Island in the Forest

by Jeanne Hardt

  Moments later, two guards holding drawn swords came toward him.

  Sebastian instinctively put his hand on the hilt of his own blade, but kept himself from drawing. Spilling blood in the castle would only make matters worse. He willingly followed the sentries down the corridor to his chamber.

  The instant he stepped into the room, they slammed the door and locked it from the outside.

  Chapter 20

  Olivia had never seen such hatred in her father’s eyes. If only he had looked at Donovan that way and not at Sebastian.

  She had to find a way to get her father to see things clearly. More importantly, she needed to find a way to release Sebastian from his room. Now, more than ever, she needed to speak to him.

  “You should go to your bedchamber until I settle our people,” her father said as they approached the front door.

  “No. I will not be pushed away. They are my people as well, and if I am to be queen, I must observe how you take charge over them.”

  For the moment, she set aside her pain and focused her attention on what crucially needed to be rectified.

  “We want Donovan to lead us!” a man screamed. “The king is dead! We need Donovan!”

  Cheers erupted from the crowd, followed by chants of Donovan over and over again.

  Her father’s eyebrows rose. “I am dead?” He chuckled, though no humor lay in his sour expression. “I will show them dead. Unbar this door!”

  The guards cast wary looks, yet did as told.

  Her father nodded. “Now, draw your swords and open it!”

  Olivia held her breath, fearing what they would find on the other side. Even so, she stood upright with her chin held high. The king was very much alive, and she had done nothing shameful.

  The moment he stepped through the door—aside from several gasps—silence hung in the air, until the hushed mutters began.

  “He lives,” one said.

  “We need Donovan,” another mumbled. “The king is old and sickly.”

  Her father held up his hand. “Silence!”

  The king had not lost the respect of his people. They obeyed without another utterance.

  Olivia closed her eyes, hearing only a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves of the trees that encircled the courtyard.

  When she lifted her lids and scanned the crowd, she found Donovan and Wittek standing at the forefront, both bearing ready swords.

  Her father pointed at the pair. “Arrest those men.”

  Olivia’s heart pounded. She feared something she had never seen. Bloodshed on the castle steps.

  Donovan smiled, sheathed his sword, and splayed his hands. “Your Majesty, there has been a grave misunderstanding.” He nudged Wittek who followed suit and placed his sword in its casing.

  “Misunderstanding?” Her father glared at them.

  “Yes, sire.” Donovan took a step forward, and the sentries advanced, ready to defend their king.

  “Please, Your Majesty,” Donovan chuckled. “Allow me the opportunity to explain. You see . . . I was protecting my beloved. We all know of the evil within the walls of the castle. We are here to destroy it as our law permits.”

  Destroy IT? Donovan spoke of Sebastian as if he were something other than human.

  Olivia’s unease changed to disgust. When her father looked her way, she shook her head, hoping to dissuade him. There had been no need. His expression affirmed he had seen through Donovan’s lies.

  Her father crossed his arms. “I shall allow you to explain further, when you stand before me in the throne room. We shall gather for a trial.”

  “Trial?” Donovan’s face fell. “On what charges?”

  Her father’s features hardened even more. “Treason.” He jerked his head toward the guards. “Take him to the dungeon and lock him in. As for Wittek, bring him to my chamber.”

  The dungeon?

  The cold damp cell had not been used for decades. It had no windows and only lantern light. Olivia wanted him punished, but extended confinement in such a place would likely kill him. Perhaps it would be just, yet it still pained her.

  As the sentries led Donovan away, the people once again became uneasy and the noise grew.

  “You may witness the trial!” her father yelled above them. “We shall convene when the sun is directly above us. Until then, go to your homes and return to work. I am still your king!”

  The people silently streamed away. Soon the courtyard emptied, with the exception of the baker. His eyes rested on Olivia’s father.

  “Please, Your Majesty.” The baker removed his hat and stepped closer. “Have mercy on my son.”

