by Barb Hendee
No longer an ally, Genève had just become a threat.
“Captain,” I said, moving toward the doors. “Please.”
He loved Rowan, and he was not himself at the moment, but after one more glare at Soren, he strode to me.
“What?” he asked rudely.
Ashton stopped keening, but her face was pressed against Rowan’s chest.
“I overheard the dowager queen hire that man to kill the princess. That’s why I ran down here.”
Captain Caron went still. He didn’t even breathe.
“You’ll find a red velvet pouch on his person,” I continued. “They were in an alcove and I saw her give it to him.”
“Why would the queen assassinate the princess?” he whispered.
He was certainly astute and aware enough to reason this out for himself.
“Question that man,” I said,” and make sure Lords Moreau and Sauvage are present, but do not mention the dowager’s name. Torture him at first. Promise him a swift death, a single stroke, if he’ll name who hired him, and then swear to lock him in the depths of the cellar and leave him there in some hole to slowly starve to death, alone and forgotten in the darkness, if he won’t. He will name the dowager.”
More guards were arriving.
The captain looked to Ashton. Her body was racked by grief, and her face was still hidden against Rowan’s chest. The sight was beyond unsettling.
Turning to a guard beside him, the captain said, “Lock the prisoner in a barracks cell. I’ll take the princess to her rooms and join you directly.” After walking to Ashton, he crouched down. “Princess, come away.” He reached out for her.
“No! Micah, no! I can’t leave him here.”
“I’ll take care of him. I promise.”
As he grasped her shoulders to draw her away, she struggled. “Micah, stop!”
He shook her once, gently, but his voice hardened. “Ashton. Put your arms around my neck. Right now.”
With a final sob, she looked into his face and obeyed him. Still sitting in a crouch, he swept one arm under her legs and lifted her. She clung to him, and he stood up.
“Lieutenant Arye,” he barked to a man near the door. “Take three men and confine the dowager queen to her apartments. No one is to see her but me. Do you understand?”
The man paled. “The dowager?”
“Those are my orders. If you fail, I’ll have you demoted, dismissed, and sent back to the border guard.”
“Yes, sir.”
Carrying Ashton, the captain strode out.
Walking over slowly, I looked down at Rowan. There was a pool of dark blood spreading out beside him. This was what my swift action had wrought: the death of my future husband and the end of my chance to be queen.
I felt nothing for him, no sorrow over his loss.
But I feared greatly for myself. What would this mean for me?
* * * *
With little control over the outcome of my actions, I went to my room and hid there.
Events moved swiftly.
Though I never learned what methods the captain used to get a confession so quickly, I later heard rumors that Lord Sauvage was involved, and he had a reputation for brutality.
Soren named Genève before the sun even set.
He was beheaded an hour later. Genève was arrested and taken from her apartments. But instead of locking her in a barracks cell, the Council of Nobles had her housed in the far south tower, which was seldom used.
Lords Sauvage and Moreau came to question me, and I told them everything I’d heard in the alcove and of how I had run for the stable. Only when I reached the part about Rowan’s death did I feel the need to express false emotion, calling up a single tear.
“I should not have called on the king for help. I only wanted to save the princess.”
“His death is not of your doing,” Lord Moreau said.
“But why would the dowager wish for Ashton’s death?” I asked, allowing confusion and misery into my voice.
They glanced at each other. They knew why. They both knew. Genève would now have to fight for her life.
She would lose.
“Where is the king?” I asked. “When I last saw him…his body was…it was…” I allowed my voice to break.
Sauvage grew alarmed. There was probably nothing he feared more than a weeping woman. I knew him mainly by reputation, but he was a striking figure, of medium height with a solid, muscular build. His hair was thick and prematurely silver in an unlined face. His jaw was square, and his nose boasted a bump at the bridge. Like Genève, he exuded an aura of strength and determination.
“The king’s body is in the cellars,” he said quickly, “to be prepared for burial. You must rest. Should I have dinner brought on a tray?”
“That would be kind.”
To my relief, they left.
* * * *
Sitting alone in my room, I’d never been so afraid. Rowan was dead, and Ashton would be crowned as queen, and I would be sent home to my father. He’d see me as an utter failure and act accordingly.
I’d be suffering at Lord Arullian’s hands inside of a month. The fear brought an acrid taste into my mouth as I tried not to panic. But I could see no way to save myself.
A soft knock sounded on my door, and it opened without invitation.
Kamilla looked in. Her normally tidy hair was in disarray. At the sight of me, sitting in a chair by the hearth, she breathed in softly.
“My lady, you’re still awake.”
I stood. “What is it?”
“The princess is in a bad way.”
Ashton? Of course she was in a bad way. She’d watched as an assassin thrust a knife into Rowan’s heart, and the woman she viewed as a mother had been arrested.
“That’s to be expected,” I answered. “It has been a trying day.”
