The Awakened Prince

by Elise Marion

  The children called to their parents and friends, pointing at the royal carriage as they followed it into town. Shouted greetings followed, and Isabelle once again experienced the overwhelming feeling of arriving home after a long time away. These people never ceased to amaze her with how welcoming and accommodating they had been, despite all the hardship they had faced. She hoped that she and Serge could live up to their expectations.

  When they had reached the very center of town, she signaled the driver to stop. A footman swung the door open and Isabelle dismounted from the carriage, along with Esmeralda and her bodyguards. Many had gathered to greet her, and she took her time with each one, taking their offered hands and patting the heads of the little ones. They loved her even more after she fished a bag of peppermint sticks from her pocket and began passing them out. Sucking on their treats and smiling happily, they waved good-bye and ran back to where they had come from.

  Isabelle inhaled, enjoying the cleansing sensation of the cool winter air filling her lungs. The same snow that covered her boots capped the buildings and dusted the trees lining the village, giving their surroundings a dreamlike quality of wintry wonder. The sights and smells of the busy village called to her and she could not wait to begin exploring. Shop doors stood open, the enticing aromas of baking bread, sugary pastries, and stewing meat filling the air. At the first shop, Isabelle purchased boxes of silver Christmas tree ornaments and several long strands of tinsel. Christmas had always been one of her favorite times of year and even though it was early, she couldn’t wait until it was time to put up and decorate the tree.

  At the next shop, she purchased several crates of chocolate, another large bag of peppermint sticks, then placed an order with the baker for a large quantity of various confections to serve at her Christmas ball.

  From there, it was all a blur as she went from shop to shop, emptying her purse and filling those of Gladstone’s merchants. By the time she was finished, all four bodyguards had made several trips back to the carriage to load it down with all her packages. Esmeralda had done her share of shopping as well, collecting items for her family, as well as a new winter cloak for herself.

  They came to the blacksmith’s shop last, after Isabelle remembered the story Primus had told her of how the sword of the Kings of Barony had been lost in the great siege against Guthrie Hall. After her parents were killed, the family heirloom never resurfaced. The sword of the Kings of Cardenas had been carried by Lionus and upon his death had been passed down to Damien, as no one had expected Serge to live.

  When they came upon the smithy, Isabelle decided that the King of Barony needed a sword to pass down to his son. That she might be pregnant with their heir had brought the thought to the forefront of her mind. Her decision made, she pushed open the door to the little shop and walked in.

  A wave of heat struck her face the instant she stepped inside, and for the first time that day she wished she weren’t wearing such a heavy cloak. Sweat had already began to roll down the back of her neck, and her hair would be damp with it by the time they left. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness within, she made out a person hammering away noisily in the corner. As they neared, she recognized the person with a surprised gasp.

  Ava Longley, captain of the women’s regiment, stood bent over an anvil with a massive hammer clenched in her fist. The tip of the sword in her hand glowed red from having been heated in the roaring fire.

  The captain pounded rhythmically, her arm wielding the hammer as well as any man’s, coming down on the metal with such force the anvil shook beneath her. Isabelle cleared her throat to alert the woman of their presence. When Ava finally looked up from her work, she tossed the hammer aside and curtsied as if she wore a ball gown instead of a dirty wool dress and leather apron. Isabelle would have never guessed the warrior woman could be so graceful. It would seem that Ava was full of surprises.

  “Your Highness,” she said as she rose from her curtsy. “It is an honor to have you visit my humble establishment.”

  Vernon stepped forward, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. “This is your shop?”

  Ava drew herself up to her full height and lifted her chin, her stormy gray eyes assessing Vernon coolly. “I just said it was, didn’t I?”

  The bodyguard’s frown deepened as his gaze roamed the smithy, taking in the various tools of the trade and the dark, humid surroundings before coming to rest on Ava once again.

