The Awakened Prince

by Elise Marion

  Isabelle watched closely as Ava circled her, following the captain with her eyes. She slowed her breathing to still her racing pulse, and tightened her hand on the hilt of her sword.

  Ava attacked first, taking a running leap and bringing her blade down over Isabelle’s head with a two-handed grip. She stumbled back, lifting her own weapon to counter. Metal clashed against metal as the two swords met between them. Ava put her weight behind the weapon and forced her down to one knee, but Isabelle held her ground, pushing back until she found an opening. Throwing herself sideways, she rolled away from the falling blade, which hit the ground and missed her by several inches.

  Getting to her feet, she went on the offensive this time, faking an upswing, and engaging a downswing instead, landing the blunted blade on Ava’s arm. The captain countered, pushing Isabelle back and thrusting her own sword at her middle. Dancing away from the threat, she angled her body away from Ava and swung her sword in an arc that would behead an enemy should she carry a sharpened sword.

  The captain ducked, then drove a shoulder into her chest. Isabelle backpedaled and swung again, but the captain took hold of her wrist while bending nearly backward to avoid the blade. Then, giving the limb a twist, she spun Isabelle and yanked until she’d been thrown off balance.

  “Very good,” Ava declared, keeping an iron grip on her arm and twisting until Isabelle screamed, certain her shoulder might break under the strain. “But you’ve forgotten one thing …”

  Taking hold of Isabelle’s braid, she gave it a vicious tug, pulling her to the ground. The air rushed from her lungs on impact, and her sword clattered to the hard-packed earth as snow wafted up and floated down over her. She reached back and attempted to wrestle her hair from Ava’s grasp, but the captain only tugged harder, making her eyes water.

  “Your opponent will use every advantage available to him in the heat of the moment. This rope hanging from the back of your head has put you at my mercy.”

  Isabelle squirmed and kicked, fighting to rescue her hair, but to no avail. She went still when Ava laid the tip of her sword against her collarbone.

  “If I were your enemy, I could decapitate you right now, and you would be powerless to stop me. You must remember that good form and technique are only half the battle. The rest is as all a mind game, and the first step to understanding your enemy is knowing that they will do everything they must to end you.”

  Finally releasing her braid, the captain stood back and allowed her to stand. Isabelle shot to her feet, rubbing her sore scalp and glaring at her opponent.

  “No man would condescend to hair-pulling.”

  “Men are not above anything when it comes to war,” Ava replied, sliding her sword back in its sheath. “Even hair-pulling. Think about that.”

  Isabelle watched the captain walk away, still working to shake the clinging snow from her hair. Her locks had never seen a pair of scissors, except for the occasional trim. It had always been the trademark of her beauty, from its length to its striking color. As she walked to the dining hall to join the others for the evening meal, she glanced down at the braid hanging over her shoulder and saw it as the vanity that it was. Over the course of her training, her body had changed, her mind had changed … she had changed. There was only this final thing holding her back.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she changed course, heading back toward the barracks. She walked down the straight row of cabins before arriving at the one she was looking for. Nell sat in the doorway of the lodging she shared with another soldier, sharpening her sword.

  The large woman was intimidating in appearance, but looks were deceiving. As tall as most men, with limbs as thick as tree trunks, Nell was quite a threatening sight to behold, but Isabelle had learned quickly that her heart was golden, and off the battlefield the woman didn’t have a disagreeable bone in her body. There wasn’t a person within the compound who did not count her as a friend, and her amiable nature meant she always made time to help those in need.

  Most important at the moment, was the fact that Nell wore her hair cropped close to her head. Isabelle had heard her offer to cut another soldier’s hair for her, and apparently acted as a barber of sorts for those who needed one. Thus Isabelle’s reason for seeking her out.

  Nell looked up and smiled when she approached. “I saw you practicing your swordplay today. You’re a natural. Won’t be long before you’re as good as Ava.”

