The Du Lac Princess: (Book 3 of The Du Lac Chronicles)

by Mary Anne Yarde

  “He beat you, can’t you remember that?”

  “He wouldn’t hurt me,” Amandine said again.

  “Yes, he would. These courtiers who are daring to defy him, he wants gone. But he does not want to come across as a butcher, not if he is to get the peoples’ support in the long run. Merton told Philippe that obedience was not the same as loyalty. Philippe argued with him. Told him that obedience was better.” Bastian scoffed as he recalled the incident. “Philippe now knows that he was wrong and Merton was right. Philippe needs the loyalty of the court. Which means he cannot go around and indiscriminately kill members of it. These men are marked to die, but even if they came upon an accident, Philippe would be blamed. Philippe needs a valid reason to execute these men that has nothing to do with a clash of opinions. And what better reason than if something happened to his ward — to you. Philippe plans to make this meal a very public affair. You will not be dining alone as he told you. He will make you run the gauntlet of the court, and something bad will happen to you, he will make sure of it.”

  Amandine looked away from him. “You are lying.”

  “I am not. I would make your peace with God before Philippe summons you, this may well be your last supper.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Amandine looked back up at him. “Why now? This morning you stood in my room and threw my food on the floor. Why should I believe anything that comes out of your mouth? Philippe has been good to me. He has been merciful and kind.”

  “Merciful? Kind? Can you hear yourself speak? He took the skin off your lover’s chest and face, he ordered me to smash Merton’s arm. Wake up, girl. Philippe is not merciful. He is not kind. He is devious and cruel.” He stopped and took a moment to catch his breath. “I want to get you out of here Amandine, away from Philippe, away from Brittany. I will make a distraction. We can leave now, this instant.”

  “And where would I go?” Amandine asked tiredly as if she were fed up with this conversation.

  “Cerniw,” Bastian stated seriously. “I can get you to Cerniw. I can get you to Alden.”

  Amandine shook her head sadly. “What you speak of is impossible.”

  “No, it is not. I can get you away from here…”

  She continued to shake her head. “I think you had better go. I have to get ready for my evening with the King.”

  “My Lady,” Bastian protested. “Do you not understand the danger you are in?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Amandine stated.

  “It doesn’t matter? Do you not want your freedom?”

  “Freedom…?” Amandine sighed. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it, even if I had it. I am better off here.”

  “That is Philippe talking,” Bastian stated. “Merton asked me to get you to safety. I promised him I would. Would you see me go back on my word?”

  “You went back on your word when you smashed Merton’s arm with a mallet. You broke the sacred oath of The Knights’ Code when you tortured him.”

  “I was obeying orders,” Bastian snapped back, his face going red. “I am offering you a way out of here.”

  “Your words are empty because there is no honour in you. If you had loved Merton, like you say you did, then you would have smashed your own arm, rather than drop the mallet on his. If you loved him, you would have refused Philippe’s order, regardless of what that would mean for you.”

  “You don’t understand. You were not in the position I was.”

  “I was in exactly the same position. But I chose love over my own welfare and despite what happened to me after, I would do it again. I would do it a thousand times if necessary because I loved him. Whereas the only person you love is yourself. I wouldn’t willingly walk you to the door, let alone follow you out of the castle.”

  “You will die if you stay,” Budic said. “Do you think Merton would have wanted that destiny for you?”

  “No, he wanted to marry me. He wanted a life with me. But you, Mordred, and the King put paid to that dream.” Amandine answered. She glanced at the dress that had been laid out on her bed. “I will dine in the Great Hall tonight, and I will wear this pretty dress, and I will keep my head raised high. And if it is my destiny to die tonight, then so be it. But what I will not do is run away with the likes of you.”

  “Merton isn’t—”

  “No more words,” Amandine said, interrupting him. “You have nothing to say that I want to hear.”

