A Crimson Frost

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  She watched as her father inhaled—expelled the breath slowly.

  “You are Karvana’s very heart, Monet,” he began, “the true hope of her people. In me, their king, they see power…battle…protection. In you they see hope. In you they look to their future. For this reason, and others, you must be preserved. Certainly I would have you preserved simply because I love you more than any thing or person in this world. Yet the people must know you are safe as well. They must know that Karvana will live on in you. Even if James of Rothbain should conquer Karvana’s body…the people will live with hope in knowing their royal line survives.”

  A comprehension nearly painful to endure wove through her mind and body. Monet knew then: her father feared siege of Karvana Castle—defeat. The enemy was at the very gate, and King Dacian knew it.

  “You are sending me into exile,” she said, her understanding complete.

  “Yes,” King Dacian answered. “And you will go. You will go…for you have promised obedience.”

  Of a sudden, Monet’s strength abandoned her. As tears left her eyes to travel in profusion over her cheeks, she said, “You would put me away from you and my people…ask me to do nothing in defense or to lend comfort to the kingdom?”

  “In this you will defend and comfort her, Monet. Defend and comfort her with hope.”

  Monet brushed moisture from her cheeks. How weak he must think her—Sir Broderick, the Crimson Knight who stood behind her barring the door, the Crimson Knight who stood ever at the ready to lay down his life for Karvana—as she stood before him bathing her face in tears of fear and doubt.

  She had given her father, her king, sworn obedience. She would not let the Crimson Knight think her weak, nor her father.

  “Where then do you send me, Father?” she asked.

  “I know not,” he answered.

  “What?” Monet exclaimed in a whisper. How could he not know where she was to be sent?

  “You will hear the strategy now…and you will obey your part in it, Monet.”

  “But where—”

  “You will be taken…and I will not know where you dwell. Nor will any other who remains in Karvana or the castle.”

  “Taken? By whom? And why will you not know where I am?” Panic was fast rising in her. To be taken from Karvana was loathsome enough. Yet to dwell alone, in a strange place?

  “I must not know, Monet. I, nor anyone else,” her father said. “For if I am captured…” He paused, seeming to consider his words. “I know not what means of torture the enemy employs…and though I am myself certain I would never succumb and reveal…there are alchemists known to brew such herbs and plants as to turn a man’s thoughts to gruel. Therefore, I must own no knowledge of where you will be concealed.”

  “Father…I cannot…I cannot…” Monet quivered, trembling with fear and panic.

  “Listen to me, Monet,” her father said, taking hold of her shoulders. “You will leave Karvana. You will dwell safely from it, in secret exile…until such time as King James’s attack on this kingdom is at an end. If Karvana triumphs and I survive with her…you will return. Annulment will then be granted, and I will continue to rule.”

  “Annulment?” Monet asked. Her mind was a soup of confusion and perplexity.

  Yet the king did not pause—only continued, “However, if I am taken or killed…there will be no annulment, and you will continue to battle James as Karvana’s queen…with your then true husband ruling beside you as king.”

  “Husband? You’re speaking in riddles, Father!”

  “Pray listen, Monet…for little time is given us,” he continued. “There will likewise be no annulment if Karvana falls to James. Thus, also in this will Broderick become your true husband, and you and he will live out your days unknown and in an unknown land. Even if the enemy draws too near the gate might this be your fate, Monet…for I cannot abide the risk of your being found. In all this manner will Karvana’s heart be shielded. In all this manner, Monet…you, Karvana’s heart, will be preserved.”

  Monet frowned—trembled with near apoplexy. Her mind whirled as sudden understanding washed over her.

  “You…you are forcing Sir Broderick to take me to wife,” she whispered.

  “I have given him the charge of preserving you, Monet…and he has accepted. He will wed you in name only, that you may travel with him, dwell with him for a time in utter propriety…until James is vanquished and you can return,” her father explained. “It would serve no right purpose to send you off in singular companionship with him were you not wed. Yet the marriage will not be consummated—thus, neither your freedoms nor his are full sacrificed—unless I am taken or killed or Karvana’s gates are too pressed…or she falls. Only then will he take you to true wife.”

