Prince Henrick flinched slightly. His jaw pulsed and then he said, “I only wished to show you that I do not mean to treat you as barbarously as General Montague—unless that is how you prefer to be treated.”
This time it was Illianah who recoiled. It was as if his words scratched her across the heart. Treat her? That meant … “You plan to keep me?”
“It was not our intent, Princess, but I can see General Montague’s wisdom in bringing you here.”
Illianah let out a deep, bitter laugh. “You do understand, Prince Henrick, the wrath that you now face? Not only have you invaded and stolen from us, you have kidnapped me. If you were looking to start a continental war, I would say you have succeeded. Not only will my father come after me, you can also expect that Liksland will come in defense of the wrongs you have done to Prince Harrington.”
“Ah yes, Prince Harrington. Tell me, did you ever suspect him of being such a coward?”
“A coward? He most certainly is not. He will be leading my father’s thousands and you can expect them to cross your border at morning’s first light. Unless you release me.”
Prince Henrick smiled a closed-mouth, sly smile. “They will not be coming after you, Princess. Be assured of that.”
That rage which had been on the tip of Illianah’s tongue seemed to vanish. She was left with fear. How could Prince Henrick be so confident that Burchess would not retaliate swiftly and with unrelenting vengeance? “You lie,” she finally said, not so sure of her accusation.
“That, My Lady, I never do.”
She considered him carefully. True, King Henrick and his son were known for their supposed integrity, but their attack on Burchess was hardly fitting of that virtue.
Prince Henrick looked at Montague and said, “Take her to the south tower. She will be comfortable in the rose room, as it is our tallest. Princess Illianah is accustomed to looking down on Deltegrans.” He turned and took two steps away from the carriage, but then he pivoted and said, “And see that she finds something suitable to wear before she sees the king.” He nodded at her, his mouth again upturned. He was laughing at her. At her apparel! Illianah’s mouth gaped open, but she was unable to say anything.
Montague held his hand out. “Princess, please come with me,” he said.
“I will not!” She was not about to step foot into Henrick’s castle.
“My Lady,” Montague said, his eyes showing the blackness of his heart, “Prince Henrick has given me orders. I will not disappoint him. Are you going to walk into the castle or do you need to be carried?”
“I would like to see you try.” Illianah wrapped her hands around the bars of the carriage window. If Montague wanted her, he would have to take the entire carriage.
“Princess,” he again said with an outstretched hand, “this is your last chance to come of your own free will.”
She did not answer, but merely turned her chin up in stubborn defiance.
Hands were soon around her waist, but they were bigger than Monatgue’s. He had ordered a big brute to fetch her from the carriage. She was not going to make his job easy. She kicked. She clawed. She screamed. It was not long, however, before the brutish soldier had hefted her over his shoulder, just like he was carrying a sheaf of wheat. Illianah continued to kick and scream as he carried her to the castle. Montague was at the heels of the soldier. At one point, he said, “You are making a scene, Princess.”
It reminded her of the scene she had seen earlier in the day as Kasba fought off her captors. Illianah had never imagined that she would meet the same fate. Where was Kasba? Had she too been dragged here to Deltegra? And for what purpose had they been taken captive? Illianah’s heart felt as if it had been crushed. She was a hostage of war, just like a horse. A horse! She really was nothing more than a possession to be bartered for, traded with, and taken captive.
“You will pay for this!” she yelled. “All of you! Vengeance will befall you for this!”
She caught sight of Prince Henrick near the castle door. “Do you hear me Henrick? Mark my words: you will suffer death for doing this to me!”
Although she could not focus very well on Henrick’s face, due to the fact that she was hanging from the shoulder of a behemoth, she did see an expression upon Henrick’s face that looked foreign on his usually pleasant face. It was fear.
Chapter Three
Illianah was not brought before the king that evening, as Prince Henrick had said. However, she had been taken to the top of the tower, as promised. It was comfortable, and not a prison, as she had expected. It was simply a bedchamber, likely used by visiting dignitaries. The bed was draped in fine linens, the walls were adorned with rich tapestries, and the floors were covered with thick animal-skin rugs. The only thing missing was a fire; the room felt chilly with its absence. She surmised that the lower bedchambers were more elegant and would be graced with magnificent hearths. This told her of her place in the castle: she was not a lowly prisoner, yet her high station was not to be to be acknowledged by honoring her with an opulent room.
Supper was brought to her, as was breakfast the next morning. Just as her stomach was beginning to growl with anticipation of another meal, a lady’s maid entered the room to help Illianah prepare to see the king. The maid braided Illianah’s hair and fastened it at the back of her head. This time, Illianah fought the urge to wear her hear down. She was married and there were unmarried men in this castle. She did not want to be accused of being a seductress. Illianah carried her modesty even further as she insisted on again wearing the partlet, not to cover whisker burn this time, but to cover her décolletage. The gown the servant had brought was a delicate pink, and cut as low as a day gown was allowed by the decorum of society. Illianah would not give the king or his son the satisfaction of seeing her allure. She even ordered the servant to not lace the bodice tight, hoping that her shape may seem frumpy. But when she looked in the mirror, she realized that her objective had fallen short. The deep V of the waistline only accentuated her small waist. “I wish to wear a different dress,” she said.