  “Oh, believe me, I do,” Bastian said, for if she had not interrupted him, then he would have told her that the last time he saw Merton, he was still alive. “But maybe you are not ready to hear what I have to say.” He walked to the door and opened it. “Maybe you will never be ready. If you live, then perhaps one day you will come to understand why I did what I did. A man can atone for his sins. I can atone. All I need is your forgiveness.”

  “And that I will never give,” Amandine answered.

  “We’ll see about that,” Bastian said, and then he walked out of the room and closed the door softly behind him.

  The key turned in the lock, and the room fell silent again. Amandine took a moment to compose herself. She felt dizzy after her confrontation with that horrid man, and she raised her hand to her head and closed her eyes. Amandine knew what Philippe was. She knew what he had done. Bastian didn’t need to remind her. She hadn’t forgotten. But Bastian…he had dared to say to her that he had loved Merton. How could Bastian profess to love Merton and then do what he did to him? It was worse than what Judas had done to Jesus. At least Philippe had hated Merton. He didn’t pretend compassion.

  Amandine’s gaze rested on the tub and the steam that was rising from the water. She tried to recall the last time she had been given such a luxury. It had been so long. Despite everything, she had an overwhelming urge to indulge herself. She quickly began to take off her clothes. Maybe tonight she would die. But she would give herself the pleasure of soaking in a tub of warm water before she did. She would wear the pretty dress, and she would try to do something with her hair. And she would not cow to those who thought themselves better than her. Never again would a man of this world make her crawl on her knees. She was a du Lac, and she would not forget that. She had more right to be in this castle than anyone else here. She had been a princess, and those who thought to dominate her would find her no easy win. Merton had been brave and so could she.

  16

  “You look beautiful,” Philippe said with wonder, as he stepped into her chamber. He too was wearing his finest clothes. Amandine had to admit that Philippe wore them far better than Budic ever did. Philippe looked regal and every bit a king, Budic had always looked uncomfortable.

  “It is the dress,” Amandine said with a warm smile, her intentions to be wary in his presence going out the window as easily as Bastian’s warning had.

  “It is the woman wearing it,” Philippe answered. He raised his hand and indicated with his finger for her to turn around. She did so slowly, for it felt good that someone was paying her attention. When she was once again facing him, he raised his eyes to hers and grinned like a youth that had glimpsed his first pair of breasts. He apparently liked what he saw.

  “Come on,” he held out his arm for her to take. “I went hunting this afternoon and brought down a stag. We will dine on venison tonight.”

  “My favourite dish, Sire,” Amandine said as she slipped her hand into the crease of his elbow.

  “What a happy coincidence,” Philippe answered; the smile had not left his face. “Do you have any idea how truly delightful you are?” Philippe asked as he led her towards the door. “A rare jewel like you had no place with a monster such as Merton du Lac,” there was an edge to his words. Jealousy even.

  Amandine paused and turned to face him. She made much of brushing some imagined fluff off his shoulder. He became very still under her ministrations and his eyes filled with desire. She looked up into his face, “Let’s not talk about Merton tonight.”

  “Forgive me,” Philippe stuttered. “It
is just that you are so beautiful, so sweet and pure, I cannot imagine—”

  “Then don’t,” Amandine answered, and changed the subject. “I am so excited about leaving this room.” She was, there was no point denying it, despite Bastian’s earlier warning of how the evening would end. “Thank you for making it happen.”

  “We are going to have a good time tonight,” Philippe promised, and his eyes were filled with sincerity.

  Amandine kept her smile in place as he opened the door to her chamber, but to her horror, she found she could not move. The fresher air of the corridor hinted of the outside world. But that world seemed a very big place, compared to her room. Philippe noticed her hesitation and took her hand in his. He kissed the back of her hand and began to walk backwards out of the room, leading her forwards.

  Amandine exhaled on a nervous sigh when she crossed the threshold. Her mouth was dry, so she swallowed several times. She could do this. She could. She was a du Lac. She could be brave.

