by Dove Winters
I stand and give a polite curtsy, as is custom, but it is quick and crisp. My guards remain erect; they bow to no one but me.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Queen Virginia. May I express my condolences on the loss of his Royal Highness?” Ulric says.
“You may,” I say quietly.
“May they rest in peace, King Vernon and Queen Carlee.” The others in the room echo their condolences.
“Thank you. Do you need some refreshing, King Ulric?” I ask politely, imagining my mother doing the same.
“No, thank you, my lady. I will not stay but a moment. I have come with a contract of sorts. I would hope you will join with me,” he says.
“What kind of contract?”
Ulric hesitates just a moment, long enough to draw out the effect. “A marriage contract.”
“I believe you are already married, Your Highness,” I say. From the corner I see Ward lower his head to hide his smile. I can imagine what he’s thinking. Don’t sass the king of Etigan, Ginny. You’ll start a war.
Ulric takes it in stride. “I was not referring to myself, Queen Virginia. I was referring to a marriage contract with my nephew, Prince Liam.”
My blood runs cold and for a moment, I can’t speak. I look over at Ward, see the shocked look on his face, and realize what I heard is true.
“I don’t understand?” I say.
“I am looking to secure a marriage between you and my nephew. With your marriage, the kingdoms of Etigan and Newrock will be joined together, and you and Liam may rule them both as one.” Ulric cocks his head, watching my reactions.
“You want to unite Etigan and Newrock? Why?” I ask.
“You have suffered attacks from Windem, and my country has as well. Together we can face them with dual force.”
“So we’ll sign a treaty as allies. Why a marriage?”
“I am not a strong man, my lady, and my wife is quite ill. It would be best for Etigan if Prince Liam took over the kingdom before a war with Windem is started. He can assume the throne by marriage, and you will make the best choice for a wife.”
“I refuse,” I say plainly. “We will accept your offer of an alliance and we will face Windem together. But I will not marry your nephew, and I will not give up the throne of Newrock.”
Ulric glances to his left at Ferrant; I catch the slight nod exchanged between them. My guards draw their swords and my hand hovers in the air, ready to grab my dagger. Something is wrong.
“Ferrant warned me that you may need some…encouragement,” Ulric says. My eyes shift to Ferrant, and I suddenly begin to understand why things have felt so wrong here.
“I’d like to have a word with you when this is done,” I tell him.
“Oh, Your Highness, I do apologize. But I was also planning to tell you that I will no longer be serving Newrock.”
“I see.” My hand quivers, ready. My eyes lower, then go back to the king. “So if I refuse this offer?”
“I will give you a night to think it over. You may send a messenger to me with your answer tomorrow. In the meantime, I will take your brother to keep me company on my journey home.”
“What about my brother?” I demand, unable to hide the panic in my voice.
“I have Prince Vian in my custody. If you refuse my offer, you will be declaring war on Etigan, and your brother will be the first casualty of that war.” Ulric speaks in monotone, sounding almost bored, as if he’s not about to completely ruin my life. I can feel my anger reaching dangerous levels. My hands are shaking.
“Where is my brother?” I speak the words one at a time, stressing them, trying to control my breathing. But I’m not looking at King Ulric; my eyes bore into Ferrant with a hatred out of my control.
“Your answer tomorrow, Queen Virginia. Your hand in marriage to my nephew, and a seal on a contract uniting our kingdoms, or Prince Vian is beheaded tomorrow at sunset. The choice is yours.” King Ulric turns and walks away, more quickly this time, flanked by his guards with weapons drawn.
“You planned this,” I say as I move around the desk toward Ferrant.
“I would order your guards to lower their weapons. Etigan has Benakarsa surrounded, and the townspeople will be the first to suffer if you declare war. My time here is finished.” With that, he turns and beckons the guards to follow.
“Look at me you coward!” I scream at him. The guards following him turn quickly, apparently startled by the outburst. But Ferrant turns slowly.