  She sighed in annoyance, rolling her eyes. “Allow me to explain. My father was a blacksmith, and his father before him. He was also an excellent swordsmith. Since I was the only child my parents had and my father had to teach his trade to someone, he chose me. Any other questions?”

  “Only one,” said Isabelle. “I am certain you’ve heard the story of how the sword of the Kings of Barony went missing. I think it’s high time it was replaced, don’t you?”

  Surprise flashed briefly in Ava’s eyes, but was quickly replaced by joy. “Oh, Your Highness, how could I ever … to think that you would ask such a thing of me … I am so honored!”

  Isabelle smiled back at the woman before handing her a heavy sack of coins—the very last of the funds she had brought with her. “I want it fit for royalty … beautiful to look at as well as deadly. I believe this should cover the cost.”

  Ave opened the pouch and her mouth fell open. “This would cover it at least three times over, Your Highness. I cannot accept this.”

  “Consider the rest your reward for saving my life. I have not forgotten the bravery of you or your fellow soldiers.”

  After thanking her again, Ava slid the coin purse into one of the several pockets on her apron. “I will, of course, need time to find the necessary supplies. I would not want to rush making this sword. It needs to be perfect, strong enough to last for generations and deadly enough to get the job done.”

  “Do you think you could have it ready in time for Christmas? I’d like it to be a gift.”

  Ava nodded with confidence. “Absolutely.”

  Satisfied, Isabelle turned to leave. Once in the doorway, she had a sudden thought and turned back. “Could I ask one last thing of you, Captain Longley?”

  “Certainly, Your Highness.”

  “May I come back one day and take you up on your offer?”

  “What offer is that, Your Highness?”

  “To teach me self-defense with a sword. I completely agree with what you said about women needing some knowledge of how to protect themselves. I have fencing skill, but would like to build upon that.”

  Ava smiled again, her silvery eyes twinkling. “Anytime, Your Highness.”

  * * *

  The fog was as thick as ever. Isabelle could taste the moisture in the air as she moved through the forest on horseback, steering her mount between the trees. As she reached the clearing, the rustle of footsteps amongst fallen leaves sounded behind her. Sitting straighter in the saddle, she inclined her head toward the sound and listened. She pulled an arrow from the quiver at her back and held it to her bow. Quieting her breathing, she willed her heart to slow, until she could no longer hear the rushing of her own blood in her ears.

  When she detected the noise again, she rotated swiftly in the saddle, aiming her arrow toward the dense cluster of foliage—from which she was certain she had detected the sound. Without hesitation, she released the bowstring and let the arrow fly. The dark form of a man came tumbling from between two bushes, the arrow protruding out of his chest. Blood poured from the wound, darkening the front of his tunic and running over his body in a growing splotch. Then, he pitched forward with one last breath before going still upon the ground.

  When she heard the sound again, this time from another direction, she leaped from the saddle and unsheathed the sword at her side. Tossing the bow aside, she turned and raised her weapon in a silent challenge to the man lurking amongst the trees. He lumbered out from his hiding place, snapping twigs beneath his boots as he came forward, his sword raised. Isabelle knelt as he came toward her with
one giant leap, thrusting her sword upward and catching him in his gut. The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils, and a gory spray of the sticky, hot liquid drenched her face.

  As the second man fell at her feet, she wiped her sword clean on her leather breeches and used her sleeve to wipe the blood from her face. All at once, her enemy’s companions came crashing through the trees, weapons drawn, each with a murderous gleam in his eyes. Isabelle hefted her sword once more and ran to meet them, her voice ringing out in a primitive battle cry…

  * * *

  Isabelle’s heart pounded in her chest when she came awake, her blood rushing through her veins in a heady tingle. The dream had felt so real, she could still smell the metallic odor of blood mingling with that of the surrounding trees. Touching her fingertips to her face, she breathed a sigh of relief to find it clean.

  What had it meant? After the vision Akira had shown her while she slept at the campsite halfway between Cardenas and Barony, she’d couldn’t help but wonder if everything she dreamed might not hold a deeper significance with real life repercussions.

