The Price of Happiness: A Strong Woman in the Middle Ages (A Medieval Tale Book 5)

by Lina J. Potter

  Hans was so busy with the papers that he noticed the king only after he had entered the study and quickly jumped to his feet.

  “Your Majesty.”

  Edward nodded graciously. The pain in his chest was stronger, but there was no time to pay attention. He would later call the medicus or that Khangan. Why not?

  “What have you got there? Tell me.”

  Hans sighed.

  “We have letters with names and the moves of the plotters. In general, we were correct in our guesses, Your Majesty.”

  “Avesterra?”

  “Sadly, yes.”

  “What about Amalia?”

  Hans sighed again with a sad countenance. He took out a heap of papers from his bosom, which he had hidden from public sight.

  “Have a look, Your Majesty.”

  Edward extended his hand and Hans noticed his trembling fingers. The story got worse and worse; one wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. Incest, murder, conspiracy, parricide—there was little joy in what was happening.

  Edward quickly looked through the papers.

  “Is this pastor still alive?”

  “He is.” Hans knew it for sure. Pastor Vopler had lately been popular. As a result, a lot of churchmen flocked to him, including the one in question. It was hard to forget such a big turd.

  “Get him to Stonebug.”

  “I’ve already sent for him, Your Majesty.”

  Edward looked up.

  “Did you know what was written here?”

  “I suspected,” Hans admitted honestly.

  “Are they here?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. What is your order?”

  “Interrogate and execute, what else?”

  “Do you mean—”

  “I mean both of the Ivelens. As for Amalia… I need to talk to her.”

  “What about the children?”

  “Depending on what they know… If they know nothing of their royal descent, let them live in the monastery under watch.”

  “What about the twins?”

  “Someone has to inherit the barony, but I will think on it.”

  Hans nodded. Edward mechanically rubbed his chest.

  “Take me to Amalia.”

  The woman sat on a rough straw mat. The interrogation chamber was quite tidy. Her dress was torn, and she had a couple of bruises. However, there were no traces of rape or serious torture. Edward opened the door and entered. Hans followed him without asking for permission. He dismissed the executioners and the scribe and didn’t flinch when His Majesty flashed his eyes.

  “Your Majesty, I will leave if they chain her. Otherwise, I know everything.”

  Edward waved his hand. Damned, be the pain! This face… She is almost a copy of Jessie, only my features in place of her softness. My daughter!

  “Why! What for! What have I done to you?”

  Amalia sat up. Her eyes flashed brightly. She wasn’t going to attack the king but held herself with pride.

  “For Edmund. You killed him!”

  “Not me.”

  “My father never did anything without the royal order. I know!”

  “I didn’t give him such an order. I swear.”

  The woman took a step back and cast down her eyes. She believed him.

  “I loved him. We were married. You would have never let us—”

  “You never even asked. Why?”

  Amalia sighed. Why didn’t we? The haze of memories marred her sight.

  She remembered being a little girl and being invited to stay in the palace.

  A harsh comment from Queen Imogene had left Amalia crying in the corridor.

  “What are you crying about?”

  She remembered how a serious boy with gray eyes approached her for the first time. That boy was Edmund.

  “It’s none of your business!” retorted little Amalia.

  “Don’t cry. Do you want a lolly?”

  Amalia timidly nodded, and a large striped candy fell into her hand. Her blue eyes met his gray ones for the first time.

  “Thank you.”

  Another memory. She was twelve and Jessamine was the queen. Amalia was often invited to the palace. She walked along the corridors and looked through the halls and paintings.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Ambling around.”

  “You aren’t allowed.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you are an Earton!”

  “So what? At least I am beautiful!”

  “Who told you that nonsense?”

  “Father and mother.” Alicia never told her that, but that was an innocent lie. “Am I not beautiful?”

  “Are you an Earton?”

  “I am Amalia Earton. So what?”

  “I hate you all!” screamed the boy, leaving Amalia with a feeling that she had lost something important.

  She was fifteen. She was one of the girls who helped the queen with little tasks. Her mother, Alicia, was close to the queen and they attended court often. She passed Edmund in the corridor but pretended not to see him. She noticed how the boy with brown eyes who followed the prince looked at her admiringly but said nothing. Suddenly Amalia slipped and fell. It wasn’t deliberate, not done for attention. She slipped on some apple core and, falling, let out a short scream. Edmund returned.

  “What happened?”

  Amalia had fallen very badly on her back, and it had winded her. Edmund was the one to help her. He gave her wine and rubbed her chest to make her recover her breathing. She gradually came to her senses, and the past enmity disappeared. Edmund carefully concealed his feelings but spent time with Amalia without resentment. Very slowly, step-by-step, they were enclosed in the embrace of first youthful love.

  Peter Ivelen, Edmund’s best friend, was always by their side. He was forever the third, a loyal friend and comrade, a good reliable lad, who also looked into Amalia’s blue eyes with admiration.

  Another memory: the screams coming out of the king’s study.

  Amalia remembered hearing the exchange between the son and father.

  “Your whore—!”

  “Get out of my sight!”