“I thought your father knocked that anger out of you when he put you in the stocks?”
I’m no longer in control of myself. Drawing my dagger, I rush into the hall and tackle Ferrant, pushing him down, my blade on his throat. His guards are on me in a flash, ripping me away from him. A battle is started in the hall between my guards and his, and I’m pushed out of the way. From around the fighting I see Ferrant take his leave, bolting down the stone stairs and out of sight.
“Ginny!” Ward appears beside me, two swords in hand. Taking one from him, I follow him as we race past the guards and after Ferrant. I step on my stupid dress on the way and knock us both down a couple stairs before Ward rights us, and we continue to descend until we reach the main floor. Ferrant is running for the door, but we reach him before he makes it. He swivels and takes a swing at Ward’s head; Ward dives to the side to avoid being hit. Ferrant comes back fast enough to deflect my blow. I return with two strikes, my anger making my blade strike with passion. He deflects the blows, but on his second swing I thrust with my dagger in my left hand and connect with his arm. His armor saves him from injury, but I see fear flash in his eyes. He comes at me viciously swinging his sword, forcing me backwards, kicking Ward in the stomach when he attempts to help. I put my sword up in defense and Ferrant uses his to push me backwards onto the floor before he turns and flees.
He makes it out the door and we’re on his tail, but I stop short, stopping Ward with an outstretched arm. A heavily guarded carriage sits outside the castle. Off in the distance, another one is already making its way down the road, surrounded by mounted guards in green. Ferrant enters the carriage with haste and it takes off.
“Vian,” I say quietly, then scream, “Vian!”
I turn on my heel and bolt up the stairs to Vian’s bedroom. It’s empty. Ward follows me to the library and a study, both empty as well. My guards catch up to us before we make it to the gardens. I’m still calling out Vian’s name and it takes several minutes for them to calm me down so I can hear them.
“He’s gone, Your Highness,” one of their voices finally gets through. I sink to the cold floor of the castle entry, looking up at them in shock.
“How?” I manage to choke out.
“He was with two guards in the gardens. They’re dead. Your brother was taken with the king.”
I feel the blood draining from my face and I think I might faint. I can’t lose Vian; he’s all I have left! It was my job to protect him and I didn’t. I couldn’t. I let him down. I let my family down.
In my head I can see my father’s red face, his fists pounding the desk, telling me I’ve disappointed him again.
Thirteen
There is, of course, an emergency meeting with the court. I spend it sitting unnecessarily rigid, my hands clenched, trying to control my breathing. Each breath comes with tremendous force and hurts. During my exhales I catch bits and pieces of their panicked conversation.
Ferrant never intended to send letters to Windem, nor were any sent.
Ferrant didn’t rally the army together. Our armies have been scattered. Our border may be wide open.
There seems to be little hope of getting to Vian before our time is up.
Our options are few.
I feel like I’m about to go completely insane and before I realize what’s happening, my feet are moving me out the door. No one even bothers to come after me; I’m sure they feel they can handle this better without me. I agree with them. So I do what I have found to be helpful when things are getting tense
.
I head for the guards’ quarters. Ward and I learned long ago that they keep a hidden supply of mead under some loose stones in the floor; although we would always kindly replace anything we borrowed. I order my reluctant guards to move the stones and am disappointed to find the stash is low. Apparently the events of the last week have been hard on everyone.
I take the mead and some ale that’s left and tip a bottle on my lips. This is no time for decorated cups. The guards’ quarters are currently empty, so I send mine outside the door and sit down to be alone. It doesn’t take long for the mead to take effect and warm the chill of my body. I continue to sip and let my thoughts melt away.
I don’t know how long I stay. I must doze off because the door swinging open stirs me awake. There are voices, familiar ones, discussing me, I think. My thoughts aren’t clear. The people come closer and I’m able to make out faces. I focus on one and speak, slurring, “I warned them against putting me on the throne.”
