The Rose Chateau

by Rebecca Monaco

  The Rose Chateau Rebecca Monaco

  The Rose Château

  Rebecca Monaco

  .

  Copyright © 2011 Rebecca Monaco

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN:

  ISBN-13:

  Dedicated to my amazing sister, who eats up everything I write and has never failed to be my favorite editor and best inspiration, and to my many readers who make writing worth it every day.

  CONTENTS

  Prolgue

  7

  1

  Lagra

  10

  2

  The Deal

  18

  3

  The Rose Chateau

  24

  4

  New Cage

  34

  5

  Dinner

  41

  6

  Late Night Discovery

  48

  7

  The Beast

  55

  8

  Work to Do

  65

  9

  In the Yard

  75

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  Conditions of Freedom

  The Prince Represented

  To Break a Curse

  To the Tune of Autumn

  The Intrigue Thickens

  Nobility of the Blood

  Birthday Bittersweets

  What You Most Desire

  Something Special

  The King

  Winter Worries

  Receiver of the Curse

  Journey Back

  Domestic Affairs

  The Alastar Issue

  Beauty’s Sacrifice

  True Loyalties

  Speaking of Forever

  87

  95

  105

  115

  124

  138

  151

  166

  176

  188

  203

  217

  229

  236

  248

  258

  267

  275

  Prologue

  When the sun beat down on Lagra, no one complained. It was the kind of town where trees blocked the rays and the fields of crops were never wanting. In the morning, when most of the population was working in the fields, the sky was still cool, not yet ablaze with the sun’s glory. In the afternoon, should you be too hot while working, it was common to splash oneself with the very same water you were using on your plants or to take a trip to the nearest stream for a dunk in the cool waters. It was the kind of town that dreamt of larger cities but found itself contented, for the most part, with living each day for itself and its farms. The young would talk of leaving, but few ever left and the ones that did almost always returned. The adults only truly left if they were going into the other villages and kingdoms to sell goods, or if they could be of use and service elsewhere, like if they were doctors.

  Just west of the village and farms of Lagra, there was a great kingdom, called Paesaggia. Everyone in Lagra strived to make a least one pilgrimage to its capital, a city of the same name. The city was a diverse, populous area that was famous even beyond its borders in places like Lagra. It was known for its extensive market, where one could find anything they could ever need or want; its many inhabitants, who were as diverse in gender and race as they were in height and robustness; and its grand and towering palace. The castle was a masterpiece of smooth stones and granite, a strong defense for every wall and an iron fast gate to protect the keep. The entire castle sat on a leveled out hilltop that was as long as it was wide and could be seen from half a day’s journey away should the rest of the terrain permit. Majestic and fearsome gargoyles stood sentinel on every tower, and red and gold banners hung from every window and flew from every flagpole.

  On a different scale, the largest building in Lagra was the house of the Dempsie family. The father of the house was a knight, still in service, and had received a plentiful sum of money for a great act he’d performed for his king when he was but fresh blood in the ranks. He used to tell the tale often in full detail, but now it is summed up that he saved some maid from a witch’s potential curse with his rhetoric and the maid happened to be in the king’s good graces. It is old news in Lagra. His house, however, is one of awe for all the visitors to the village. It stands tall and proud with three floors, fifteen large windows, and an expansive back yard. There is a blue banner flying overhead in semblance of the king and a wide wraparound porch, where Sir William Dempsie’s mother sits and smiles repugnantly down her long drive at all the ‘unfortunates’ who did not merit a gift from the king.

  Sir Dempsie is not a knight of Paesaggia, nor would he ever deign himself to serve it. Lagra sat right on the border of its own kingdom, Tiamaiur, and Paesaggia. While the two kingdoms were not under treaty with each other, they were at peace. Still, no knight of Tiamaiur dared set foot into Paesaggia without escorting the king or without an extremely good reason. Nor would Paesaggia’s knights do the same to Tiamaiur. There was a tension between them, a remembrance of a war long since passed and mostly forgotten. Knights would not cross the border, but traders often did – for traders have no care for political power struggles.

  There was one more boundary that marked a clear cut between the kingdoms, a border none from Lagra were foolish enough to travel through and no Paesaggia traders would dare to try. It was a forest so tall it often caused sunset too soon. It was so wide that a man headed for the market in Paesaggia had a three day ride ahead of him to go around it. The forest was as thick as two large plantations, a good full night’s ride to clear. But the forest was so dark, even at midday, so that only five yards in the closeness and denseness of the trees might as well change the time to night. Because of this, some wondered if it truly took a night’s ride to pass through it or if the past travelers only imagined it was night until they cleared the last of the tress on the other side. Perhaps it was only a two hour ride, but the villagers of Lagra didn’t risk testing it.