  Olivia pitied the man, who had already suffered great loss.

  “I will follow the law,” her father said. “If found guilty, he shall receive just punishment.”

  The baker swallowed hard. “Death?” He nervously wrung his hands.

  “There are things worse than death,” her father whispered, then strode into the castle.

  Olivia hesitated, glued to the steps, pondering what he meant.

  Shoulders drooping, the baker trudged to his cottage. Before he stepped through the door, he pivoted toward her, then bent at the waist, bowed low, and disappeared inside.

  Even though he had acted utterly defeated, he had shown her respect. The baker truly was a decent man. Unfortunately, his son bore none of his good qualities.

  Olivia hastened back into the castle and crept down the hallway. No guards were about, so she assumed they were still with her father.

  Before rapping on Sebastian’s door, she glanced from side to side. If found here, her father would not be pleased, but she had to come.

  She gathered some courage and lightly knocked. “Sebastian, it is Olivia.” Simply saying his name doubled the pace of her heartbeat. She pressed her ear to the door.

  Within seconds, his footsteps neared. “Olivia, can you unlock it?”

  “No. The guards have the key. I shall to do everything in my power to have you released unharmed. Father is putting Donovan on trial, and I have to gather my witnesses. Once it is over, I will return to you.” She placed her palm against the door. “Sebastian?”

  “Yes?”

  She breathed deeply. “My heart is yours.”

  The silence from the other side of the door brought heat to her cheeks. Had she said too much?

  “Olivia.” He finally spoke. “You captured my heart from the moment I read your first words.” He breathed so hard, the sound resonated through the door. “Please know this. At dusk, if I am not seen by Jonah, he will leave the forest and return to Basilia. And then, he will bring an army, assuming I have been harmed or detained against my wishes. No good shall come of this.”

  “And if I shoot the arrow?”

  “Jonah must see me. I fear he does not completely trust you, and he certainly has no faith in your aim.” He let out a soft laugh, which she assumed to be an attempt to comfort her. After all, this was no laughing matter.

  “Then, I will see to it Father orders your release before the sun sets.” She rested her forehead against the thick wood that separated them. “I shall not fail you.”

  “I know. I believe in you. And one other thing, Olivia.”

  “Yes?”

  “Your father is a good king. Mine would have done the same, so I do not place blame on him for his actions against me.”

  Even in captivity, Sebastian spoke with honor. Her heart ached for him—wanted him.

  “I will not fail you,” she said again, then walked away to prepare for trial.

  * * *

  The throne room was seldom used. The last time there, Wittek had been selected as guard and given his title before all the people of Padrida. One of few ceremonies held in their small kingdom. Maybe the newness of his position had enabled Donovan to sway his loyalties.

  The room was smaller than the dining hall, yet larger than the great hall. Two thrones sat atop a pedestal reached by a series of three wide, shallow steps. Enormous tapestries
hung behind them, bearing the king’s symbol; two crossed swords held together by a gold crown.

  Once again, Wittek was present. Unbound, he sat in a chair at the base of the dais, to the left of the king. It appeared her father deemed him nonthreatening. Perhaps he would be called to testify.

  Olivia had gathered her witnesses. Though uneasy over the thought of speaking in front of all the people gathered, they each agreed.

  It was odd seeing her mother’s empty chair. Her fever had not subsided, but if her illness followed that of Olivia’s father, she would soon recover.

  Her absence might be for the best, due to the nature of this trial. In a matter of time, the queen would personally receive her discipline from the king for insisting Olivia name Donovan. Knowing her father, Olivia felt he would be more than gentle with her.

  He entered the room, followed by three guards, and took his place on the throne. Olivia stood to his right at the base of the platform, until he motioned for her to take the seat beside him.

  She smiled and stood tall, proud he had acknowledged her. She slightly lifted her skirt while ascending the steps.

  “You wish me to take Mother’s place in her absence?” she whispered.