  Isabelle frowned as she remembered the beating she’d just taken. She reminded herself that it had only been the first time she had sparred with anyone, and that one of Ava’s advantages over her was about to disappear.

  “I need your help.”

  Nell stood and put her sword aside before wiping her hands on the legs of her leather breeches.

  “Certainly. Come inside.”

  * * *

  Isabelle did not know why she was crying. With every snip of the scissors, another thick lock of hair tumbled over her shoulder and into her lap, and she would have to choke back a sob.

  It’s just hair for God’s sake.

  But it was more than that. It was as if part of her was being put to rest. It felt like the end of something, but also the beginning. She kept telling herself it was just a haircut, but the more hair she lost, the more she began to feel the change within. When Nell finished and gave Isabelle a small hand mirror, she paused before glancing into it. Whatever greeted her when she looked into the mirror, it would mark a new beginning for her. No more standing back to accept things that were within her power to change. No more fear. No more indecisiveness.

  With a deep breath, she raised the mirror and confronted the ‘new’ Isabelle.

  Free from the heaviness of its former length, her hair now fell in soft waves around her face, stopping just at her chin. It had begun to wave a bit, adding a bit more softness to her features, making her eyes look larger and her lips fuller. She smiled at her reflection, letting out a little laugh of delight. This was the woman from her vision. The spoiled, pampered princess was gone.

  “Thank you,” she said to Nell, before wiping away the last of her tears. “I love it.”

  “You’re still a beauty, that’s for sure,” said Nell, gathering handfuls of Isabelle’s hair from the floor and tossing them into the fireplace. “I’ve been cutting my hair for years now, and wouldn’t wear it any other way. Makes it easier to fight.”

  She helped Nell remove the rest of the hair before turning for the door. “Excuse me, I have a score to settle.”

  She stopped at the armory briefly before continuing on to the dining hall, where all the women sat relaxing after dinner. Games of cards had begun at many tables, while conversation over ale continued at others. Isabelle found Ava at their customary table with Mudiwa and Hanako. The three glanced up as she approached, Hanako smiling and Mudiwa letting out a gasp at the sight of her. Ava laughed, mirth dancing in her eyes along with clear approval.

  Isabelle flung one of the swords she held onto the table. It landed in front of the captain with a loud clank.

  “I demand a rematch.”

  * * *

  Serge rubbed his aching leg as he stared into the campfire. He sat alone, as he had since his returned from Gladstone. None of his men dared to come near him, frightened off by his sour mood and short temper. He’d been this way since his last encounter with Isabelle, and try as he might, he could not seem to snap out of it. His anger had melted away and in its place an emptiness lingered. In the midst of it sat a heavy stone of regret. He hadn’t meant to belittle Isabelle for her choice, but wanted more than anything for her to be safe. And not just safe from being hurt or killed … safe from being in the midst of death and seeing it happen around her. He knew what watching Lionus die had done to her. Why, then, would he stand back and let her go through it again and again as her friends were hurt and killed beside her?

  Serge had considered riding back to Gladstone to try again to make her understand what he’d been trying to say. He could a
pologize for being high-handed, perhaps even coax her into letting him send her bodyguards to Gladstone. He wouldn’t try to make her return to the castle, as long as the guards were there to watch over her. It wasn’t that he did not trust the soldiers of the lady’s regiment … he only knew that should the rebels attack, her guards would know what to do. Getting Isabelle out of the village would not just keep her safe, it might spare the people who would die if the rebels thought to use them to ferret out the queen.

  But, he did not think he could face her after all that had happened. Instead, he wrote a letter, putting all the thoughts he’d kept to himself onto the page. The parchment had never been sent, and remained in its envelope among the belongings in his tent.

  Avoidance. It was the ultimate act of cowardice, but he could not seem to make himself move beyond it. Every time he thought of a way to make things right and win her back, the resounding throb of his pain over her words rippled through him.

  That he felt horrible over their argument did not change the things she’d said about him, the truth of her feelings. He’d put his heart on his line and she had stomped upon it.