  She had certainly never felt the desire to kill a man, yet in her very vivid dream had slain two. She’d wielded the weapons with expertise and a fearlessness she’d never before known, and a confidence born from experience.

  In the past, she might have dismissed the dream as wistful fantasy, perhaps some part of herself wishing she were a stronger person—one who did not have to bow to the whims of others because she’d taken control of her own fate. Yet, the setting of the forest could not be ignored. It was the same place she’d encountered the specter of Lionus, where she’d sat before a campfire with Akira and seen visions of Barony’s future if she had not chosen Serge for her husband and king.

  There had to be some meaning behind this … and she was going to get to the bottom of it.

  Rising from bed, she reached for her dressing gown. Knowing that Akira remained awake into the late hours of the night, Isabelle left her room and set out for the other woman’s guest chamber.

  Before she could raise her fist to knock, the door swung open and the old Gypsy woman emerged as if she’d been expecting Isabelle. Akira leaned upon her cane as she motioned for her to enter, her eyes glittering with a thousand untold secrets. Tightening the belt of her dressing gown, Isabelle swept into the room, closing the door behind her.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but Akira cut her off with a wave of her hand.

  “Come to see me about that dream, have you?”

  Now used to her mysterious ways, Isabelle was not surprised that the woman knew why she had come.

  “What does it mean? I know you must be responsible for it … as well as all the other dreams I’ve been having as of late.”

  Akira shuffled toward a pile of cushions in the middle of the room. As she plopped down on them, folding her legs under herself, Isabelle realized for the first time that there was no bed here. Beneath the cushions lay a colorful, Oriental rug. Over the roaring blaze in the hearth hung a cauldron. The overpowering aroma of herbs filled the room, earthy and sweet. A long, low table sat beside Akira, where her pipe, a bowl full of glass beads, and various charms rested.

  “I anticipated a long stay in Barony and decided to make myself at home,” she explained as she reached for her pipe. “I have no use for a bed as I prefer my cushions, and need only the tools I utilize to exercise my gift.”

  Nodding her understanding, Isabelle knelt on the other side of the table, facing Akira. “Please, explain the dream to me.”

  “You already know the meaning of the dream, Your Highness. If you will recall the words I’ve spoken to you several times already, you’d realize that you have your answer.”

  Isabelle stared into the fire and concentrated, trying to remember all the things Akira had told her.

  “You told me that marriage to Serge would save Barony,” she mused aloud. “You told me that our joining would make us the greatest king and queen that Barony has ever seen.”

  Akira nodded, motioning for Isabelle to continue. “Go on. You’re almost there.”

  She pressed a hand to her forehead, mind racing as she sifted through her memories of their past conversations. “Something about a warrior king?”

  She paused, her eyes going wide as realization dawned.

  “Warrior king and queen! Surely you did not mean that both would be warriors? Serge is a trained general, and has been preparing in some way for this role all his life. But me …”

  Akira smiled, her gaze knowing as she clenched her pipe between her teeth. “I told you, you already have the answer.”

  Isabelle shook her head in disbelief, leaping to her feet. Her heart was racing again, the sound of it like drums in her ears. Her head spun as the visions from her dreams began to fill her mind again. She smelled the blood, tasted the humid fog, felt the weight of a sword in her hand. It made no sense. She was no warrior. Her fencing experience notwithstanding, she’d never been in a real fight, never wielded a true weapon.

  Yet, even as she told herself this was all so ridiculous, something deep within her resounded with overwhelming force—a part of her shifting and growing, pushing to the forefront of her mind and soul. It told her this was not impossible, that it wasn’t as ridiculous as she supposed.

  Akira rose and approached her, amber eyes glowing in the firelight with an unearthly quality. Isabelle became ensnared by those eyes, the flashes of golden fire and the darker embers simmering with a deep-seated wisdom and knowledge. The old woman reached out to take her hand, holding it tight.