“I’m sorry My Lady, but this is the only pink gown we have available.”
“Pink? Why must I wear pink?”
“Prince Henrick was insistent. He said it is your favorite color.”
Illianah’s cheeks flushed, making the pink of the gown even more flattering. Her pale skin had been brought to life like a field of pink fireweed blooming in the spring. To have Henrick remember her favorite color both disgusted her and ignited her at the same time. Did her prince know she adored pink? She had never brought it up in conversation with Leif and even if she had, would he have remembered?
She tried to recover from Henrick’s flattering recollection. “Then I shall wear yellow,” she said. Yellow was possibly the only color that did not look good against her fair skin and hazel eyes. She always thought yellow made her look as if she was knocking upon death’s door.
The maid blinked heavily. She was being ordered by her lady to fetch a different dress and no maid could go against her lady’s wishes. But when the maid straightened her shoulders, Illianah could see that the maid had gained courage to stand her ground. “I am sorry My Lady, but you must wear the pink.”
“I insist that you fetch me a yellow gown at once.”
“We must obey the prince,” the maid said as she backed out of the room.
The maid left the room, only to be replaced by the same behemoth who had carried Illianah into the tower yesterday. He held his hand out. “Would you like to try walking today?” he asked. She was surprised that such a human monstrosity had even been taught to speak. She spoke that harsh thought to the soldier, but he did not flinch. “Shall I carry you then?” She hated that his voice sounded like he was laughing at her—like she was the untamed one.
“I will walk, thank you,” she said, trying to sound stately.
Illianah was taken to the throne room, where Prince Henrick sat upon an intricately carved wooden chair that was unmatched in craftsmansh
ip. Sitting at the prince’s left was his father, King Henrick of Deltegra. The king’s hair and beard were gray; she had remembered him being dark like his son when she last saw him. He had seemed to age fiercely within the last few years.
The brute held her by the arm, his thumb and his fingertips meeting as her entire upper arm was engulfed in his grasp. His hand tightened when she did not do that which was expected of her. “You are to bow to His Majesty, King Henrick,” the soldier said.
“He is not my king. I will not bow to him,” Illianah said. She did not turn to address the soldier, but rather kept her eyes steadfast on the king.
“Very well,” King Henrick said, and with a wave of his hand, he dismissed the soldier. She quickly looked around the room and counted at least eight more soldiers; each looked as big as the brute who had just let go of her arm. There was no chance for her to run. She would be captured faster than a rabbit being chased by a fox. “Princess Illianah, I do wish you could have been introduced to our court under different circumstances.”
She looked at the prince. He was looking away, pretending as if he had no interest in this conversation, but the way that he held his mouth indicated his jaw was clenched. Was this conversation just as uncomfortable for him?
“You mean to say that you never envisioned me being brought here against my will? Because there was never a time I would have come to Deltegra by choice. Your country has always been—and will always be—the last place in the Western Corridor I would ever desire to call home.”
The king looked slightly amused by her comment; however, his son did not. Prince Henrick turned his head and glared at the princess, his eyes full of black hatred.
“I see that your mouth is still an unruly member. I had imagined that you would have been fitted with a muzzle by now. But do not worry Princess: you will not have to call Deltegra home for long. We have sent word of your capture to your father and given him the conditions for your release. We fully expect him to comply. You will likely be home within a matter of days.”
“And the conditions of my release?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but it is my concern.” Illianah deliberately disrespected the king by calling him “sir,” knowing full-well he would not punish her for this slight. She was not one of his citizens. He had no power over her. She went on to say, “You are hoping to make your kingdom rich by ransoming me against the wealth of Burchess.”
“I do no such thing. I only ask for the truth; and possibly some of your father’s pride.”
“I hardly know what you mean, sir.”
“Precisely.”
She again looked to Prince Henrick, hoping he would give her some explanation of this peculiar ransom, but he stared through her as if this room was unoccupied by a princess who not so long ago was sought by every eligible royal throughout the region, including Prince Henrick himself.
“While you are a guest here at the castle of Andoradda, we do desire you to be comfortable. We are not barbarians and you, my dear, are far from the typical prisoner of war. Dine with us, and you will see that our kingdom is every bit as refined as yours.” King Henrick finished his offer and then stood. He approached the princess and held out his hand to escort her to the great hall. She froze in place, not knowing how to respond. She wanted to be defiant. In fact, she wanted to kick him in the shins like a toddler throwing a tantrum. She had been dragged away from her homeland and separated from her new husband—that certainly seemed like justification for acting out like a forlorn child, but she could not harm King Henrick. He always had a certain kindness about him; at one time, he had doted on her like he had accepted her as his own daughter. Even if he was now her enemy, she could not treat him with such vehement contempt.
Illianah took the king’s arm. It would only be a few days that she would be required to dine with him: she could act the part of a somewhat agreeable guest for that long.
