by Jeanne Hardt
“We hate the same man.”
Frederick narrowed his eyes, contemplating his long list of enemies. “Of whom do you speak?”
“Sebastian. The man who gave me this scar.” He turned his face, exposing a large mark on his cheek. “Release me and I swear, we will both be satisfied.”
Frederick did as he asked. Any man who despised Sebastian was likely an ally. “I will listen.”
Roderick craned his neck and peered around the entryway. “Are we alone?”
“Yes. I have few servants and no guards. As of late, I admit, I need to rectify that. Are you seeking a change of service?”
The devilish chuckle that emerged from the man, piqued Frederick’s interest. With the moon reaching its fullest tonight, Frederick had been praying to hear something from his uncle in regard to his decision to abdicate. Roderick’s unexpected arrival disrupted everything, but Frederick would not question God’s timing.
Roderick’s laughter died into a sigh. “I seek to serve you, but not as a guard. As I said, I serve but one master, and attend whoever suits me. My master and I want to crush Sebastian, and what better way than to stab him in the heart?”
“You will kill him?”
“Not exactly.”
“Damn.” Frederick let his shoulders drop and took several steps away from Roderick. His stench warranted it.
“Trust me,” Roderick said. “Death is too quick for Sebastian. A heart is better pierced by painfully taking away those he loves.”
“Go on …” His words sent chills across Frederick’s skin. He folded his arms over his chest and breathed slowly. Waiting …
“Tonight is the knighting ceremony at the holy temple. Jonah, who as you know is Sebastian’s friend and mentor, is to be dubbed. Since Sebastian’s departure, Jonah has followed King Roland like a shadow, but with tonight’s full moon, Jonah will be at the temple preparing for the rite. His mind will not be on protecting the king, it will be set on his own personal gain.”
The more Roderick spoke, Frederick’s heart beat faster. This could very well lead to something incredibly promising.
“Every evening before supper,” the man went on, “King Roland comes to the stable and fawns over his prize stallion. He speaks not even one word to me, and I am the one who covers myself in filth for the king’s daily pleasure. He will disregard me for the last time. When he moves to brush the animal’s coat, I will open his neck wide with my blade and stain the ground with his blood.”
Frederick could scarcely breathe. “You speak treason. How can you be sure I will not have you hung for uttering such words?”
“My act will place you exactly where you want to be, and it will further fuel the hatred your people have toward Crenians.”
“Of which you yourself claim to be. So, you will betray yourself as such?”
“No.” He bent down and reached for his boot.
Frederick unsheathed his sword. “Mind yourself, Crenian!”
Roderick held both hands in the air. “I merely want to show you the weapon I will use to carry out my plan.”
“Do it slowly.” Frederick pointed his sword at Roderick’s chest, ready to plunge it deep in the event things went awry.
Once again, Roderick reached down and unfastened a knife from his bootstrap. He stood leisurely with it, then set it across both of his open palms. “This is a Crenian blade. If you look closely you will see markings depicting it as such. It has been honed to such sharpness, it will cut through Roland’s skin as easily as slicing through a slab of butter.”
“So …” Frederick secured his weapon in its sheath and moved closer to the dagger. “I assume you will leave this behind as a bold statement from the Crenians? And of course, when I am crowned king, I will have to take action against them?”
“Of course.” Roderick returned the weapon to its place on his boot. “A king—that is—a high king must rule with a heavy hand.”
This all seemed too easy. “And what of you, Roderick of Padrida? What do you want from this? Gold? Position? Protection? After all, if you are discovered, which is highly likely, your head will roll.”
The man did not even blink at his bold remark. Instead, he cocked his head and grinned. “Did you know I had been watching you all these months?”
“No. I was unaware of you, until I smelled you in my dwelling just moments before our introductions.”
“I may be a large man …” Roderick splayed his arms wide. “But I have stealth. A talent I learned tracking game. I will not be found out.”
“Fine. So you do not need protection, but what do you want from this? And who is your master?”
Roderick shook his head back and forth, while shaking a finger in the air. “My master will remain nameless. As for what I want, along with the joy in seeing Sebastian break, I require funds. I will make myself scarce in Issa, putting together the final pieces of our plan. As you know, Issa can be quite expensive, depending on what a man chooses to partake of.”
“How would I know?”
Roderick jabbed his stiff finger into Frederick’s chest. “I told you, I have been watching. You fancy young girls.”
The remark slapped Frederick hard. His heart raced out of control. “I should kill you now.”
“Do, and all I have to offer dies with me. Allow me to carry out this plan, and no one will learn of your transgressions. I vow it. My master and I want to see you on the high throne. We recognize your fine qualities.”
Frederick weighed his options. He had no guarantee his uncle would step aside anytime soon. Roland’s death would assure it. And once Frederick ascended to the high throne, not only could he rule as he pleased, the people would insist he take a bride.
Angeline.
Merely thinking of her aroused him.
“Well?” Roderick let out a long breath. “Do I die tonight, or does your king?”
Frederick leered at him. “Cross me, and I will see to it you die painfully.”
“I have no reason to cross you. All my grievances are with Sebastian.”