  He could not allow himself the luxury of friendship or passion with her again without risking his heart yet. Over time, he’d only fall deeper in love with her, while she went on holding him at arm’s length. As unbearable as it was now, it would only grow worse as the days, weeks, months, and years went by.

  He simply could not do it.

  So, he threw himself into the rebuilding effort in an attempt at keeping his mind occupied. It worked well enough during the day. He spent that time with his men, building homes, completing the school, and lending his hand to every other endeavor he could. Aside from needing to keep his mind off his wife, he also wanted the people of Barony to see him working alongside them with his own hands. They needed to know he cared enough to not just dole out orders, but pull his own weight, as well. The small village had begun coming back to life, and Serge could not have been prouder of their success.

  The rebels had been unusually quiet since their last attack, but he knew not to let down his guard. Lucius Winthrop would not be beaten so easily, and probably planned a full-scale attack even now. That proved yet another thing that ought to dominate his thoughts.

  Yet, Isabelle always managed to creep back in when his guard was down. It usually happened in the darkest hours of the night, when he lay alone in his tent unable to sleep. As much as he tried to tell himself it would pass, Serge realized just how hopeless his situation was. He had always been in love with a woman who loved someone else. That was unlikely to change. The sooner he forced himself to accept that, the better.

  Chapter 17

  The light of the fire illuminated the small circle of women gathered around it. In their midst stood Isabelle, Ava, and Nell. She had completed her training just in time to leave for Christmas. Ava had informed her just yesterday that after eight weeks of grueling training, she was now good enough to stop being a recruit and become a soldier in truth.

  “You completed the same training in the same timing as any other soldier here,” the captain had told her. “From here, you will only grow stronger with experience and daily practice. You’ve done well, Your Highness.”

  In the morning, she and Vernon would leave for Guthrie Hall. She had convinced Ava, Hanako, and Mudiwa to accompany them for the Christmas ball, not wanting to spend the holiday without women she’d come to see as dear friends.

  Now, on her final night in Gladstone, she stood in their midst, ready to be inducted into the regiment. Nell, Hanako, and Mudiwa stood in the middle of a circle comprised of rows upon rows of women, all of whom had come to witness the event.

  “We are gathered to welcome you, Queen Isabelle of Barony, into the sisterhood that is the women’s regiment.”

  Ava’s voice rang out over the crackling fire as she motioned for Isabelle to kneel. She dropped to one knee and gazed up, watching the firelight cast shadows over the captain’s features as she continued to speak.

  “We continue the tradition of the brave warrior women who have gone before us. Women such as Queen Vishpala, who continued to fight even after losing her leg in battle. Women like Hua Mulan of China who dared to dress as a man and fight in her father’s place, Jeanne D’Arc who at the tender age of nineteen became one of the greatest warriors of her time. The courage that ran in their veins now runs in ours. They are our sisters, and now so are you, Isabelle, Queen of Barony.”

  Hanako came forward with a long scarf that was red on one side and gold on the other. The colors of Barony. She draped the fabric around Isabelle’s shoulders before backing away. Mudiwa came holding a gleaming breastplate etched with the realm’s coat of arms. She and Hanako knelt beside her, quickly fastening the plate to her chest while the other women looked on in solemn silence. Ava then pulled a gleaming sword with a jeweled hilt from its sheath, extending it to her with both hands.

  “Rise, My Queen. You came here a pampered royal; you leave a warrior. May your rein be long and prosperous. May you defend your people with this sword until you grow too old to bear it. May it never fail you in battle.”

  Isabelle stared in awe at the weapon, realizing that it had been made especially for her by the captain herself. It had the look of newly forged steel, sharp and deadly. The winking sapphires along in the hilt gleamed in the firelight. Tears filled her eyes as she accepted the sword, staring down at it for a long moment. Ava stood by with the sheath, seeming content to wait until Isabelle was ready to return it there. Once that was done, the weapon was left in her hands, and she held on to it as she turned in a slow circle to acknowledge the soldiers around her, the women who had accepted her into their midst.