  “That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” Philippe asked tenderly, raising her hand to his mouth again.

  She chewed on her lip and glanced down the corridor. Where were the guards? Where was Bastian? The corridor was empty of life, there were several torches that burned brightly in the sconces that were attached to the wall, but that was it. She turned and looked back along the corridor to where the Royal Chambers were located. She could see the door that led to what was once Merton’s chamber. She had declared her love for him in that room. She had begged him to make love to her, but he had been annoyingly honourable and had wanted to marry her first. So much for his honour. So much for the life they were meant to have together. Amandine felt a sense of guilt and betrayal. She was with the man who had killed him. Don’t think of it, she silently told herself. She had to take one day, one hour, one moment, at a time. It was the only way. She blinked rapidly to stop any tears, and with a fake smile, she turned back around to face Philippe.

  “I forgot how cold it is in the corridors,” Amandine stated nervously. She was in danger. Philippe was dangerous. He was Merton’s killer. What was wrong with her? Why had she agreed to this? Why had she not heeded Bastian’s words? Philippe was leading her to death, not to dinner. Think, girl, think. Maybe if she appeared pathetic, then Philippe would be less inclined to toss her into the lion’s pit.

  “Here,” Philippe immediately took off his cloak and slipped the thick winter wool over her shoulders.

  “Thank you,” she said as she clutched the cloak together. The cloak held the scent of the strong musky perfume that Philippe always favoured. Amandine had always preferred the scent of leather and horse and the hint of earth and rain — that is what Merton had smelt like.

  They made their way along the corridor. There were so many memories here that Amandine had trouble staying in the moment. And for the scantest of seconds, she envied those whose minds forgot.

  A scraggly looking, but young, fluffy orange cat was stood on top of the stone staircase, meowing pitifully. Amandine longed to pick the cat up, cuddle it to her chest and take a brush to the animal’s coat, for his long fur had matted around his legs.

  Philippe kicked out at the animal as if the cat were vermin. But the cat was quick and leapt before Philippe’s boot could connect. The cat dashed down the hallway out of range and turned to glare at Philippe. The cat hissed and raised his hackles. Amandine stared after the cat. Garren had once gifted her an orange kitten. The poor thing was in a sorry state when Garren had rescued him from being drowned, but Amandine only saw what the kitten would become. With the right food and some love, the animal would do well. Amandine recalled how together, she and Garren had bathed the little dear. The kitten had objected to his bath quite vocally and had left a deep scratch on Garren’s hand. The cat had looked so bad tempered that Garren had called the animal Elouan after the monk who had taught him how to read. The monk had also taught him how to dodge a fist, “the most useful lesson the monk had ever taught me,” Garren had once said. The lesson the monk taught Merton was even worse. It was strange that a man of God had been the first to teach Merton to hate.

  The cat sat down on his haunches and looked at them accusingly. This was obviously one of Elouan’s offspring. She missed her cat, and she wondered where he was now. He was probably at the stables catching mice — his favourite pastime, but then again he was very old. He might be dead, and she would never know.

  “I hate cats in the castle,” Philippe stated in such a way that Amandine took it to be an apology. “They are filthy creatures. Digging up the reeds and doing their business on the floor, then covering it over again. I have lost count how many times the servants have had to clean my shoes because I have unwittingly stepped in their muck.”

  “Cats can be taught to go in the one place,” Amandine stated as she watched the cat. “A box with a little sand in seems to work quite well.”

  “I will take your word for it. Maybe one day you can round up all the cats and teach them some manners.”

  Amandine smiled. “There are many cats in the castle. Rounding them up would certainly keep me busy, Sire.”

  “Let’s not be so formal tonight. Call me Philippe, and I,” he reached up and touched her shorn hair, a half sort of smile on his face, “I will call you My Lady because that is what you are…mine.”