  “Hear me, Your Highness. The path of your destiny has been set, and you cannot allow your fears to keep you from what must be. I can see you grow weary of waiting for those around you to decide what is best for you, for your people. You are restless. You wish there was more you could do to help.”

  Hot tears splashed her face and neck as her gaze connected with Akira’s. As always, she knew just what Isabelle had been thinking and feeling.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “It is true. I’ve been helpless for so long, and I don’t like it. I’ve never liked it.”

  “This is your chance,” Akira said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Take the fate of your people into your own hands. Seek out Captain Ava Longley, and convince her to take you under her wing. Submit yourself to her teachings and reach deep inside yourself. The woman from your dreams already lies within. It is up to you to bring her out.”

  * * *

  Esmeralda sat at the polished desk in the corner of her room. She pulled an envelope from her skirt pocket and tore into it, anticipation making her motions swift and careless. Damien’s letter had just arrived, and the messenger had promised to return for her response. She settled into her chair and began to read.

  October 25, 1866

  Dutton, Barony

  Esmeralda,

  Words cannot express how much I miss you. The weeks have dragged by endlessly, and I long to hold you in my arms once more. I hope this letter finds you in good spirits and that you are faring well at Guthrie Hall. You must be homesick for Cardenas, as I am. I hope that our rebuilding efforts are not met with too much resistance, and we can find a quick solution to the rebel problem so our little family can return home.

  The first stop on our journey was Kingsford. I hated to even set foot in that place after the massacre that occurred there, but someone had to be responsible for it. We honored the dead with a burial, and tore down what remained of the burnt buildings. The High Council decided that rebuilding the village on the burial ground would be too hurtful for those who once lived there. From the day we finished clearing away the remains, Kingsford is no more.

  We are now in Dutton, which I’m sure you’ll recall is five days ride from Guthrie Hall. We arrived just in time to defend the people here from an attack. I am saddened to report that many of our men were lost, but in the end we were triumphant. We have had a few skirmishes during our short time here, which leads me to believe our re
building efforts may take longer than we thought. Just when we’ve begun, another attack comes, and we are forced to lay down our tools in favor of weapons.

  So far we have rebuilt many homes, and begun the foundation for a church. The residents here are hopeful and assisting us in every way they can.

  When last I heard from Serge, he mentioned that he would like to make the journey home for Christmas. I hope we are able to come away for the holiday as well. Even one day with you would be worth the journey. I miss you sorely, and will count each day until we are reunited

  All my love,

  Damien

  * * *

  Esmeralda folded her husband’s letter, sliding it into her desk drawer along with the others. She removed a fresh sheet from a stack of stationary, and dipped her quill pen in the ink.

  October 5, 1866

  Dearest Damien,

  I, too, am restless with wanting you by my side once again. I am counting the days until Christmas and hoping you will be here. Isabelle has already begun planning a lavish event for both the court and Barony’s citizens. Guthrie Hall will be open to all who wish to come, for a two-day affair that promises to be a very good time.

  Everything else here is relatively normal. I find that I am not quite as homesick as I expected because I have Leila, Mother, Grandmother, Desmond, Isabelle, and Tatiana to keep me company. Desmond spends most of his time around the stables. I’m sure this is no surprise to you; you know how much he loves horses. The servant girls are all aflutter over him, though I don’t think he notices the way they watch him. He’s becoming a man before my very eyes. It is both delightful and painful to watch.

  Tatiana has become quite the social butterfly. She has been invited to several dinners and teas by members of the court, and has attended every single one. I worry over how she is handling all of the attention, especially since most of it seems to be coming from the men of the court. One man in particular has caught her eye. His name is Lord Andrew Forsyth, and she is quite taken with him. I don’t know much about him, but things between them don’t seem very serious, so I have decided not to worry over this until I have to. Something tells me this is no more than a case of puppy love.