A sob escaped from the depths of her throat, shaking her body. Matthew groaned in his sleep as his grip grew tighter, nearly crushing her. She brushed his hair back as tears covered her cheeks. “Forgive me, my sweet lord, for what I must do,” Cassandra whispered in his ear.
Chapter Nine
Matthew opened his eyes drowsily, disoriented for a moment. He rose himself up on his arm to gaze at his lover. He smiled as her eyelids fluttered apart sleepily.
“Good morning,” Matthew greeted as he softly pressed his lips to hers.
“Good morning. Is the sun up?”
“Nay, love. The horizon is turning gray though. It will be, momentarily. I thought we would have enough time to love each other once more before it rises, then we can dress and go to breakfast. Afterwards, we will see where the day takes us.”
“I am sorry.” Cassandra pushed him away gently. “I cannot.”
She slipped from under the sheets and stood quickly, scooping her dressing gown to herself. She tugged it over her head and pulled it into place.
“Where are you going?” Matthew demanded, dumbfounded.
“Away. I will not return for quite a while. I need to go before anyone else in the palace wakes.”
“Why? Why must you go?”
“Because you need to forget this night.”
Matthew grasped Cassandra’s hand, drawing her back to him. “But to forget this night is to forget you.”
“You must purge me from your mind and your heart.” She pulled away, slipping on her undergarments.
“I cannot. I will not.”
“You must. Fate made you a king and demands a woman of royal blood for your bride and queen.” Cassandra slipped her gown over her head next, snapping the clips into place as it settled against her frame.
“How can you be so cruel?” Matthew asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Cassandra looked up to see the devastated expression on his face. She took a step towards him, softly kissing his mouth as she touched his cheeks. “This is the most difficult task I have ever had to perform. I love you with every breath I take, with every beat of my heart. But I am not meant to be your bride. Please forgive me.”
Stepping away from Matthew, she crossed her arms over her chest. Matthew scrambled for his undergarments and pulled them on as he stood. “Cassa, no. Please do not go,” he begged.
Cassandra smiled tearfully. “Goodbye, my lord.”
“No. I order you to stay!”
In a flash of bright light, Cassandra’s human form disappeared and a butterfly emerged, beating her wings in search for a breeze. She ascended towards the balcony, drifting out into the autumn dawn.
Matthew reached out, cupping his hands around the creature and holding her captive. His gaze raced around the room, looking for a bowl or vase to hold his prize in.
I will confine her. Matthew’s brain worked wildly. Just until tonight. Just until we can talk.
Matthew felt her wings beat frantically against his fingers. He raised his hands to his face as tears filled his eyes. “I love you, Cassa. Please stay with me.”
The thought of holding her against her will broke his heart. I want her to want to be with me. Reluctantly, he opened his palms, releasing his tiny captive. She fluttered against his flesh for a moment before floating away.
Matthew’s disposition had lightened in the weeks following his night with Cassandra. He had even let the soldier go that was guarding her body, much to the amazement of everyone. He kept telling himself she would not stay away—not his faithful Cassa. He greeted each day with anticipation of her return. But weeks turned to months as autumn turned into winter. Now, it had been five months without her.
How could she say she loves me and then make me suffer so?
He stared out the heavy glass window of the library—the same place where his father stood so many times during his childhood. He looked past the trees encrusted with ice, past the snowflakes falling from the clouds, to the sky, searching for anything that would fill the hollow spot in his heart.
Joseph had been no help. Twice, he had invited Stephana to the palace and had even forced Matthew to escort her to the winter ball. Being with her made him feel even more vacant. Although he admitted the princess was beautiful, her pale skin and ice blue eyes were no replacement for the fiery hazel of his beloved sorceress.
Matthew’s only distraction from the pain in his heart was the war, which at times proved to be fuel instead of a salve. Facing Victor sent him into an all-consuming rage, past the point of control.
His anger blazed across the battlefield through the edge of his sword and followed him into the meeting tents of his camp. His ill temper caused him to overturn the battle plans pinned to the easels. His lack of patience caused him to make unwise decisions. Joseph called him spoiled. Otto patiently asked for redirection.
Matthew sighed. They do not understand. Suddenly, he heard the door of the library open and shut, yet he refused to end his vigil.
“Matthew,” Otto asked softly. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” he muttered.
Otto rubbed his hands nervously. “We have not known each other for long, but it seems to me that there is something on your mind.”
“There is nothing.”
“Matthew, please let me help. Whatever is on your mind is affecting your decision-making. My job is to protect and lead the army. Help me complete my task. Let me help.”
Matthew's eyes filled with tears. “Cassandra is alive.”
Otto stared at him in stunned silence. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. She came to me.”
“Are you sure she was not a demon?”
“I know my Cassa. I took her to my bed. My heart was overjoyed to hold her. But in the morning she left, and I have not seen her since.”
“Why have you not gone to look for her?” Otto asked amazed.
“I guess I never thought about it. I never considered it could be an option.”
Otto blinked. “I was always envious of the royalty of Savon, always picturing you as the man above the rules. But you are the least free man in the kingdom. You have to answer for your very actions, everywhere you go. You are not even allowed to search for the woman you love.”