Once in the great hall, the king walked Illianah to the table, but then turned to his seat before helping her into her chair, revealing what had likely been his intention: Prince Henrick stepped in and held the chair for Illianah. “My Lady,” the prince said. His eyes had thawed from their earlier coolness, and in place of the coolness was a twinge of mischief. As he slid her chair toward the table, he bent and put his face next to hers. “Just how long do you plan on wearing that nightgown?” he whispered.
She did not do him the honor of whispering her reply. “It is the custom in Burchess for newly married women to show their allegiance to their husband by dressing demurely,” she said forcefully.
“Is it?” he replied, also neglecting to whisper. “’Tis a tragedy for mankind, then,” he said, his voice sounding light and amused; his face, however, indicated no such playfulness. He held his mouth straight, almost in a frown, and his eyes were again cold as steel. “One could always count on beholding a spectacular sight when dining with Princess Illianah. Pity.”
Yet again, Prince Henrick had forced a rush of color on her cheeks. She hated the man, and felt no guilt in her Christian heart for doing so. Prince Henrick was detestable. And even more so was the fact that Illianah had once taken pride in the fact that he, like every other man, could not keep his eyes off her.
***
A fortnight passed with Illianah still at King Henrick’s castle. This was not the few days that he had earlier mentioned. She was growing impatient. She was not allowed to leave the castle, and it seemed that Prince Henrick never left the castle either. It was becoming nearly impossible to avoid him. She had trained herself to look the opposite direction whenever she was forced to be in the same room with him and she never answered his inquiries about her well-being.
She had been given needlepoint to work with, as well as canvases and paint, but those only held her interest for so long. Illianah’s restlessness seemed to be on Prince Henrick’s mind as well, because every time she sighed or resumed pacing the floor in the solar, he would ask whether she needed anything. “Yes!” she answered on this particular day. “I need to get out of this castle. I want to go home.”
“I can guarantee you, Princess, that no one is more anxious for your return to Burchess than I.”
She clenched her teeth to insure that she did not growl at him like a savage dog. “Then, pray tell me, My Liege, why I must remain here.”
Prince Henrick set down the paper he was studying and looked up from the table. “Your father refuses to meet our demands. It appears that he wants you to stay here.”
“Had you not asked for so much ….”
“What we asked was nothing, Princess. He is refusing based on his arrogant stubbornness. We may as well have asked for every gold coin in Burchess.”
“Then I demand that you release me. Your negotiations have failed. I am doing nothing to further your cause. To keep me any longer only proves your cruelty.”
“Ah, you think like your father. I should have expected as much. I will not release you, and you are in no position to be giving me demands.”
Illianah’s stomach twisted. She had been able to bear this imprisonment with the expectation that it would be just a short span of time. “Then what will you …?”
“The negotiations have not failed, nor will we surrender our cause.” Prince Henrick quickly stood and crossed the room, obviously intending to vacate the premises.
“I must commend you, Prince Henrick,” she said. “I never thought you could be so barbaric.”
“Barbaric?” he laughed. “And I never thought you to be so naïve.” He nodded and continued his departure, “Princess.”
After this exchange, Illianah determined that she was being held captive by the biggest imbecile in the Western Corridor. She pestered her lady’s maid until she brought Illianah some ink and parchment. Illianah surmised that if she wanted to ever get back to Burchess, she would have to complete the negotiations herself. She wrote to her father, stating that her captors were cruel and vicious, and she fe
ared her life may be in danger. Her letter included the following:
Please father, I beg of you, accept their demands. I do not know how much longer I can survive this torture.
Yes, it was a gross exaggeration. But truly, living with Prince Henrick was torture—of the most heart-wrenching kind. She was now required to be in the daily presence of the only man who had ever won a piece of her heart.
The atmosphere within King Henrick’s castle was quickly darkening. When Illianah had arrived, there was certainly an air of excitement, likely coming from the triumphant raid of Freidlenburg. That mood had carried into the first week. The castle and the courtyard were always busy; it seemed there were constant military meetings and visits from Lords from outlying villages. But within the last few days, the mood had changed. The castle went from busy to hectic; the frequent meetings now became unceasing. It did mean that she saw less of Prince Henrick. And she never saw the King, as he never left the privy chambers, not even to dine. When Illianah received a reply from her father, she understood why: Burchess was preparing to wage war on Deltegra.
The letter did not say it in exactly those words, but her father said:
Know this: King Henrick will pay dearly for this injustice. Remain strong, Illianah. If there ever was a woman who could withstand these afflictions, it is you. You will be safe at home soon enough.
Illianah crumpled up the letter and marched for the privy chambers where she was, of course, denied entrance. “I demand to speak with the king at once,” she said to the soldier stationed at the door. He explained that the king was meeting with his advisors and would not be available for some time. “I just ask for a moment of his time. It is a most urgent matter.”
This time the soldier nodded and opened the door to the privy chambers. However, he held up his hand to Illianah, gesturing for her stay. The door closed shut behind him. Illianah paced frantically in the hallway, trying to think of what she would say to the king once she was allowed to enter. She determined that the best course to take would be to strike fear into the king’s heart.
The Reign of Trees Page 3