  “This is madness, Father!” Monet whispered.

  “This is battle strategy, Monet,” the king said. “If you are removed…the enemy is weakened. He cannot capture you and thereby use you as a pawn against me and this kingdom.”

  “Thus, the Crimson Knight becomes a pawn instead,” Monet said. “For the sake of my safety…he must—”

  “If Karvana falls to James…if he triumphs…he would use you to soften the pain to the people of Karvana. Imagine…if he should vanquish me—our legions—yet stand at Karvana’s eaves with you at his side. The people, though saddened at my loss and loathing King James, would yet love you…accept you as the true queen. This would give him such a power over the people as you cannot fathom! Therefore, if you are not within his reach, he is somewhat bested…no matter the outcome of this bloody battle.”

  “I am not a fool, Father!” Monet exclaimed. “I understand the strategy…the manner in which my very existence may spur James to victory. I do understand! Yet, Father, to force the Crimson Knight to…to carry me into exile…to force him to…Father, you cannot be in earnest!” Monet cried.

  “I am in full earnest, Monet,” the king rather growled.

  “Father,” Monet pleaded in a whisper, tears trailing over her lovely cheeks, “I beg you not to do this thing to him!”

  “To him?” King Dacian asked. “To him and not to yourself?”

  “He is a knight, Father!” Monet continued, still whispering, still weeping. “A warrior! To tear him from his men and his cause…he will ever loathe me if you force him to this!” A fearful sort of desperation began to overtake her. Nothing—nothing could be more magnificent than belonging to Sir Broderick Dougray! Nothing! Ever even Monet had dreamt of it—of being his—of his belonging to her! Yet to force him to accept her—into marrying her—into a marriage from which he would derive no husbandly rights? He would indeed grow to loathe her. She thought then of his countenance when last they had met, when he had carried the gathering of parchments, when he had glared at her with such discernable distain.

  She gasped a quiet breath of understanding as the words he spoke then to her echoed in her mind. For it may needs be you sacrifice near all you know…as others of us have covenanted to do, he had said. The Crimson Knight had accepted the King’s charge to spirit her away to exile, thereby sacrificing near all he knew. And he would loathe her for it—of this she was certain.

  “He will not loathe you, Monet,” King Dacian said. But Monet would not be soothed.

  “It is different for me, Father…and well you know it is different,” she began, whispering still, “for there was never to be a choice given me—in marriage. As a princess, I have ever known I would not be given choice—that I must marry whomever you required me to marry. But he—”

  “It is true. Ever it has been known your troth would be an election…my election as king and as your father. And my election is that, in this moment at least, you wed Broderick. I do not know what the future holds for you…who will one day reign at your side as King of Karvana. Yet my requirement of you at this moment is to marry Broderick, that he may endeavor to preserve our bloodline through preservation of you…for James surely means to kill me, Monet. As surely as I am standing here before
you now…the day may come that I may not stand.”

  “Please, Father—” Monet began.

  King Dacian took Monet’s face between powerful hands.

  “James will ever seek after you, Monet. Until this war is won by Karvana, he will seek after you. Whether for advantage in strategy or advantage in ruling…he will covet you.”

  Monet frowned. The severity of her father’s gaze confounded her to silence.

  “I remind you, he may even endeavor to kill you…to simply abolish our line. Or he may plan to mingle his own blood with yours to ensure his right to Karvana’s throne…should anyone have the courage to challenge him if I am defeated.”

  “You must think me full witless, for I know all these things, Father,” Monet said. “I understand I must go…keep myself from King James’s reach. But why force Sir Broderick to marry me, Father?” she asked. “I will go wherever he leads me, Father! I will do his will! You need not force him to bind himself to me.”

  “It is needs be,” King Dacian said, “for I will not have you inhabit together without it. It would be impossible—unthinkable—to allow this without appropriate lines being met in the eyes of God.”