  Ask an adult why they dare not go through it, and they’ll say it simply isn’t done. The forest should be ignored and avoided. They won’t even look at it. It is best to ask a child, for the children spread the rumors of the forest through each other, down through every generation, instilling each new wave of adults with a long set fear of the trees.

  A monster lives in the wood. The forest has always been almost impossible to navigate from the Lagra side and there was a dangerous lord who lived inside of it, in a large, dark mansion that hid itself seductively between the trees, deep within the woods. For young children, the popular tale is that the lord is a cannibal who has an affinity for disobedient children who wander too far into his woods. He snatches up any wayward, naïve traveler that gets close to his land and cooks them in his dinner stew. As the children grow older, the story changes as well. The lord is a miser who has hated all living things from the day he was born. He’s an insane murderer who found himself lucky enough to be related to a king and was given the castle to keep him out of trouble and out of scandals. You travel the woods at your own peril.

  There was a time, ten years past, when the rumors of the forest spread to say the lord had died. Traveling merchants came through the forest, re-hacking a trail to connect the two kingdoms through the unruly forest. They came bearing gifts and goods for all to buy. Lagra laughed at the old, childish tease of a monstro
us man in their midst. Some were angry that such a tale had ever existed and vowed to find who had begun it. Lately, however, the rumors have grown worse. Two years of peaceful coexistence with the forest and now believers and non-believers tremble in its shadow once again.

  It all began again the day a Paesaggian page ran screaming from the thicket. His master, the prince of Paesaggia, had been travelling to visit a well know witch in Tiamaiur with a small band of attendants. Halfway through the forest, their party was attacked and the prince consumed by a horrible beast. It walked up on two legs like a man but had the temper and strength and bloodlust of a crazed bear. It was a curse, a blemish and hiccup of magic, the page said. It marked its territory and prowled it viciously like a demented beast. And thus the forest returned to the borders of children’s nightmares.

  Now it was said that the lord of the mansion within the woods had magical control over this beasty. He is a bitter man who will rage against anyone foolish enough to step onto his property. He hates anyone trespassing to the point that he would have them fed to his pet without a thought. But none from Lagra travelled through the dense forest anyway, so it mattered little. None would be foolish enough to venture into the trees, right?

  Chapter 1 – Lagra

  It was a particularly beautiful day in Lagra. The sun was shining, but it wasn’t too bright. It was warm enough to forego coats but not so hot that you wanted to work shirtless. It promised rain in the days to come, but it wasn’t muggy that day. There was a nice wind blowing in from the South. It was literally a perfect day, especially for a farmer with lots of work to do.

  In an old family cabin made of red oak, steam poured from a brewing soup and out through a chimney over the stove. A woman stirred the dish and hummed to herself. In the connecting hall, her daughter pulled on her work boots by the door. The girl, Corinna, was born and raised in this house, her entire family had been. She took her first, wobbling steps on its old wooden floorboards like her father and grandfather before her. Now, slinging her leather bag over her shoulder and kicking her heels back against the floor to adjust her boots, it was hard to imagine she’d ever been so small before. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, cleared her throat, and looked in on the kitchen.

  “Alright, Mum, I’m going to work on the fence and the flowers now,” she said. Her mother turned from the meal in progress and smiled.

  “Alright, Corinna. Be safe, and try not to get distracted by Alastar again. He always makes you late for dinner,” she said.

  “Oh come on, Mum. He usually accompanies me to dinner. How could he make me late?” Corinna asked, arching an eyebrow and laughing at the memories. She shrugged her shoulders at the same time as her mother and then they both returned to their plans.

  Corinna carefully closed the door behind her, not wanting to break it off as she’d done on her fourteenth birthday when she’d pushed a bit too hard for the ancient hinges to hold. Too much excitement when leaving equals a broken door, so she’d learned. Corinna ducked her head a bit to clear the low overhang around their home and stepped into the cool afternoon air. She brushed her black bangs from her eyes to let the morning sun tickle her face and took a deep breath. She loved walking outside like this. The air smelt like bread and honey, drifting in from the direction of the town to their south. Mmm. Maybe Corinna could convince Alastar to bring some fresh bread if he showed up today.

  Smiling at the prospect, she gaily stepped from one stepping stone to another, a childish act she used to perform as a child, only she used to have to jump from one to another and now could simply step. Corinna ran out of stones five steps from the edge of their field, where turnips, leeks, and lettuce were starting to take shape. They would share these with the other villagers in exchange for breads and beans and rice. But Corinna side-stepped the field and went to the garden, a straight line of bushes and plants that ran down the side of their property, right along the fence. Spots of yellow roses and tulips winked from the bushels of green, swaying in a breeze too soft for Corinna to take notice of. She set her bag on the fence, hooking it around one of the posts, and dug out a pair of old gloves. Tattered and worn, they’d belonged to her since she’d been old enough to wear them without them falling off. Before that, they were her father’s, but her father had long since passed on and was now buried by the back corner of the house. She pat her hands together and bent down by the first bush, prepared to weed and prune and whatever else it needed.

