Rose and Thorn: Possession of The King (Book 1) (A Collection of Roses)

by EMILIA RAY ROSE

  She lay back with her head on a pillow.

  "Oh, child. I know your father isn't here to see you, but you have to remind yourself that you'll see him again someday."

  There was a knock at her door. Startled, Ressa sat up and cleared her throat. She stared at Ida who turned to ask, "Who is it?"

  "Captain of the Royal Guard. Here to escort the young lady to the great hall.”

  Ressa’s heart skipped a beat. She turned towards Ida who swiftly hopped off the bed to get the door. Ida cracked it open and poked her head out. "My Lord Thorn, Lady Rose is not ready. There has been a tear in her dress that needs mending."

  "Then I shall wait."

  Ressa jumped to her feet and snuck close to the door. Next to the door there was an alcove with a little hole on the side. Through the hole, she could see whoever was standing outside the room, but they couldn’t see her.

  "No, my good sir. I must remove the said gown to fix the tear." She was careful with her words.

  Ezra's face reddened and he lost his normal cool composure. After fidgeting a little he bowed to Ms. Ida and said, "Very well. Please see to it that Lady Rose arrives at the engagement ball safely and on time."

  "You have my word of honor, Lord Thorn."

  Ezra hurried away, going down the hall with quick strides as if he had just happened on a beehive.

  Ida closed the door swiftly and turned toward Ressa. "Did you see his face, child? Red as a tomato," Ida said with a belly laugh.

  "Yes. He did look quite shocked," Ressa said in a tone that caught Ida's attention.

  "Now, don't you worry, Lady Rose, you'll fit right in tonight, especially in that dress."

  "Yes." Ressa walked towards the window and looked up at the sky.

  "Now, young lady, I know you miss your father, and wherever he is I'm sure he misses you too. Just know you're not alone; you have me, and old Odis. Not to mention Lord Thorn."

  "Lord Thorn?"

  "Well yes, he follows you around everywhere. You too must be close as green peas on a vine by now."

  "No, Ida, we're not."

  Ressa’s reply surprised her. She thought about it for a bit and shook her head ruefully. "Well, that's a shame. After all, I can tell by the way he dotes on you that he cares for you a great deal."

  Ida's words left a knot in Ressa's stomach, one that had been growing since their afternoon encounter. Her mind drifted off to the look in her Golden Boy's eyes. She hadn't realized how attractive he was, but it didn't matter. Ressa knew he was Prince Cavel’s cousin and as such he couldn't be trusted. For all she knew he was a spy who was just as crooked and as untrustworthy as the prince.

  She turned toward the full-length mirror once more to get a good look at herself before saying, "Alright Ida, let's go put on a show."

  Chapter Seven

  A ceremony as grand as an engagement ball wasn’t one to be trifled with; Ezra understood this as head of the Royal Guard and part of the royal family, and so he beefed up security in the castle, and most especially around the hall. Some of the guards whispered among themselves that Ezra went about the safety concerns of the engagement ball with a vengeance.

  King Willum came into the hall sometime into the party, and Ezra had to move towards the throne.

  “Your Highness.” Ezra saluted him with a bow.

  “My boy,” King Alvert said as gave Ezra a friendly pat on the shoulder.

  Without waiting for a word from the king, Ezra fell in beside him and let his eyes roam through the crowd until he located Cavel roaming near the back of the hall consorting with a few new female faces.

  A royal party, most especially an engagement ball, was royal in every sense of the word. The guards were quick and agile as a stream of magnificently designed carriages flowed steadily into the castle. The sound of jolly music could be heard from the entrance of the central hall and Ezra was in charge of all of it.

  Women stepped off carriages in splendiferous gowns and, taking the arms of their equally splendidly dressed men, walked leisurely on a red carpet that ran straight through the pointed-arched aisle into the central hall.