  There was possessiveness in his words that did not sit comfortably with Amandine, but she brushed it aside. She was his prisoner after all.

  “And now you have put me to blush,” Amandine stated, keeping the smile on her face and looking up at him from beneath her lashes. The last time she had to play this game was when she was in Lord Jenison’s company. She closed her mind to that man because some things were better forgotten.

  “I will shower you with compliments so that I can see you blush a thousand times.”

  “You are quite the bard, I never knew,” Amandine stated with a genuine grin.

  “There is a great deal you do not know about me, but after tonight, I believe you will know me a little better.”

  “I am looking forward to it.”

  Amandine thought he was about to say more, but instead, he just winked at her as if the two them were sharing some intimate secret.

  They descended the stone staircase quickly. At the bottom of the staircase was another corridor, and again, this was empty of people. Amandine turned her head towards the entrance of the castle. But the door was firmly shut.

  “I know you have a sweet tooth, so I have ordered the cook to bake some more of those delectable pastries that you like so much,” Philippe continued, as he led her towards the imposing oak doors of the Great Hall.

  The doors opened as if by magic and Philippe escorted her inside. Thanks to Bastian, Amandine had expected the worst, she had expected there to be a crowd who wore matching condemning faces, but there was no one. Just a few servants who were doing their best to pretend invisibility.

  Amandine stopped, and Philippe turned to her in question. Amandine took a moment to look around. The Hall was the same, in one sense — Budic’s expensive tapestries still adorned the walls, although his crest had been taken down. The crossed spears were still there although they now shone in the torchlight. Everything shone. The tables had been buffed so many times with wax that they no longer looked old and worn. The reeds on the floor were fresh from the storehouse, and rosemary had been mixed with them, giving the Hall an incredibly intimate feeling of warmth. Fires blazed in the two hearths, and there were beeswax candles everywhere.

  The last time she had been in this room, Wann was hanging from the rafters. She purposely did not look up at the ceiling. But she guessed that if she did, there would be no spider webs.

  “You have been busy,” she commented, and Philippe laughed.

  “Do you approve?” he asked as he too, looked around the room.

  “Yes,” Amandine stated. “Very much so. You have brought this place back to life.”

  “Budic was never one for housekeeping. He woul
d let his servants get away with murder. I, on the other hand, do not.”

  “I can see that and so will your guests when they come.”

  “I was hoping you would say that. Look,” Philippe pointed to a small table that had been placed near the throne. “Our dinner awaits.”

  They crossed the room. Amandine went to pull the chair out from the table, but Philippe stopped her and did it for her. Amandine looked at him in surprise.

  “My mother was a maid,” Philippe explained. “And she taught me the manners that every servant knows. Sometimes I think the servants are nobler than the nobles.” There was no malice in his voice. He was stating a fact.

  She smiled, for she knew not what to say, and sat down. She watched as he walked around the table and sat down on the chair directly opposite her.

  “I have surprised you,” Philippe said several moments later as he picked up a jug of wine and poured some into her goblet and then offered it to her. “I learnt a lot from my mother. She was a nobody but, compared to my scoundrel of a father, she was everything.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Amandine said as she took the goblet. “I am pleased. It is rare to find a king who is so, what is the word I am looking for…?”

  “Handsome. Generous.” Philippe supplied helpfully.

  Amandine giggled. “Obviously. But I was thinking more along the lines of humble.”

  Philippe leant in closer, so she did as well. “Let’s keep that between ourselves. But just so you know, I am handsome and generous.”

  “And vain,” Amandine supplied still giggling.

  “My father was a du Lac, and they are known to be vain, I must get that from him.”

  “Let’s not talk about the past,” Amandine said tenderly as she raised her goblet. “Let it stay where it belongs. To new beginnings…”

  “To new beginnings,” Philippe touched her goblet with his, and they both looked at each other over the rim, as they tasted the sweet red wine imported from Frank.