  “But—”

  “Broderick has accepted this charge, Monet,” the king said. “And I might remind…he accepted this charge with far less emotion and resistance than have you.”

  Monet frowned, brushing tears from her cheeks.

  “My king,” Sir Broderick spoke from behind her, “we must make haste. The time is near upon us.”

  Monet felt her limbs—her entire body—prickle with gooseflesh. The mere sound of his voice had affected her so. In her desperation to avert her father’s plan, she had forgotten he stood just behind her.

  “He is right,” King Dacian said. “We must move forward.”

  Monet gazed up into her father’s worry-worn face. There was pain in his countenance—overwhelming sadness. It was only then she recognized how very difficult it was for her father to send her away—to be without her.

  “Monet?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I will do your bidding, Father. Of course I will do what you ask. Forgive me my resistance.”

  King Dacian inhaled a deep breath—exhaled it with seeming renewed conviction.

  “Bid the others enter, Broderick,” he said.

  Monet did not turn; she could not face Sir Broderick Dougray.

  She heard the latch of her bower door loosen—heard the rustle of the friar’s robe and of footsteps. She heard her bower door close once more and looked up to her father.

  He brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs as he tenderly held her face between strong hands. He forced a smile, yet the love shown in his eyes was pure and true—and threaded through his very soul.

  “I love you, my dove,” he whispered. “One day…one day you will know how truly I love you. Though it does not seem clear to you now, one day your mind and heart will know it is true.”

  Monet nodded—begged the tears still flowing from her eyes to cease.

  “We have devised a plan, Broderick and I…a distraction. And it is not far from commencing. Thus, we must make haste, Monet. You will wed Sir Broderick here…at this moment.”

  Monet shook her head as fear washed over her once more. “But, Father…I—”

  “You will leave at once, Monet,” King Dacian said, his voice breaking with emotion. Monet began to protest, but her father’s stern expression silenced her. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her to face Friar Fleming and the others. To Friar Fleming she looked—but not to Sir Broderick. To him she could not look, for she did not wish to see the pure vexation and loathing that would be plain on his face.

  “Friar Fleming,” the king said, “you have been summoned here…and your silence has been covenanted. You will now perform the marriage of Princess Monet to Sir Broderick Dougray.”

  Had she not been so thoroughly terrified, she might have laughed at the expression of astonishment then apparent in Friar Fleming’s countenance. Still, even for his evident astonishment, Friar Fleming said, “Yes, my king.”

  “Marius, Channing, you too will witness this marriage…that it may be proved as needs be. Yet to speak of it to anyone would cost you near your life,” King Dacian said.

  Monet noted the manner in which young Channing’s bright eyes widened—even as he nodded in acceptance of the charge given him. She noted Marius did not appear in any manner awed. Rather, he smiled, as if amused by some thing he had near foreseen.

  “S-Sir Broderick,” Friar Fleming said. He gestured toward the Crimson Knight, an indication he should come forward.

  Monet looked to the Crimson Knight at last, his smoldering gaze causing her to tremble. He did not pause but stepped forthright to stand before Friar Fleming.

  “Princess?” Friar Fleming said, nodding toward Sir Broderick.

  Monet moved, stepped forward, and stood next to Sir Broderick, to his right. She could fair hear her gown quivering with the mad trembling of her body. She glanced to her father, and he nodded his assurance.

  “Broderick Nathair Dougray,” Friar Fleming began, “wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife? Wilt thou love and honor her, guard and keep her…in health, in wealth…in illness and poverty…casting off all others for sake of her alone…and keep thee unto her, and only her, forever?”

  “I will,” the Crimson Knight near growled, yet without pause.

  Monet could scarce believe she had heard his voice, yet she had, and he had given his marriage promise.

  She tried to still her mad trembling as Friar Fleming then looked to her.

  “Monet Vanya Dacianatis,” the Friar began, “wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband? Wilt thou love and honor him, guard and keep him…in health, in wealth…in illness and poverty…casting off all others for sake of him alone…and keep thee unto him, and only him, forever?”