  The central hall was a huge rectangular building made of expensive stone blocks. It boasted a main entrance manned by huge double doors of burnished bronze, piers coated in gold, and huge windows with painted glass. It was an enclosed courtyard with a large domed skylight offering a spherical view into the inky blue of the night sky and the constellation of stars twinkling happily. Young trees with cascading purple and pink flowers lined the walls of the hall like sentinels leading from the entrance to the extreme of the ground floor where another larger doorway burst into a large garden with fountains, fruit trees, and marble statues. Jardinières of fresh flowers sat on the windowsills.

  Ressa’s face glowed as she stood under the skylight, taking in everything. She could not restrain her excitement and awe. She had on a rose-colored dress with a gold overskirt. The bodice was fitted, and the velvet and beaded neckline were low revealing fine shoulders. The sleeves were multi-puffed and they ran down her arms until they tapered around her wrists. Her neck was adorned with a choker, a ring of dangling diamonds around it. Her blonde hair was styled into a bun and had a tiara sitting gracefully on it. She looked every bit the future queen of Markenia and stole a few admiring glances from the opulently dressed party invitees.

  The atmosphere was rich with the scent of flowers and the aroma of the wealthy banquet, which did not spare any of the famed royal delicacies. Ressa dragged in the pleasantness in the air, let it fill her. The sound of the string instruments dexterously manipulated between the expert fingers of their players caused her heart to flutter like butterflies.

  Surely, this must be what heaven looks like, Ressa thought. She’d never been to such a fancy party before. And what was even more bedazzling—the party was hers.

  The last time she had been nearly this awed was on her eighteenth birthday with her father. As one of the members of the Tradesmen’s Guild, her father had secured both of them tickets to a play with closed invitations. The play had been in a glade in the forest, sponsored by the Children of Mother Nature, a group of actors who played witches with the power to control the elements of nature. They’d cordoned off the area with wooden trellis gates covered in vines of ivy so only those with tickets would come in. Ressa’s heart had fluttered excitedly from the beginning of the play until the end. And when her father had asked her, “How did you find the play, my darling?” she had replied, “Both magical and heavenly.”

  Ressa had enjoyed other happy times in the parties that were thrown in lower Markenia. The parties were usually thrown in the square. Everyone would gather. Then they would cover the entire square in flowered garlands and ivy vines and litter the ground with rose petals of different colors. Her father would always buy her a new dress for every party that was thrown. Always a red dress, the design of which varied at each party.

  “To match the deep color of your lips,” he would tell her as he presented the dress. His eyes would be kindled with so much affection. Ressa acutely remembered feeling loved.

  The people usually provided their music—local tunes that had wormed their way into the depths of their minds. They would sing aloud with merriment and the excitement of knowing entire songs by heart. Ressa and her father would dance. They would hop, and twirl, and turn, forgetting the rest of the world, and clinging to each other until their feet hurt. And then they would go home, ouch-ing from their hurting feet, exchanging jokes, and laughing. The night would not end until Ressa’s father had read her a story from one of her late mother’s favorite books, and then they would fall asleep, right there beside the fire in his great armchair.

  The lapse into memories filled Ressa with nostalgia and the hurt of her enslaved father. Like salt in water, it spread, disillusioning her of whatever splendor that had previously held her spellbound and awed. She was reminded of how important accomplishing her mission was. She used the thoughts as fodder to feed the flame of her determ
ination.

  Ressa took one look around and then walked down the length of the hall. She did so carefully to avoid bumping into anybody.

  She heard a burst of familiar laughter, and then she turned. She spotted Cavel, further to her left, speaking to a strikingly beautiful lady. He looked his best as usual.

  So much for a future husband, Ressa thought. She felt a surge of hurt.

  One would have thought that a prince, who was also heir to the throne, at his engagement ball would never leave the side of his bride-to-be, who he should be displaying cheerily before all. Not Cavel. This was another opportunity to reveal his hedonistic tendencies—to drink, to jest, flirt, and half-secretly bed women. It was his last night as an official bachelor after all.

  As Ressa walked down the hall, she noticed that she was receiving stares that denoted anything but pleasantness. That’s when she began to hear them—the whispers that weren’t whispers. Because though they were spoken in seemingly hushed tones, they were calculated so that she could hear them.