“Tell me why you hate him.”
Roderick’s face contorted and his eyes darkened over. “He took something from my master, and thus seized everything from me. I have been reduced to shoveling manure, when I should be the lead guard protecting my king and reveling in wine and women.”
Frederick laughed, easing himself and his heart. “So, you will take the gold I give you and satisfy your lusts in the brothels of Issa?”
“Yes. In return, I give you the world. In my eyes, you are receiving far more. Your wealth will soon be endless.”
“Wait here.” Frederick calmly walked away, then hastened to his bedchamber, all the while wondering if he had made a terrible error believing anything the man had to say. Then again, what did he have to lose?
He paused at the window and peered into the heavens. If this was God’s answer to his prayers, it had come at a cost. Frederick hated parting with any of his gold, but it seemed even God had a price.
Frederick knelt on the floor and withdrew a locked chest from behind the bed. He glanced over his shoulder to make certain he was still alone, then carefully loosened a small brick from the wall, behind which, the key lay. The abundant coins inside the chest had been gathered over the years. Some had even come from his uncle’s chambers, taken when no one was looking. Frederick believed them to be rightfully his, so in that regard, they had not been stolen.
He filled one of Marni’s satchels with enough gold to buy Roderick his pleasures for at least a full year, depending on how many women the man required at one time. Eventually, Frederick would have Roderick found and killed before he could blackmail him into giving him more.
When he returned to Roderick, Mirella stood at the man’s side. Roderick bent over and whispered in her ear.
“Mirella!” Frederick fumed.
Her head snapped upright. “Forgive me, sire! I came to see if you and your guest required my service.”
“If you are needed
,” Frederick hissed, “I will call for you. Trouble our guest no more!” He pointed at the hallway, and she scampered off.
Roderick laughed. “A poor way to treat your youthful lover, is it not?”
Yes, this man most certainly had to die.
“You speak too loosely.” Frederick extended the bag of gold. “If I deem it necessary, I shall order your tongue removed.”
“You will do no such thing. When you witness how perfectly I carry out a plan, you may want to employ me again. Remove my tongue, and I will not be so accommodating.” He opened the bag and peered inside. “This will do.” He stuffed it into his trousers. “Going forward, I highly suggest you mind yourself and your tendencies. The walls have eyes, and you never know who might be watching.”
A troubling thought, to say the least. Frederick assumed he had been careful, but Roderick had proved him inept. “Go before I change my mind and end you.”
Roderick sighed, carefree. “Are there any last words you would like uttered to the king?”
“Yes.” Frederick licked his lips. “Tell him his nephew sends his regards.”
Roderick bowed low, then left.
“Mirella!”
Frederick stormed down the hallway, choosing not to wait for her. He sought her out and drug her by her hair to his bedchamber. After proficiently beating her, he used her for his own pleasure.
She would not cross him again.
Chapter 31
Frederick had not planned on attending the dubbing ceremony, but that dramatically changed. He ached to see the look on Jonah’s face, when the news came that the king was dead.
Jonah would prove to be an utter failure and unworthy of knighthood, then all eyes would turn to Frederick.
He walked proudly into the temple, but kept an air of mourning humility. A difficult combination, yet he had mastered all forms of expression. An art he began honing as a child.
Notice of the ceremony had been posted around Basilia for weeks. Commoners poured in like hungering beasts. No doubt, they came for the food and wine that would be served immediately following.
Beasts craved feasts.
He chuckled inwardly at his own wit.
Every Basilian he passed bowed and curtsied, speaking the same words of condolence he had heard when returning from Thanwine.
He loved listening to the old women refer to him as a poor dear. They adored him, and he relished it.
While he strolled casually up the aisle to the front of the temple, he politely nodded to everyone who acknowledged him. He took a seat and faced the enormous round orb that had been crafted from stone—smoothed and polished to perfection. The full moon symbol of God, creator of all. It rested atop a high pillar and tall candles were kept illuminated day and night around it.
Tonight, God had smiled upon Frederick.
He caught sight of Jonah, who stood to the far right, conversing with one of the priests. Jonah wore a fine green tunic, bearing the king’s emblem. He held his head high and beamed like the sun. Occasionally, he would glance at the king’s sword that rested atop the altar in front of the giant orb. The ornate weapon used specifically for dubbing. Few men had received such an honor, and Jonah’s face radiated anticipation for the glorious rite.
His light would soon be snuffed out.
In Frederick’s mind, he had played out how he himself would react to the news, and what he would say following. If all worked as he hoped, the priests would act accordingly and fall right into his plan.
If only Angeline could be by his side to witness the glory. He would be certain to retain everything and relate it to her the next time they met.
Running footsteps turned Frederick’s head.
A young man sped along the outer aisle and hastened to the gathered priests. The oldest then followed the youth out of the temple. The priest’s eyes were wide with fear and worry.
Yes!
Frederick closed his eyes and prayed for his will to be done. Surely, God would grant it.
Mumbling grew in intensity, and when Frederick looked again at the priests, they were talking in depth to Jonah. If only Frederick could hear them.