  “Before I came to Barony, I never imagined women like you existed,” she said. “But, now I am proud to stand beside you as your equal. Thank you for accepting me, and for all you have taught me. It was never taken for granted, and when the time comes I look forward to fighting alongside you all. I know that together we can make Barony the great kingdom it was meant to be.”

  Beaming with pride, Ava looped one arm around her shoulders and squeezed tight. “I couldn’t have asked for a better student. We’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, in defense of this realm and all that we believe in. Now, enough of this or you shall have us all crying!”

  As the laughter of the women rang out, Ava led her toward the dining hall, where a celebration had been planned in her honor. She accepted a mug of ale once they’d arrived and threw herself into the merriment, a sense of relief and peace settling within her.

  Tomorrow, she would embark on the journey home. The Isabelle who had left would not be returning, and she wondered if anyone would notice the difference. As she twirled a short, stray strand of hair around one finger, she knew that some things would be plainly obvious while others would not.

  What would Serge think of her now? She’d written him weeks ago, updating him on her progress and assuring him of her safety, but no letter had come in return. It had hardly surprised her given their last conversation. Serge seemed determined to avoid her altogether, and how could she blame him? She’d all but told him she’d never be able to love him, when in truth she’d never even tried.

  She had allowed grief to make her weak, to hold her back from living any sort of happy life. But, that was now at an end.

  The new, stronger Isabelle would not stand by and watch her marriage and friendship fail. She would force Serge to take notice of her again, and once she had his attention she vowed never to let this sort of rift open between them again. Aside from being her husband, he was her best friend. To let that part of their relationship die would be a grave mistake.

  A wide smile spread across her face as a plan began forming in her mind. If her husband thought she would just stand aside and allow him to continue to avoid her, he had another thing coming.

  * * *

  When Guthrie Hall came into view, Serge relaxed in the saddle of his horse and breathed a
sigh of relief. Glancing over at his brother, he found Damien smiling, eyes glittering with excitement over seeing his wife and daughter again. They had met on the journey home, and now rode together toward the castle for the two-day Christmas celebration. Spirits were high amongst the men, who were anxious to be reunited with their families and enjoy the festivities that Isabelle and Esmeralda had planned.

  Although he had only been in Barony for a short time, he’d come to see Guthrie Hall as his home. He found himself looking forward to sleeping in a real bed, eating food that wasn’t cooked over a campfire, and immersing himself fully into a bathtub. Most of all, he would enjoy a full night’s sleep without having to wake for his turn in the rotation guarding camp.

  They would arrive with just enough time to dress for Isabelle’s Christmas Eve ball. From what Damien had told him of Esmeralda’s letters, it promised to be quite an affair. The court, as well as hundreds of villagers, had already arrived at Guthrie Hall. Every guest room would be filled with many families sharing the larger rooms. No one would mind, because everyone was happy just to be invited.

  The portcullis was raised for them once the castle walls loomed overhead, and Serge was all-too happy to dismount and hand the reins off to a waiting groom. Esmeralda and Leila waited in the courtyard, and the second Damien’s feet touch the ground they were in his arms. Serge turned away from the tender moment and chastised himself for being jealous. He should be happy for his brother, who had come into his own and begun quite the beautiful family.

  Still, he could not help the sinking feeling in his stomach when he realized that no one had come to the courtyard to greet him.

  He took the front stairs two at a time and strode through the open doors, nodding to the servants who paused to bow and greet him. Lingering in the main hall, he took a moment to study the festive decor that Isabelle had obviously put a great deal of thought and effort into. A massive fir tree stood in the center of the space, bedecked with candles, ribbons, silver ornaments, and the painted figure of a winged angel staring down at them from its top. Greenery adorned with bright red ribbon adorned the staircase banisters as well as the doorways, with clusters of mistletoe placed in the most strategic of places.