“It was always the best idea, even if you cannot see it,” Rayner says, taking a seat on a chair close to me. Ward is kneeling in front of me. I think Marguerite is standing behind him but I’m not sure; it could be a maid. Something in my muddled thoughts reminds me that Rayner is injured.
“You’re still healing,” I say.
“So are you. Now isn’t a time for me to be lying in bed. We have a problem to solve, and you’ve left the court,” he says.
“I don’t trust them anymore.” I frown deeply.
“You must. You are going to need their help.”
“I thought I could trust Ferrant,” I point out.
“Why do you trust me anymore than him?” Rayner asks.
“I can feel it in my gut. I knew something was wrong with Ferrant the minute he told me my parents had been killed. But I ignored it.”
“Why?”
“Because I usually don’t have to care about things like that. My father took care of the kingdom. If someone evil was inside the castle walls he would take care of it. I don’t handle things.” I gesture towards the empty bottles and hit one, sending it rolling. “Obviously.”
“Your father trusted Ferrant.” Rayner stops the bottle with his foot.
“He made a mistake.”
“Then you see? He wasn’t perfect. He may have been a king, but he was still human.”
Thinking of my father brings pain to my heart. The pain brings my thoughts back to my brother. “What are we going to do about Vian?”
“It’s going to come down to two choices, whether we like it or not. We can gather as much manpower as we can and try to get in the castle, or we can honor the marriage contract,” Rayner speaks softly, but firmly. My mouth drops open.
“You would put that in there as an option?”
“What other choices do we have?”
“The marriage contract is not one of them. I will not marry Prince Liam!” The sudden rush of emotion makes me try to stand. The room begins to spin and I stagger, falling against the wall. Ward follows, ready to catch me, but I stop moving.
“Ginn…I mean Your Majesty,” Ward speaks up quietly, quickly correcting his mistake in front of Rayner. “If I may say so, don’t you think Prince Liam could help us?”
“Help us?” My eyes narrow as I look at Ward. “Do you realize what this marriage contract means?”
He shakes his head and it’s Marguerite that speaks up. “Prince Liam has betrayed her.”
“Exactly! And Marguerite knows it all too well! The minute my parents were murdered Ulric saw his opportunity to swoop in and claim our kingdom. Whether or not Windem is after us, Etigan is going to eat us alive, and Liam is holding my brother hostage to force us down their throats!” I swing my fist as I make my speech, but the follow-through knocks me over. Ward helps me back to the floor before I injure myself. I can see there is confusion on his face.
“But Ginny,” he whispers and doesn’t correct himself, “Liam is in love with you.”
“No he isn’t, Ward,” I snap, angered at the thought. “He’s using me to get his throne and mine.”
“I don’t believe that,” Ward says.
“And why not?”
“Because I could see it. Even through the mead and the music and the jests, I could see it. I figured you did, too.” Ward shrugs, but I shake my head. I fish around with my hands, searching for a bottle. I find one and tip it up to my mouth, but it’s empty. Sighing with resignation, I hug the bottle to my chest and look up.
“What do you think Rayner?”
“I think going to the alley to dance with Etigan’s prince was a risky game you played, innocent as though it was to you, and now you’ve become a piece in this game. Without knowing who started this, I cannot say who’s trustworthy and who isn’t. But you must make a decision, Your Highness, and soon. Prince Vian is the one that ultimately will suffer, followed by everyone in this kingdom, if you make the wrong choice.”
“So no pressure then?” I say sarcastically. “This was never supposed to happen. My father knew as well as I did that I could not handle this job.”
Rayner stands slowly, wincing with the effort to push himself up. He takes a deep breath.
“Ward, I think Her Majesty needs to see something,” he says. Ward looks deeply confused, then suddenly brightens. Then his face falls again.
“I don’t think now is a good time for that,” he says.
“I think it is the perfect time for that,” Rayner says. I glance at Marguerite, who shrugs. Rayner turns to me. “Come to the Reflection Room.”