  “Yes. Soon, it shall be yours.”

  She did as he asked and received mumblings from the crowd. With all the distrust Donovan had seeded, their reaction did not surprise her.

  It was impossible to fit all the people of Padrida in this one room, but they tried. Bodies pressed against each other, and children sat on the shoulders of their fathers.

  The room heated to the point of being almost unbearable, so her father ordered several of the maids to bring fans. They hovered over Olivia and moved the large feathers, making her feel even more like her mother.

  Except for Lady Eloise, who remained with the queen, her mother’s ladies gathered in the midst of the crowd. Lady Margaret would be called to testify as one of Olivia’s witnesses. Fortunately, neither she nor Rosalie had shown any sign of illness.

  Lady Margaret paced in and out between others in the room, seemingly nervous. Olivia doubted she had told anyone of her upcoming testimony.

  When Alwin led Donovan into the room, Olivia gasped and covered her mouth. Like the horrible nightmare she had endured, he was dressed in black—his tunic, his leggings, and the cloak that covered his shoulders.

  His wrists had been bound with rope, but his legs were unshackled. He was placed in the center of the room in front of a wooden chair, facing the thrones.

  He smiled and dipped his head at her father, then dropped down into the seat as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Could he possibly believe he would survive this?

  Alwin grabbed Donovan’s arms and jerked him to his feet. “Stand for your king.”

  Donovan’s features soured, but he stood upright.

  Her father had been wise to choose Alwin to guard Donovan. Though fifty years of age, no guard was truer.

  Olivia took slow breaths, in an attempt to remain calm. The scribes would have much to add to the historical scrolls.

  Her father held a golden scepter in his right hand. A symbol of justice and his absolute authority. He raised it into the air, then drew it down slowly. “I, King Boden of Padrida, bring forth the accusation of treason upon, Donovan, son of the baker. What say you?”

  Donovan jutted his chin. “I have committed no wrongdoings, Your Majesty. I am devoted to your service.” With a satisfied grin, he sat.

  Her father displayed no emotion and stood. “People of Padrida! Donovan has claimed innocence. Therefore, I shall call upon witnesses in order that I might make a sound judgment.” He sat once again, holding the scepter upright.

  The inside of Olivia’s mouth became as dry as a week-old crust of bread. Padrida was not accustomed to such formality, but her father had a gift for it.

  He tilted the scepter toward her. “I call first, the Princess of Padrida. My daughter, Olivia.”

  She arose and faced the crowd. Years of lessons she assumed she would never have to use came to mind. She stood tall and regal, doing all she could to steady her heart. And though her mind filled with thoughts of Sebastian, she cast them aside and focused on revealing the truth about Donovan.

  “Tell what you know of Donovan’s intentions,” her father demanded.

  After an enormous breath, she recanted everything she had overheard in the orchard. Though difficult to ignore the muttering of the crowd, she pressed on. She omitted the details of Lady Margaret, believing it would be best heard when she gave her own testimony.

  “And . . .” Olivia concluded, “he intended to continue his relations with the Lady Justine while married to me. He claimed it would keep him from boredom.” Olivia’s knees shook as she made her way back to the throne and sat. Thankfully, because of her long dress, she assumed her people were none-the-wiser.

  She forced herself to look at Donovan, whose smile had not dimmed since his plea of no fault.

  “What say you to these allegations?” her father asked him.

  Donovan stood and casually held his bound hands over his abdomen. “She lies.”

  How dare he say such a thing!

  Gasps and mumbling grew to such a degree, Olivia could scarcely hear her own thoughts.

  “Silence!” her father demanded.

  The crowd hushed.

  Her father’s stern expression displayed an understandable trace of anger, yet he kept calm. He stared at Donovan. “You accuse the princess of falsehoods?”

  “Yes. I have no knowledge of this . . . tannin root, I believe she called it. Do I look like an apothecary? Everyone here knows I am the son of a baker. I am able to bake bread, not concoct poison.”