  Edmund left the king’s study and headed in a random direction. Without thinking, Amalia rushed after him. The young man was sitting on a garden bench that was sheltered by thick bushes of ivy. His eyes were downcast, and his arms were hanging loose. Amalia noticed the subtle trembling of his shoulders. She slowly approached the young man and kneeled next to him.

  “Edmund?”

  “Go away! You are the same as your aunt! Whore! Prostitute!”

  Two glistening trails of tears crossed his cheeks. Impulsively, Amalia leaned forward and embraced the boy.

  “Don’t cry! I love you.”

  Edmund’s eyes flashed, but he had no time to respond. The next moment Amalia was kissing him ineptly and timidly, and Edmund had nothing else to do but to answer the kiss. That was a turning point and the start of a new life. The lovers hid their feelings from everyone but Peter, who was inseparable from Edmund. Amalia’s father took notice of the young man and thought Peter Ivelen a perfect match for his daughter.

  Amalia remained indifferent to everything around her, for she had Edmund—his shining gray eyes, the dull gold of his hair and a tender smile.

  “I thought I would always hate the Eartons.”

  “I could always cease to be an Earton.”

  “I would marry you, but right now I can’t go against the will of my father. Will you wait?”

  “I will wait.”

  “No, we shouldn’t wait. I won’t risk losing you! I won’t let it happen.”

  “Me either. It is better to die at once.”

  The next day, they went to an abandoned church, and the pastor joined their hands in marriage. The pastor was young and ambitious. He realized that Edmund would become the next king and didn’t want to miss an opportunity to side with him. Aldons always relied on kings.

  The couple was happy for a while, until
Edmund forgot his place and publicly called Jessamine a bitch. His hatred was boundless, and it spilled out from all the cracks. It couldn't be tamed.

  That time, Edward didn’t forgive his son and got seriously angry. He banished him for a year and sent him to the border. His anger would soften later, but for now, her beloved husband was leaving. They could not announce their marriage yet. Marriage against a father’s will was a serious offense. Both of them could be sent to Stonebug or Royhe—banished, executed, poisoned, and so on. After a couple of weeks of silence, she fainted.

  She was found by an old wet nurse and brought to life, only to immediately throw up.

  “You are expecting,” said the old woman in a calm voice. Amalia rose and realized that the woman was right.

  “I will have a child by my beloved!”

  “You are an unmarried girl.”

  “I am married!”

  “Well, well.”

  By Aldonai’s mercy, Peter Ivelen happened to be in the capital. Amalia rushed to him with the news and Peter replied, “It’s bad. We need to get married.”

  Amalia nearly fainted.

  “I am already married, Peter.”

  “Your marriage was a secret, Amalia. What would happen to you and Edmund if the secret came to light?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We will simply announce our marriage. I fell in love and you couldn’t refuse. We ran away and got married.”

  “What about your father?”

  “I have a man who can fake any document; he can fake our marriage certificate.”

  “No, I will try to speak to the king. If it fails—“

  “I am here for you, Amalia. I understand that you love Edmund. I also love him; he is my best friend. He is like a brother to me. I don’t hope for anything. I only want to be by your side.”

  Amalia lowered her chin.

  “I will try to speak to the king.”

  “I will be there for you. You can rely on me.”

  ***

  Amalia did try to speak to the king, but her habit of eavesdropping and spying didn’t play to her advantage. That evening, Edward got drunk with Jyce and said that he hated Edmund’s guts. Although Edmund was an heir to the throne, Edward impulsively suggested it would be cheaper to hire killers and make three new heirs to replace Edmund.

  After a good night’s sleep, those thoughts vanished without a trace. The next morning, the king didn’t even remember what he had said the previous night. His comments were a trivial complaint to a friend about his children and meant nothing. Even a goat would realize it. However, a goat is a clever, intellectual animal, not a snotty girl suffering from toxicosis—hormonal and brainless—with one hell of a problem.

  The result was more than predictable. Amalia went to Peter in utter shock. She agreed to the secret marriage and moved to his estate the next day.

  Loran Ivelen, who at that point wasn’t aware of anything, sent the naughty children to the estate, away from the scandal—just what they needed most.

  They wrote to Edmund once they got to the estate. The prince arrived, heard Amalia’s story and nodded in approval. He thanked Peter for saving his wife but said that in that case, he couldn’t immediately pronounce his marriage to Amalia. Meanwhile, he would take care of the formalities, and Amalia would remain under the guise of the Marchioness of Ivelen until Edmund found a solution. Peter had nothing left to do but agree. The situation lasted for several years. Edmund writhed like a slug in salt in his attempts to shake off numerous marriage arrangements. The issue became so acute that Edmund resolved to act.

  Jessie had died, so the father-son relationship was newly unstrained. Besides, it was easier for the son to understand his father once he was in the same situation.

  Edmund decided to speak to Jyce Earton first. He thought that if Jyce took the news well, he would speak to his father.

  Instead, Jyce was truly in shock. His brain went numb with rage. As a result, two corpses sat in the tower. Amalia simply lost all ability to feel. She died together with Edmund, and her only wish was revenge.