  As she passed through clusters of people, she was pelted, especially from the women, with accusations of being a harlot.

  “Do you know anything about her background?” someone asked.

  “She’s a filthy peasant,” another said.

  “Her father is a good-for-nothing member of the dead Tradesmen’s Guild.”

  “Heard he dared to challenge the throne.”

  “Maybe he thought he was royal blood.”

  Sometimes they laughed.

  “Well, what the father couldn’t do the daughter did by bedding the prince.”

  They laughed some more.

  Each of the slanders they spoke was a stab to Ressa’s heart. And they were coming in torrents.

  It hurt her that people who lived a privileged life, whose lives were worlds apart from hers, spoke about her life like they knew anything about it.

  She tried to avoid encountering and speaking to people, but there was only so much hiding the bride-to-be and future queen of Markenia could do.

  “Hello, my lady,” a couple greeted as they happened upon her.

  “Oh, hello,” Ressa replied.

  The man was young, probably in his early thirties, light brown-skinned, and had black hair that was slicked back. He was dressed in a white shirt, black formal vest, purple duster coat, a cravat, and knee boots on plain white fitted slacks. He held a small pipe at the corner of his lips, and it danced as he spoke. His wife, a head shorter than him, had beady black eyes, small almond lips, and flowing black hair; she wore a green dress with an accordion-pleated ruffle at the neck and cuffs, a padded roll on her shoulders, and a white petticoat, which slit down the front of her overcoat revealed.

  “Young miss, let me introduce myself. I’m Milfort Milo, and this is my wife, Jane-Marie,” the man said very courteously.

  “You must be having a very splendid day,” Jane-Marie said, sipping red wine from a glass. “I mean can your day be anything else, seeing that you own all this?” She made a covert gesture with her eyes, indicating the entire hall.

  “My wife and I must give you a big congratulations on this your engagement day,” Milfort said.

  “Thank you,” Ressa replied with a smile.

  “You know,” Jane-Marie said, stepping closer to Ressa in a conspiratorial manner, “my husband wants to know how you caught Cavel.”

  Ressa frowned. She felt like something had reached into her and whisked away all the words in her head, her breath included.

  “What?” she asked with a shocked expression.

  There was a gleam of mockery in Jane-Marie’s eyes.

  “Would my lady humble us as to furnish us with your name?” Milfort asked.

  Ressa was already beginning to sense an air of contempt from her guest.

  “Ressa Rose,” she replied.

  “Oh”, the woman said, her eyes shining. “Like the common weed?”

  The man and his wife burst into laughter.

  Ressa felt tears beginning to well in her eyes. Without a word, she moved away from the couple.

  She met a few more clusters of people much like the couple who deftly and surreptitiously made fun of her and her background. Ressa ignored it for the most part. But then there was a common saying among the Children of Nature, something about continuously taking it without giving it and it leading to a massive explosion. Ressa had ignored enough, and now she had to leave the hall by any means necessary. She was a lone rabbit and was surrounded by fat, ravenous wolves. She longed for a way out.

  Her eyes searched through the hall for salvation—any route at all that would take her out of the maws of trouble. Finally, she found one. It was a less-populated path behind the piers that led into the grand garden, through the fruit trees, and over the stone wall.

  Immediately, she began to follow the path she’d set her mind on. She willed her legs to go faster, but her heels had a different agenda.

  Oh what in the name of hell is this? she wailed internally.

  The heeled boots her ladies in waiting had forced her into no longer felt like objects of beauty and authority but gross obstructions. The petticoat she wore underneath her dress was also constituting a restraint. Ressa sighed inaudibly but continued walking. She would need bigger obstacles to keep her from escaping this trap of a ball.

  If I’m going to scale that wall, she thought, I’m going to have to do away with these boots and tear my dress.

  Realizing there were several people in the garden, talking and catching up amidst the marvelous array of green, and colorful fresh flowers, Ressa made her way to the dining tables and collected a glass of red wine from a waiter. There she stood taking a gulp from her glass as she waited for the staff to bring out the overflowing trays of dessert.