  “I will,” she breathed. It was near done. Nearly she was wed to Sir Broderick Dougray; nearly she was in exile from Karvana and her father.

  “Clasp hands,” Friar Fleming said.

  Monet was breathless as she felt Sir Broderick’s glove and gauntlet as he took her hand. She could not keep from grasping his in return, for she was near to fainting with fear and would draw strength from whence she could.

  “Sir Broderick, repeat my words if they be your wish,” Friar Fleming said. “I, Broderick, take thee, Monet…”

  “I, Broderick, take thee, Monet.” Again the sound of his voice caused gooseflesh to prick Monet’s body and limbs.

  “To my wedded wife,” Friar Fleming continued, “to have…to hold…to own from this day for ever…for good or for bad…for wealth or for poverty…in illness or in health. Thus, hereto I covenant thee my troth.”

  “To my wedded wife,” Broderick spoke. “To have…to hold…to own from this day for ever…for good or for bad…for wealth or for poverty…in illness or in health. Thus, hereto I covenant thee my troth.”

  Friar Fleming glanced to the king. “Is there a ring?” he asked.

  “There is,” Sir Broderick answered. Monet watched, as if wandering in a dream, as Sir Broderick placed a small silver ring on her left ring finger.

  “Princess, repeat my words if they be your wish,” Friar Fleming said to Monet then. “I, Monet, take thee, Broderick, to my wedded husband.”

  Though it near sounded a whisper, Monet spoke. “I, Monet, take thee, Broderick, to my wedded husband.”

  “To have…to hold…to own from this day forever…for good or for bad…for wealth or for poverty…in illness or in health. Thus, hereto I covenant thee my troth,” the Friar said.

  “To have…to hold…to own from this day forever…for good or for bad…for wealth or for poverty…in illness or in health. Thus, hereto I covenant thee my troth,” Monet whispered.

  “Man and wife,” Friar Fleming pronounced. “Thus, it is done. Let a kiss seal it…that ye may go forth into the world as one,” the friar said.

  M
onet was still—certain the Crimson Knight would refuse their wedding kiss. Of a sudden, however, Monet was rendered breathless as Sir Broderick Dougray reached out and, with one powerful hand at the back of her head, drew her face to meet his.

  For all her trembling and fear, yet a thrilling, intoxicating ecstasy coursed through Monet’s body as the Crimson Knight’s mouth fair crushed to her own in a heated, moist, bold, driven kiss. This was a kiss far unlike the soft, careful kisses she had known with him before. This was a kiss of power—of duty that would be met—of a challenge that would be bested—and of laying claim.

  “The champion’s prize be hanged, it seems,” said King Dacian, breathing one burst of a chuckle.

  The Crimson Knight released her then, and Monet gasped for breath—near would have toppled had it not been for Channing’s steady hand at her back.

  Monet ventured a glance at Sir Broderick, yet he had turned and was striding toward Monet’s bed.

  “Thank you, Friar, Marius…and you, young Channing,” King Dacian said, affectionately disheveling Channing’s perfectly combed hair with one hand. “We will leave them now…for we none of us must know where they travel.”

  “Father?” Monet whispered.

  Her father kissed her forehead. His eyes misted with tears as he said, “Until we meet again, my love.”

  Monet shook her head—stood in confounded disbelief as her father followed Channing, Marius, and Friar Fleming out of the room.

  “You will change your fine scarlet for these peasant woman’s clothes,” the Crimson Knight said, gesturing toward a mound of clothing now lying on Monet’s bed.

  Monet turned to see Sir Broderick, in process of removing his gauntlets.

  “When you have finished, you mean?” she asked.

  “No. Now,” he commanded. “Time is short. We must be ready when the king’s planned distraction commences.”

  He removed the vambraces from his forearms as Monet stood yet astonished.

  “I will undress you myself, Princess,” he growled, “if you do not make to do so.” As he paused in removing his rerebrace, taking a step toward her, Monet gasped.