At the moment, my pity for myself was so great it could not be extended to Ashton—who would be queen.
“No, my lady,” Kamilla answered. “She is in a bad way, and she does not need a maid to care for her. She needs family, and you are the closest thing she has.”
“Me? Would not Lady Elizabeth or Lady Miranda know her better?” The wife of a council member seemed a far better choice than myself.
“I fear not, my lady,” Kamilla answered. “King Rowan…discouraged her from fostering friendships with anyone but himself.” She paused. “But you were to be her sister. She needs you.”
You were to be her sister.
Something in this broke through my fear-laden haze. Kamilla viewed me as the closest thing the princess had to family? That meant something, but as of yet, I didn’t quite understand what. I only knew a lifeline had been thrown, and I had to grasp it.
“Yes, of course. I’m coming.”
As I was still dressed, I left my room immediately and followed Kamilla to Ashton’s apartments.
There, I saw what Kamilla meant.
Ashton sat on a couch before her own hearth, but she stared into the flames without blinking and whispered unintelligible words to herself in an endless stream. The skirt of her sky-blue gown was stained with Rowan’s blood.
“She won’t let me remove the gown,” Kamilla whispered.
Walking over, I leaned down to touch Ashton’s shoulder. “Princess?”
She didn’t respond or acknowledge I’d spoken. Her whispering continued. No wonder Kamilla had gone for help. But with Rowan dead and Genève arrested, was I really the only option? I might have a use here yet.
A small voice at the back of my mind whispered, “Don’t fail.”
The problem was that I had no idea how to offer comfort. Worse, I didn’t understand Ashton’s feelings for Rowan. Yes, she’d loved him, but she had also feared him, not only physically, but she’d feared displeasing him for his own
sake. I didn’t understand her, and I couldn’t fathom loving someone I feared.
And yet…she now suffered over his loss. How could I help? What could I do?
My thoughts flowed backward to night when I was twelve years old. From the time I could walk, our family’s spaniel, named Emma, had been my sweet friend, nearly always at my side. She had soulful eyes and long soft ears. Though my father forbade it, I often snuck her into my bed so she might sleep with me. He never checked, so he never found out.
When I was twelve, she went to sleep one day and did not awake.
I was beside myself with a sense of loss and sorrow.
My father and my brother, George, barely noticed. My sisters didn’t care. I sat on one of our couches before a fire that night and felt as if I were bleeding inside. Henri came to me. Like everyone else in the family, he’d never witnessed one member offering another comfort, and he would have had no more idea what to do than I would in his situation. But he got a blanket, and he sat down beside me and covered me with it. Then he called a servant and ordered hot tea with milk and honey.
We never spoke of Emma, but when the tea arrived, he made me drink some of it, and he sat with me on that couch all night.
“Get me a blanket,” I ordered Kamilla.
“What about her gown, my lady?”
“Leave it. It’s not important. Just fetch the blanket.”
Kamilla struck me as the type of person who believed all would be well so long as everything was neat and clean. She viewed the real problem right now as the blood on Ashton’s gown. But after a brief hesitation, she did as I asked.
Sitting down close to Ashton, I covered us both with the blanket.
“Stoke up the fire,” I told Kamilla, “and then go to the kitchens and bring back a pot of hot tea with honey and milk.”
As if glad for a real task, she nodded. “Yes, my lady.”
After building up the fire, she hurried away.
Henri had not touched me on the night he tried to offer comfort, but I took his idea and extended it. Wrapping my arms around Ashton, I pulled her close to me and held her. She let me.
She stopped her unintelligible whispering.
Neither of us spoke. I just held her and kept her covered with the blanket.
When Kamilla returned, I poured Ashton a half a cup of tea, blew on it until it was cool enough, and brought it near her lips. An image of Captain Caron appeared in my mind, and I remembered how he had managed her.
“Ashton,” I said firmly. “Drink this. Right now.”
When I held the cup to her mouth, she drank from it. I helped her to finish it and then set down the cup.
Settling back, I again covered both of us with the blanket.
“Kamilla, there’s nothing more you can do. You may as well go and get some sleep.”
“Are you sure, my lady?”
“Yes. I’ll stay with her. Get some rest. She’ll have need of you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
Once Kamilla was gone, I took Ashton back into my arms and held her. Hours passed, and she rested against me, but she never closed her eyes.
Finally, when my arms began to ache and my shoulder grew sore, I whispered, “It’s late, and you’ve not slept. Do you think you might lay down in the bed?”
“Will you stay with me?” she whispered back.
These words were a good sign. She was still lost in grief, but at least speaking coherently now.
“Yes. I’ll stay.” I helped her up, and when we’d walked into her bedroom, I said, “Let me unlace your gown so you will be comfortable.”
Like a child, she did my bidding and stopped. Quickly, I unlaced the back of her soiled gown and slipped it off her shoulders, leaving it in a heap on the floor. The skirt of the white shift she wore beneath was a little spotted, but that didn’t matter now.