The old priest returned and walked solemnly up the aisle, then turned and approached Frederick. He laid a hand on Frederick’s shoulder. “A word, Prince Frederick?”
“Of course.” Frederick displayed his best expression of concern.
The old man led him to the others.
Jonah had lost most of his color and all of his jubilance.
“I have confirmed,” the priest said. “Our king is dead.”
Jonah dropped to his knees and covered his face with his hands, then let out a wail the likes of which Frederick had never heard.
He refused to be bested by him.
Frederick breathed rapid heavy breaths and clutched onto the priest’s robe. “What say you? It cannot be true.”
“It is,” the priest said soberly. “I viewed his lifeless body.”
“No!” Frederick grasped the corner of his own garment and tore it wide, then fell to his knees and sobbed. Renting his clothes surely outshone Jonah’s wail.
His action sent gasps across the room, and the mumbling grew. The result of a flawless performance.
“Highness,” the priest whispered and knelt beside him. “You must be strong. Your people need you. I fear there is treachery amiss. The king was slain by the hand of a Crenian. The blade was thrust into the wood of the stall holding the king’s stallion, next to the very spot King Roland’s throat was slit.” He took Frederick’s hand and pressed an object into it.
Frederick stopped his tears and opened his hand. His uncle’s ring had been set within it. “No.” He stared at the magnificent high-king’s token and purposefully kept his voice low. “I cannot ascend on such grounds. I must first find who did this.”
Jonah had not stopped wailing, and it grated on Frederick’s nerves. He forced himself to ignore it, or he might react in a manner that would disrupt his ruse.
The priest leaned close. “Look about. Do you not see the fear spreading in the eyes of your people? They require a leader now. The moon is full, and the rite of ascension must be said. We dare not wait another month.”
Frederick swiped away his tears with the back of his hand, then as slowly as he could, rose to his feet. He forced himself to tremble and grasped onto another priest’s arm, making a play for sympathy.
The eldest priest stood erect beside him, nodding. He had played perfectly into the plan.
Frederick only hoped he himself had appeared distraught enough. He chose to sniffle a few times and shut his eyes temporarily for effect. Then, he faced the old man. “I will do this for my people. But I will not rest until I find who murdered my uncle.”
The priest gripped Frederick’s shoulder. “You have suffered greatly. I will address this gathering and inform them of their king’s passing, and then we shall perform the rite of ascension. I sent one of my brothers to speak with the queen, in order to retrieve King Roland’s crown for the rite. I expect his return any moment. Will you be sound enough to address the people upon completion of the ritual?”
“With God’s help, yes.”
The old man nodded, then motioned for his other robed minions to follow him to the altar.
There was something to be said for ritual, but the priests held an air of superiority that had bothered Frederick from the first time he had entered the temple. After all, they were mere men, and they were not royalty. Yet, they served a purpose, and as long as it stayed in accord with Frederick’s, he would not disrupt it.
“No …” Jonah moaned. “It cannot be. I failed him.”
Frederick bowed his head, excusing himself from the priests, then moved close to Jonah and bent to his level. “Yes,” he whispered with spite. “You failed your king, and you shall pay for your shortcomings.”
Satisfied, Frederick returned to the altar and stood tall beside the head priest. As if on cue for this splendid production, the young brother, who
m the old man had indicated, shuffled up the center aisle and produced Roland’s fantastic crown.
“The queen is in mourning,” he quietly said and handed the crown to the senior priest. “But she willingly sent this with her blessings.”
The news spread warmth throughout Frederick’s body. The queen’s support should not surprise him. Even so, it felt like a victory in itself.
The old priest placed the crown on the altar, then faced the crowd and held both hands in the air. Silence fell across the temple.
“Evil has come to Basilia!” The priest lifted his self-righteous head high. “This very night, someone has slain our king!”
Loud shouts and crying erupted. The chaotic mixture of noises fell on Frederick’s ears like a blessed melodic gift.
The priest motioned the noise down again. “We will have time to mourn, just as Prince Frederick has been grieving these past weeks for his wife and child. They, too, were innocents slain by an unknown hand.”
“It was Sebastian!” someone yelled, followed by shouts of agreement.
“We know not for certain who committed either act!” the priest bellowed. “But we must move forward and remain strong as a people, having faith that God has put in our midst a savior. A man in whom we can entrust to carry out justice!”
“Prince Frederick!” a man yelled from the back of the temple.
Frederick did all he could to see who it was. If able, he would grant the man a decent position.
The priest gave a pronounced nod. “Yes! Prince Frederick, son of Ranen, brother of your dead king, Roland. Frederick is the rightful heir to the throne!” He lifted the Holy Scrolls from the altar and raised them high. “On this night of the full moon, God in Heaven watches us from above. Upon the passing of a king, an heir must be named.”
He bowed low and returned the scrolls to their place, then faced Frederick. “Do you, Frederick of Basilia, accept the title and vow service in the order appropriated by God? To serve God first, then your people, and look to your own needs at the very last?”
Frederick held a hand to his heart. “I do.”
“Upon your hand, secure the king’s ring I bestowed on you.”