Matthew turned back to the window, Otto's words ripping apart his heart. He straightened as his gaze took in the carriage that pulled into the palace courtyard. The violet flags of Azgone flapped wildly in the freezing wind. He stayed rigid in his stance, never turning as Joseph opened the door to the library.
“Matthew, Princess Stephana of Azgone has arrived,” Joseph announced. “Would you like me to invite her to dinner or would you like that honor?”
“Do what you wish, Joseph.” He still did not move. “You will anyway.”
“Do you not want to dine with her?”
“I do not want her here at all.”
“Six months ago you chose her for your bride.”
“She is not the woman I want as my wife.”
“Fine.” Joseph sighed. “Tell me, then. Tell me who the woman is that you want, and I will retrieve her.”
Matthew spun on him suddenly. “No, Joseph,” he said weakly. “No, you would not.” He glanced at Otto then rushed to the door.
“Where are you going?” Joseph demanded.
“You will not go get her. But I will.” Matthew stormed through the palace. He slipped out the back door of the kitchen to the stables. Within moments, he mounted his horse and exited out the back gate.
Matthew rode through the woods, gripping tight to his cloak to keep the chill of the winter from his skin. He clenched the reins in his other hand as he lowered his head to shield himself from low-lying branches.
Abruptly, he pulled his horse to a stop then dismounted, staring ahead at the sudden obstacle that blocked his path. The branches of the trees along the edge of the clearing wove themselves together, preventing passage to the snow covered meadow on the other side. He could see Malicar's castle atop t
he hill though the tangle.
Matthew raised his sword above his head and brought it down, slashing the barricade in two. The wounded limbs fell to the ground. Within moments, new ones grew together in their place. He tore at them again, and once again, they regenerated.
Over and over he slashed in frustration. Each time to no avail. He stepped back, winded and angry as he glared at the wood. Then, he turned to find a small falcon perched nobly on his saddle.
“Ah, good bird. Please go get your master to unbind these boughs and let me through,” Matthew ordered. The falcon stared at him blinking, its large black eyes unconcerned.
“Listen, stupid bird. Go get your master now!” Matthew barked. He dropped to his knees swiftly as the bird dove furiously at him. It swooped over the tops of the trees several times before settling down on the saddle again.
Matthew looked up at the bird from his kneeling position. “Please, I need to find passage through. I need to see your mistress. Please show me the way. I am begging you.”
The falcon blinked at him again. Then, from deep inside its throat it squawked, its voice deafening. The branches ripped apart, leaving a gaping entrance into the meadow. Without pause, Matthew mounted his horse and rode up the hill to the castle.
Dismounting cautiously, he stepped inside the open door. He found himself in a small, circular room with nothing but a single window and a staircase along the wall.
“Cassandra! Cassandra!” Matthew called up the staircase. He turned suddenly as he heard someone enter behind him.
“Your majesty,” Malicar greeted him surprised. The ancient man bowed before him. “I did not expect you.”
“I am looking for Cassandra,” the king replied.
Malicar straightened. “Forgive me, my lord. Cassandra is unable to return to your service.”
“Why?”
“It is my fault. I told her I would speak to you for her, but I have been unable to leave her side for more than a few moments. I cannot leave for the time to travel to the palace and back. I would be willing to serve you in her place.”
Panic gripped Matthew's heart. “What is wrong with her?”
The sound of a deafening screech filled the castle. It was followed with the thunderous sound of beating against the snow.
“Excuse me, your majesty.” Malicar swept from the room, moving toward the sound. Matthew wrung his hands, his mind filling with dread over the condition of his beloved. He looked up, gasping unexpectedly in fear.
A large, yellow eye stared at him through the window, the black orb of its pupil dilating as it inspected him. Gusts of smoke billowed around it as the monster tossed its head up and down, revealing wine-colored scales and dagger-sharp fangs. Matthew gripped the wall, terrified. He heard the sharp whack of a stick on the stone of the castle.
“Saffron, mind your mistress!” Malicar ordered.
The dragon stared at Matthew once more before reluctantly lowering its head. He heard Malicar address its rider. “How was your ride, my dear? Has the baby settled?”
“Yes, it has. But my heart has not. We flew over the palace and saw a carriage from Azgone there. He has chosen Stephana as his bride. I miss him, Grandfather. I love him so. Oh, Grandfather, I love Ma…” She stopped short, cut off by a whisper from Malicar.
Matthew’s chin jerked up, recognizing the music of the voice that had arrived on the back of the burgundy beast. His heart pounded rapidly as he waited for her to step inside. His eyes caught Cassandra's, watching hers grow wide in surprise at his presence. Matthew knew his astonishment matched hers as he stared, dumbfounded, at her swollen belly. She was expecting a child.
“Your majesty,” Cassandra breathed as she fell to her knees. Matthew rushed to her side, helping her back to her feet.
“Why did you not tell me?” Matthew asked, caressing her cheek with his fingertips.
“Because,” she began, swallowing sudden tears, “I do not know who the father is. The child could have survived the regeneration, and my time with you and Victor were too close together. Grandfather has asked the Book of Prophesy, but it refuses to tell us.”