  There was another thing on her mind. Jess, my boy. He deserves his father’s throne. He must become the king.

  With this thought in mind, Amalia sheltered the boy from all hardship. He was growing up in a golden basket, and he realized it himself. As a rule, such an upbringing spoiled children. This happened to Jess.

  ***

  Edward listened to Amalia’s revelations with a stone-like face—and thought himself a blind fool.

  “When did Loran Ivelen find out about everything?”

  “After the birth of the third child. She is a copy of Imogene.”

  Edward had a burning in his chest. He thought that Hans was right.

  “I see. Do the children know?” He read it in the glimmering blue of her eyes.

  Yes. They know everything about their birthright and origin. The ground was swimming under Edward’s feet, but he made an inhuman effort, turned around and left.

  He had nothing else to discuss.

  She was his daughter and a madwoman at the same time. He saw it in her every movement, every gesture, and every glance.

  She was no longer a human, but a dangerous, poisonous snake. He saw only one way out.

  Hans met the king with a worried look.

  “Your Majesty?”

  “Hans, you have the arrest warrants. The Ivelens must be executed painlessly.”

  “Everyone?”

  “You can leave the twins alive. They're still too young.”

  “What about—”

  “I said—everyone. Loran, Peter, Amalia, and the three elder children. Is that clear?” The roaring set his chest on fire.

  “Your will is law, Your Majesty.”

  “And let nothing leave the walls of Stonebug, do you understand?”

  Hans silently nodded. He saw the burning fireplace. From the folds of his shirt, he took out the marriage certificate between Amalia Earton and Edmund of Ativerna. The flame burned brighter. Edward nodded in approval.

  “Stifle the conspiracy. You can do it; you have the authority. Come to me in the evening with a detailed report. Try not to make noise in the capital.”

  Hans nodded.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Edward nodded once more and went to the exit. He would still need to get to the carriage and home. Some animal instinct led him on. Like a sick and wounded animal, the king tried to hide in his hole.

  ***

  Lily was held in the palace by the bored princesses. Lily was telling the little girls about the ways of the water drop in nature. Alicia looked at this idyll and went to the king’s chamber. If the king had left in his carriage, he would order his men to leave him by the Rose Passage, the shortest way to the palace.

  It was not hard for the old palace dweller to meet with the king. She waited for him by the passage and gasped upon seeing him in person. Edward looked worse than a dead man. He made a sign to Alicia, asking her to follow him to the chamber, paying no attention to the courteous bows of the servants along the way.

  He collapsed on his bed as soon as he reached his room.

  “I am not well. Call the medicus, Alicia.”

  Alicia nodded in a frenzy and rushed on. Since she thought the court doctor a fool and a charlatan, she went to find Lilian Earton.

  “Lily, my darling.”

  “What happened?” stirred Angelina.

  Alicia dropped in a curtsey.

  “The king urgently asked to see the Countess of Earton.”

  Lily nodded, took her leave from the princesses and left the room. As soon as they were alone, Alicia grabbed Lilian’s hand and whispered wildly.

  “Call Tahir! The king is sick.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. He said he wasn’t feeling well.”

  Lily grabbed her bag—a fashion item in which she carried important things. A purse, a handkerchief, a little something, but the most important item was a sma
ll first-aid kit without which she never left the house. The kit contained several sachets with powder.

  “I will send a note to Tahir as soon as possible and meanwhile attend to the king.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Don’t argue with me. Can you lead me to him? Show me the way!”

  Lily’s tone was so commanding that Alicia obeyed. What if she could really help the king? The valet, wringing his hands by the royal chamber, did not say a word against it. The king gave an order to let the Countess of Earton pass—no one else but her. The rest should be told that he was busy with state affairs, no more, no less. They would have never let Lilian in if it weren’t for her splendid reputation at court, her friendship with the Khangan doctor, and her miraculous knowledge. Everyone had long been aware of the fact that the court doctors were not only poorly qualified but also angry at the king for his orders concerning the guilds. Lilian Earton was a safer bet. She had a good reputation.

  ***

  In ten minutes, Lily was kneeling by Edward’s bedside. His Majesty opened his eyes.

  “You?”

  “Save your voice, Your Majesty. Any unnecessary effort might harm you right now. Let me feel your pulse.”

  Most of all, Lily was afraid of it being a heart attack or a stroke. The king wasn’t a young boy, after all. If his heart suddenly failed, his family would be left with nothing but a doughnut hole. What would happen to the country? She had a word for it, but she was busy counting the pulse. The pulse was encouraging—a hundred and ten, too little for a heart attack. Any student could register such a pulse before entering an exam. It was neurological. Now she had to figure out what was hurting and not let the patient pass out in the process. Get to work, Lily said to herself. She unfastened his jacket hooks, untied all the strings and carefully undressed the patient. You can do it!

  At first, Edward tried to resist but then gave up. Does one care about formalities when one is ill? Edward suffered from physical and moral pain, and he unbuttoned himself a little. Above all, Lily behaved like a doctor with a sick patient before her. A king or a peasant, a Virman or a Khangan—all of you are equal when sat on the potty or splayed across the operation table!