  Ah, sugared fruit, Ressa thought to herself, wishing she had a moment to indulge her appetite, but dessert would have to wait. All I have to do now is just wait till the crowd smells that delightful smell, she thought as she sipped her wine. She had observed the dining table and the order of service long enough to realize that sugared fruit was not only hers but a crowd favorite. It attracted the crowd as soon as it was served like nectar attracts bees.

  The rich love their sweet indulgences, she thought and rolled her eyes.

  “Would you like some more wine, my lady?” asked a waiter dressed smartly in a white shirt and black trousers, holding a tray of red wine to her face.

  “No, don’t bother. I’ve had enough for one day,” Ressa replied with a smile, placing her glass on the table beside her.

  She wished she had her satchel or any form of money to tip the server.

  A curse on these gowns and party etiquette, she thought.

  Just then, Ressa caught sight of the waiters coming in with ornate silver trays filled with sugared fruit. She saw the crowd follow them, like ripples of a wave, and felt a flush of satisfaction and relief.

  As the rich feasted on sweets Ressa tried making her way towards the now empty garden. She was no more than two feet away from the garden entrance when someone grabbed her hand from behind her.

  Chapter Eight

  Though King Willum Alvert's health was deteriorating, he was still able to attend the ball. He mingled with a few of the guests, familiar faces with whom he shared smiles, jokes, and a good laugh when he could manage it.

  “I must tell you, king, a hearty congratulations,” one of the guests said. He was a short, rotund man with thinning hair and a full mustache.

  “I’m not the one you should be congratulating, Lord Admen,” King Alvert said. “You should save it for the appropriate parties, my son and his delightful fiancée.”

  “Ah, you’re right, Willum, as usual,” Lord Admen said with a beaming smile. “I can still remember the little prince who was too scared to kill a turkey in his first hunt. He burst into tears,” he continued, his belly giggling when he laughed.

  King Alvert entertained a smile.

  “Time flies, Admen,” he said.


  “So it does. At least your posterity is secured. You’ve ensured that the heir to the throne has a beautiful bride-to-be by his side as queen. Many a war has been won by the beauty of the kingdom’s queen.”

  “Ah, yes and the bride is quiet beautiful,” King Alvert said, musing. “And spirited too. She reminds me of my late wife Alaura.”

  “Yes, Alaura … may she rest peacefully among our ancestors,” Admen said, lowering his head.

  “Well now. Let us toast. To the bride, and groom, and the future of Markenia.” Admen toasted with his hand holding a glass of cider wine in the air.

  King Alvert nodded in acknowledgment.

  Lord Admen was still talking to King Alvert when the king noticed his son’s presence. The king’s face darkened the moment his eyes settled on his son, the crown prince.

  Cavel was in the midst of a group of women holding court as he was wont to do. From time to time, the women threw back their heads and laughed hard at whatever nonsense he was saying. One or two could not keep their hands off him. They touched his arm at every opportunity and kept their eyes glued on him, hoping to understand him so they could hook him.

  Anyone who didn’t know this was his engagement ball would have thought that Cavel was the most eligible bachelor in the room. A spike of annoyance rushed throughout the king’s body. For a moment his lips trembled with his fury; then he stilled himself. Practice had made this easy. With a sigh, he turned away from the sight of his son in search of his son's soon-to-be bride.

  Ressa stood by the banquet table all alone.

  “Will you excuse me, old friend?” King Alvert said to Lord Admen before making his way across the room towards Ressa. “Care for a dance with your king?” he asked, stretching his hand out to take hers.

  Ressa was startled. She whipped her head around sharply to see who had spoken and exhaled in relief when she saw that it wasn't Cavel. A smile spread across her face as she curtseyed and took the king's hand. “My king, I'd be honored,” she said.

  The king lifted his frail hand towards the orchestra and flicked his fingers imperiously. They struck up one of his favorite tunes catching the attention of the crowd. He danced with Ressa to the sweet melody of the music and for the first time all night, Ressa let go just enough to enjoy herself. Their pace was easy and slow as was the rhythm of the music to allow for the weaknesses of the king’s aged body.