  “Weedin’ the garden today, Cori?” a snarky, deep voice asked. Corinna laughed and stood again. Not even one bush down, and already there was an interruption.

  “Well some of us have to make a living, don’t we? These flowers pay for most of our food,” the raven haired girl replied, turning to the gate. A man sat on it, a mere year older than Corinna, with a shaggy, brown pheasant on his head and lazy, dog eyes. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, but he didn’t seem to mind. His belt wasn’t even tightened all the way. “Did you just wake up?”

  “Depends on if ya consider what I was doin to be ‘sleepin’,” the man said, shrugging. He jumped up to sit on the fence, legs dangling off like muscled fishing poles.

  “Alastar, tell me you didn’t spend all night at the tavern again,” Corinna pleaded. She stepped closer and leaned on the fence beside the man.

  “Alright, I won’t,” Alastar answered simply. “But only if ya promise I can come over fer some of yer mum’s dinner tonight.”

  Corinna rolled her eyes and Alastar tapped her on the nose. Corinna disapproved of Alastar’s drinking, but she knew the man was good at heart and could be counted on in a tight spot. There was no point arguing anyway. It wouldn’t change anything. She sighed.

  “Alright. I’ll tell my mother to make some extra, but only if you bring a loaf of fresh bread,” she conceded. Alastar whooped.

  “Yes! Thank ya, Corinna. You’re a life saver! I would’ve gone hungry tonight without ya,” he said, his Irish twang coming through.

  “Shove off. You would’ve gone to some desperate girl’s house and been just fine.”

  Alastar grabbed at his own chest. “Cori, you wound me. I mean, tis probably true, but doesn’ it count for nothin’ that I came to you first?”

  “Yep. Counts for about a pint of ale… which you’d drink in my honor. Aren’t you late for work at Sir Rune’s plot?” Corinna asked, grabbing a small shovel from her bag. Alastar scoffed.

  “I don’t need a job,” he said, leaning over precariously. “Besides, Will’s already there. He’s worth leavin on his own for a bit, right?”

  “Will’s working? I was planning on maybe stopping in the shop for some honey later. Thanks for warning me,” Corinna said, turning around and leaning her back on the fence. She dangled the shovel between her fingers loosely and looked up at the sky as she let out a groaning sigh. “He’s been getting on my nerves lately.”

  “Yeah. Guy follows you with his eyes whenever yer around,” Alastar conceded. “He says he’s tryin to figure you out, but I’ve been friends with ya for nearly four years now. Yer not that hard to figure out.”

  “Thanks,” Corinna snorted. “I’ve always wanted to be one-dimensional.”

  Alastar let out a laugh like he was still in a drunken sleep. “That’s not what I meant at all! I’m just sayin, if he wanted to get to know ya, he could probably just talk to ya and you’d tell him everything he needed to know.”

  “Yeah?” Corinna let her head fall back until she was staring straight up at the clouds. “Did you know he told Vivianne that he was trying to decide if I was a lesbian or not because I only ever hang out with men?”

  “Did he now? Has he come up with a verdict?” Alastar swayed back to an upright position.

  “Nope. Vivianne says he just ranted for awhile about the clues to both ends and then she told him that if he liked me so much, he should just snog me in a closet and be done with it. Apparently that shut him up and she went back to shopping.” Corinna grinned over at Alastar like it was funnier
than it was. Alastar was laughing softly, his chest hiccupping rhythmically.

  “You think he’s got the hots for you?” he asked. Corinna snorted and shook her head, looking back toward her house.

  “Oh, definitely not. He likes Vivianne, I think. He just doesn’t know how to show it. Can’t say I blame him. Look at his gran. She sits and glares at half the world every day,” she said. No one could really blame Will for his upbringing.

  “William Dempsie III,” Alastar announced, voice low and important sounding. “Oh yes. It must be so hard to be him.”

  “You almost sounded sober,” Corinna said.

  “An’ you almost look like a girl,” Alaster countered.

  “Low blow.” Corinna pouted playfully. She poked Alastar in the arm and the other instantly slouched and leaned toward her. “Now head to work. Sir Rune might actually fire you this time.”

  “Like I said – I don’ need a job. You know that.” Alastar leaned over, resting himself on Corinna’s head like a bird finding a comfy perch.

  “Y-Yes, but unless you want the whole village to know you’re a nobleman’s son you have to keep up appearances and …. Get Off, will you?!” the younger peasant groaned in annoyance, and Alastar relaxed back on the gate.

  “Calm yer horses,” he said, holding his hands up in mock defense. “I know that already. But dear ol’ daddy hasn’t thought to check up on me in a year. I doubt anyone’ll notice somethin odd should I lose work.”