After helping her into bed, I crawled in beside her. I was still fully dressed, but that didn’t matter either.
“Sleep now,” I whispered.
“You won’t leave?”
“No. I won’t leave. I promise.”
Chapter Eleven
The following day, Kamilla brought gowns and stockings from my room, and I moved into Ashton’s apartments. Ashton didn’t speak much, and she ate little, but I remained with her.
As the days passed, several of the noblewomen residing at the castle came to check on the princess, but I wouldn’t allow them inside—I didn’t want Ashton to be seen in her current state. As opposed to resenting this, they all seemed relieved, gratefully remaining outside the door and expressing sympathies while thanking me for my kindness. I was not kind. I was self-serving. But I had the feeling that none of them wished to step inside and be faced with Ashton’s grief. Perhaps they’d heard about the scene in the stable after Rowan’s death. Women of our class did not show open emotions for others to witness.
Lord Sauvage’s wife, Miranda, appeared especially uncomfortable as she stood in the doorway. By this point, I’d been cloistered with Ashton for four days.
“Is she improving?” Miranda asked.
“She’s sleeping now.”
“I’ve heard she is…unhinged.”
Who could have told her that? It was certainly not Kamilla, so it must have been one of the serving girls bringing in meals. I’d need to check the list of who was coming in.
“She is recovering, my lady,” I answered. “But slowly.”
I could see that Miranda didn’t believe me, but she nodded. “Thank you, Olivia. For all you are doing.”
She gave me the oddest feeling she was after something, but I had no idea what.
* * * *
The next day, I left Ashton long enough to go to the kitchens to fetch her a meal by myself. I wanted to limit the number of servants coming into her rooms.
As I reached the large, round center chamber near the entrance to the great hall, I came upon Captain Caron speaking to several guards. I’d not seen him since he’d left the stable that day carrying Ashton.
As I came into sight, he stopped in mid-sentence and broke off, walking to me. “My lady. How is the princess?”
He looked as if he hadn’t been sleeping, and his long hair hung in snarls.
With him, I didn’t need to protect Ashton, and I didn’t need to pretend. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I’m getting her to eat a little, but not much, and she rarely speaks. I sometimes fear she is shattered.”
He closed his eyes and opened them again. “I’ve heard reports of all that you’re doing for her. I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you’re here.”
His voice was anguished and sincere at the same time. While caring for Ashton, I’d been cut off from castle news.
“When is the burial?” I asked.
“It’s done. Lord Sauvage ordered it, and no one gainsaid him.”
Rowan had already been buried at Lord Sauvage’s order? Something about this unsettled me, but then again, with the lack of an acting monarch, the council would need to make such decisions.
“What of the dowager?” I asked.
“Her trial begins tomorrow, but it will be a closed-door affair in the private council chambers. You can expect to be called to testify.”
Yes. I had expected this.
The poor captain looked weary to his core, and I knew it was more than a lack of sleep. He probably held himself responsible for Rowan’s death, and for the fact that he’d not seen the extent of the threat Genève posed.
For some reason I couldn’t explain, I looked up into Micah’s light brown eyes. “And how are you? How are you really?”
The honesty of my question appeared to unman him. He blinked several times. “Lost.”
Then he turned and walked away, and I watched his broad back. In many ways, Rowan had been a fortunate man.
He’d struck me as one of the most selfish people I’d ever met—and I’d met a few. He always put his own needs first…and yet two decent people had loved him so much. Two people mourned his loss with open wounds.
I couldn’t say this of myself.
No one loved me like that.
* * * *
By a week following Rowan’s death, I was able to leave Ashton for longer periods of time, such as to dine in the great hall.
I explained to her that it was time she allowed herself some interaction with at least the noble wives. But she refused. She wouldn’t leave her rooms or accept guests. She did not ask after Genève.
The trial began, and as expected, I was called to testify.
In my time here at the castle, I’d never been to the council chambers. The room was large and rectangular, with a polished wooden table long enough to accommodate twenty people. When I arrived, all twelve council members were present.
Genève was not.
I later wondered how much of her own trial she even witnessed. It struck me more as a matter of these men questioning witnesses for the sake of decorum before they made a formal vote.
Lord Cloutier sat at one end of the table. An ornate, but empty, chair sat at the other. I knew this must have been Rowan’s.
While testifying, I was expected to stand.
Lord Moreau asked most of the questions, and I believed he was most informed of all that had taken place. Answering his questions was an easy matter, as I spoke nothing but the truth. I told them everything I’d overheard in the alcove.
The red velvet purse had been found on Soren.
“And you’ve been residing with the princess since the king’s death?” Lord Sauvage asked, even though this was common knowledge. “Do you believe it likely she will recover her wits?”
The question was so sudden it left me momentarily speechless. Several council members looked to him in alarm.
“That is hardly relevant to our business here,” Baron Augustine sputtered.