  “The princess is a liar!” a woman yelled from the back of the room.

  “Silence!” her father bellowed louder than ever. “We will hear from all witnesses, but I will not entertain the ravings of those not called to testify!” He took such a large breath; his chest broadly rose. “If order cannot be maintained, I shall have the guards clear the room of all those who have no direct involvement in this ordeal.”

  Donovan took a step forward, but Alwin restrained him and pulled him back.

  The crowd grumbled, but at a much lower volume.

  Donovan glanced over his shoulder, then smiled at Olivia’s father. “Your Majesty, your people are duly angry. They understand the true purpose of this trial. The princess wishes to cast me aside for the evil one you hold in the castle. She created lies in order to disavow the promise she made in naming me as suitor. However, the scribes posted the document. She cannot undo it.”

  She tightened her grip on the arms of the chair and pinched her lips to keep from lashing out.

  “Sit down, Donovan,” the king commanded, then pointed at one of the scribes. “Bring me the document.”

  Olivia could have sworn she heard Donovan chuckle as he sat.

  The scribe scurried from the room and a hush fell over the crowd as they waited for his return.

  Certainly, the people would not accept Donovan’s lies as truth. This trial had nothing to do with Sebastian. Donovan was merely trying to draw attention from the real reason they had gathered.

  Olivia’s stomach knotted. Fortunately, the scribe quickly returned. He shuffled across the floor, then up the steps to her father and handed him the document.

  He held it in front of his face. His eyes moved over the words and his brows rose high. Sighing, he shook his head and sighed.

  Had Olivia not been sitting in front of all the people of Padrida, she would have crumbled to the floor. The man had realized the document was binding.

  Her father glanced her way, then held the parchment at the top and slowly tore it in two.

  “What are you doing?” Donovan yelled, rising to his feet.

  Alwin immediately pushed him down.

  Olivia gaped at the ripped document lying at her father’s feet.

  He aimed the scepter at Donovan. “I have dissolved the agreement, so
it will no longer be an issue. I banned you from the castle and yet in my illness you managed to worm your way back in. The queen lay in delirium when she requested that Olivia name you as suitor. My daughter chose to abide by her wishes for the sole purpose of helping her maid, Lady Rosalie.” Her father scanned the crowd. “Do you believe I would honestly allow my only daughter to wed a disreputable man like Donovan?”

  Donovan lifted slightly in his chair. “Your Majesty—”

  “I am not finished! It is common knowledge you fraternized with the Lady Justine. You bragged of it without remorse. It has also come to my attention that there has been another—one who shall come forward as a witness. I would not be astonished if there are more. If I asked those gathered here for a show of hands . . .”

  Several young women inched their hands upward. Her father motioned them down, shaking his head.

  Olivia shook her own head in disgust. How could she have been so blind to his activities?

  “With all that being said,” her father went on, “let us return to the matter at hand. Treason.”

  For the first time since they gathered in the room, Donovan scowled.

  Olivia, however, managed a smile. Never had she been prouder of her father.

  “I call as witness,” he said, staring at Donovan, “Dane. Brother of Donovan and son of the baker.”

  Donovan’s eyes widened, then he shut them and bowed his head.

  Olivia had not noticed Dane in the room. He came forward from behind another man. His head hung low and he took slow steps. No doubt, he intended to testify against his brother. Dane looked as if he wanted to crawl away and hide.

  As he passed Donovan, Donovan whispered something to him. Olivia was unable to discern any of it, but Dane cowered even farther. The remark must have been spiteful.

  Dane trudged up the steps, stood before the king, and bowed low. “Your Majesty.”

  “Stand to my right, Dane. Face the crowd, so they may hear you when you answer my questions.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” He breathed heavily and his knees knocked together.

  “Did you hear Princess Olivia’s telling of what she overheard in the orchard?”