brother, Prince Davide, went to England in an attempt to stop her, he was killed as soon as he set foot on British soil.”
The crowd became angry, many shouting insults against England, others cursing Princess Isabella for her treachery.
Again Stephane held his hands high. “Fear not, for you have all been avenged this day. As she met her English partner outside the palace to seal their agreement, she fell to her death from the marble cliffs. I, as the rightful heir to the Leaudorian throne, am here to take the crown. We will band together with our brothers, the French, and repay England for the injustices that have been carried out against us.”
Isabella gasped. This was a disaster. Not only had he turned the entire country against her, but now he proposed to throw them into war against England. A pawn in Bonaparte’s egotistical aspirations of glory.
“She stole our sacred relics from the cliffs in an attempt to gain the throne. I have gathered the Order so that we might begin a new day in Leaudorian history. Break free from outdated traditions. Will you support me and accept me as your king as we forge our way into a new era?”