It takes us awhile to get there, since I can’t walk a straight line. Ward and Marguerite finally each take an arm and guide me behind Rayner. Once we get there, Ward opens the doors and lets in some fresh air. I sit on the balcony, still clutching my empty bottle, and let the sweet-smelling air revive me while Rayner takes a moment to regain his strength. When he’s ready, he hands Ward a key. Ward looks hesitant.
“Do it!” Rayner commands.
Still looking unsure, Ward hurries to the closet. The closet is always locked and I have never bothered to attempt to look in there. There are various places in the castle where my parents keep things under lock and key for safety. But as Ward opens the closet door and pulls a large object into view, my head struggles to clear, fights to know if what I’m seeing is fake or real.
“What is that?” I whisper. I put the bottle down by the wall and push myself up so I can get a closer look.
“That, Your Majesty, is your coronation gown,” Rayner says gently.
“But….I don’t understand.” It’s a dress I have definitely never seen before. White and glittering like freshly fallen snow, it wears long sleeves and a slim skirt that drags on the floor. I run my hand over one of the sleeves, the sheer fabric as soft as I imagine a cloud would be. I’ve never seen a dress that glitters the way this one does, and on closer examination, I can see the whole dress has been dusted with some kind of sparkly material, like crushed diamond powder. “Coronation dresses in Newrock are usually brown.”
“Your father had the dress made earlier this very year. He wanted it ready, he said, because you are seventeen years old and quite stunning, and he knew it would be only a matter of time before you were called to wed. But with all the trouble you’d been in, he wanted the dress to be symbolic. When you were ready to accept the crown, when you had made the decision for yourself to serve the people and become their queen, he wanted you in a dress that was pure and clean. A message to the people that you had changed your ways and would serve them well. He wanted you to shine like an angel,” Rayner explains.
“He even included a special piece right here.” Ward pushes aside a flap of material in the skirt to reveal a slit. “Because he knew that you always carry your dagger. This way the dress wouldn’t hinder you from pulling it out if necessary.”
The emotions welling up inside me become almost too much to handle. I thought my father was waiting for Vian, like I was. I thought we had had a plan. Why had I
never seen this dress?
“He wanted it to be a surprise for you when you chose the crown. He felt you needed to come to the decision on your own. And he said you would. There were those in the court that argued with him, but his faith in you never wavered,” Rayner says.
“If that’s true, he never showed it to me. All he ever showed me was his disappointment.” Tears sting my eyes and I struggle to hold them back.
“If only to make you try harder. Believe me, Virginia.” The informal way Rayner speaks to me makes me look at him, makes me see the fatherly quality in him. He was my father’s best friend, my father’s most trusted right-hand man. I can almost see my father looking at me through his eyes, hear him in his voice. “Your father, even in some of your darker moments, was proud to call you his daughter. He would tell me often how much he longed to see you taking the crown as the first queen in the line of Newrock.” Rayner looks up at the portrait of my parents and I follow his gaze. So often I would look at that portrait only to turn away again when my father’s painted eyes would lock on mine in that scolding way. But this time, I see that the eyes of the painted face are content, perhaps slightly fearful. Newly married and taking the throne, he no doubt felt apprehensive at what the future held for him. Much like I do now.
Without another word, Rayner beckons to Ward and Marguerite and they quietly leave. Alone now, I study the dress again, letting my hands smooth out the fabric. My father loved me. He had enough faith in me to have a dress ready for my crowning moment, a dress that was not only beautiful but meant to show the people that I was a good person. He believed I was a good person while so many others do not.
My hands clench into fists. I hate crying, I hate showing vulnerable weakness. But my heart is trembling, my body is already weakened from the mead, and I can’t hold it in any longer. Walking quickly to the balcony, I sink to my knees and scream at the top of my lungs, allowing myself to feel every emotion I’ve been holding back. My parents are dead. One of my best friends has betrayed me. My brother is in danger. And there is only one sure way to save him.