“Have you told Victor?” Matthew demanded.
Cassandra smiled weakly. “I was not planning on telling you. Not until I knew.”
“What if the child is Victor's?” Matthew gripped her arm, confusion and despair rapidly possessing him.
“Then I will go to him, and whatever he wishes is what I will do. If he wants his child, then I will marry him.”
“But he does not love you. He nearly killed you.”
Cassandra shrugged sadly. “I will do what I must.”
“No.” Matthew held her to him. “Come with me. I will raise your child. It does not matter who the father is. I love you. Let me love your child also.”
She pulled away from him. “I cannot. It would not be right.”
“Cassa, please.”
Cassandra backed away from Matthew to the base of the staircase. “I must go. Forgive me, your majesty.” A sob escaped her throat as she dashed up the stairs.
“Cassa!” Matthew shouted after her retreating figure. He slammed his fist against the stone wall in frustration then looked at Malicar. “Please inform me of anything you discover. I beg you, please,” he breathed.
“I will, your majesty.”
Matthew glanced up the stairs once more before he shuffled out to his horse.
Otto and the royal army were waiting near the palace when Matthew returned. The young monarch was more than happy to head to war and pound out his frustration. Within moments of returning, he was ready to leave.
Matthew strode across the blood-strewn field, searching the battle coolly as he defended himself. His eyes locked with his target, perched high atop a chestnut steed. He grit his teeth, his sword softly glowing in an eerie pale light as it plowed through the black-clad soldiers.
He drove through the fight manically to the blond commander. Victor met his glare as he swung off his horse. He breezed through his own troops toward the monarch, each man wanting only one thing— the other's blood on his sword.
Matthew felt molten hate race through his veins as he faced his opponent. He watched as another commander approached Victor. “Sir, we need to retreat.”
Victor glared at Matthew, his blue eyes piercing the king. Matthew raised his sword and readied himself for the attack.
“Victor, now. We are losing too many men,” the commander insisted. Victor glanced at him then locked his eyes with Matthew's. “Victor!”
Victor looked at him again, muttering, “Very well. Retreat.”
Victor swung up on his horse then sneered down at Matthew. “Next time.”
“I will be waiting,” Matthew growled in response. Victor waived his arm, leading his troops away.
Matthew stormed back to his tent, across the blood-soaked melting snow. He threw the flap back in rage. Otto followed him inside. “Matthew, we have been fighting for three weeks.”
“We keep fighting,” Matthew ordered.
“We cannot. Gorgon's troops are fleeing. If we keep this up, we will start losing troops as rapidly as they are. We are winning. Let us fall back and wait for them to regroup.”
Matthew stared at him and sighed. “Very well. We break camp in the morning.”
“Thank you.” Otto breezed from the shelter, leaving him alone.
Matthew sunk onto his mat, feeling sudden defeat in the wake of victory. He could taste Victor's blood. He had never wanted it more than he did right now. “If he is dead,” he muttered to himself, “it does not matter if he is the father of Cassandra's baby. She will have to come to me. She will have to be mine.”
* * * *
Night shadows of the moon spread across the floor of the bedchamber. Malicar stood in the doorway, watching his granddaughter sob softly in her sleep. Her arms wrapped protectively around her unborn babe.
Eliezar clenched his talons into the footboard of her bed. He turned his head toward Malicar, glaring at him with bl
ack, blinking eyes. Malicar snapped his fingers to summon the bird. Eliezar flapped his small brown wings to his master and rode his shoulder to the common room.
Malicar sunk into his large, wooded chair. “What can I do, Eliezar? It breaks my heart to see her like this.”
Eliezar breezed over to the podium bearing the large, ancient tome that Malicar cherished. He gripped the quill pen in his beak.
“I have tried, Eliezar. Do you not see how many times I have asked?”
Eliezar flew to the sorcerer and dropped the feathered quill in his lap. Malicar glared at him. “Very well, stupid bird, I will break her heart again.”
Malicar stood and crossed to the book. He took a deep breath before writing, “Who is the father of Cassandra's child?”
He stepped back, watching and waiting for a response as his heart filled with hope. After several long moments, he exhaled as it fell. He spun towards Eliezar, who perched high on the top of Malicar's chair.
“Are you happy?” He threw the pen on the table beside the podium and turned away. Sensing magic, he turned back to find a message blazing across the page. He blew out the flickering flames to read the inscription.
Her son has royal blood.
Malicar exhaled slowly as he studied the message for several long moments, stroking his long, white beard pensively. He drifted to the table and gathered a piece of parchment, a quill, ink, and a ribbon. He dipped the tip of the quill in the ink, tapping it a few times on the rim of the pot to loosen the excess drops.
Then, he scrawled a quick message on the parchment before rolling it up and tying the ribbon around the paper. He turned to the tiny falcon. The bird blinked at him rapidly then lifted his talon obediently. Malicar gently wrapped the ribbon around it, tugging on the parchment gently to insure it was secure.
Smiling gently at Eliezar, he implored, “Safe flight, my friend. See that King Matthew receives that message. All right?”
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