ERICIA STARES OUT of the Queen’s Study at Princess May,
standing in the courtyard with a bow and arrow, demonstrating to
the trainees her masterful skills in archery. With every bull’s eye
shot, she’s applauded for her professionalism in the field. The
coaches adore her; the trainees are all talking about her; the
servants of the palace are all bewildered by her beauty and skill;
she’s everyone favourite person ever at the moment –everyone
except Prince Henry’s.
Henry is sitting at the end of the courtyard –Ericia can see him.
He’s mildly interested in the events happening before him which
have seemed to gather the attention of everyone in the
surrounding area. Henry sits with a tall glass of water brought to
him by a servant. He shakes his hand when the servant suggests
something –perhaps an umbrella, Ericia thinks, since it’s quite hot
outside.
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Ericia glances back at the beloved Princess of Lystotia. Her
brother joins her, bringing her into a hug after three claps of
amusement and a broad smile.
Ericia decides that she doesn’t quite like May. Princess May is
everything she can’t be. Princess May is doing everything she can’t
do –everything she’s not allowed to.
May, though friendly enough to Ericia, is on a level Ericia
doesn’t seem to like. She’s not as outgoing as her brother, but
outgoing nonetheless. It’s quite easy for Ericia to tell that the
Lystotian Princess is mischievous –even at the age of eighteen.
Ericia can also tell by the way May speaks that she is, in general, a
very blunt person –only, she’s not blunt to Ericia’s parents, but
mainly to individuals around her own age including her brother,
Ericia, and Prince Henry.
Since the arrival of Princess May Wright of Lystotia, Henry has
been avoiding Ericia. He’s been avoiding her entirely –even
substituting the royal dinner gatherings each evening for extra
training with specific trainees who he claims ‘need the extra
work.’
Ericia frowns. Even Rowan seems to be too caught up caring for
his sister to keep himself in interaction with her, but in the very
least, he’s not avoiding dinner –or any other meals at all.
“She is the talk of the palace and perhaps the nearest village,”
Queen Olivia says to her daughter, walking beside her to look out
at the courtyard. “I’d once wished the same of you, but having
seen what being the talk of the town looks like,” the queen turns
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to her daughter and smiles, “I’m rather grateful you’re this quiet,
Ericia.”
Ericia wants to laugh. She turns to her mother and gives her a
hug. “I do wish I was more outgoing,” she admits. “I wish I was as
brave and outspoken as her. Perhaps then it would be easier to
know what the people think of me.”
“Darling,” Queen Olivia says, looking into her daughter’s
worried face. “Not all beauty is seen. Most of it goes
unrecognised. Some things are more praised than others, but it
doesn’t make the other things any less beautiful. It doesn’t make
the other things less valuable.”
“Thanks, mum,” Ericia says, smiling.
Queen Olivia takes her daughter’s hands in hers and looks down
at them. She sees the scars where Ericia’s wrists had been bruised.
Her radiant smile slowly turns into a frown. Ericia notices that her
mother has been eyeing the bruises. She laughs nervously, pulling
her wrists away. The Queen looks at her daughter, her eyes filling
with sadness.
“It’s okay, mum,” Ericia says in a whisper. “It’s fine. Really.”
Ericia tries desperately to offer her mother a comforting,
courageous, hopeful smile, but her mother doesn’t smile back.
She sighs, looking out at the courtyard again, unable to say
anything.
***
132King Charles bursts through the doors of his study where Sir
Lancelot of the Royal Court is already waiting for him. Charles
stares at the man, walking slowly over as the guards behind him
shut the door.
“What’s this daft news about the Callie family being in the
Hyre Village, Lancelot?” asks the King.
Sir Lancelot laughs a low and somewhat subtle maniacal laugh.
“You were always in too much of a haste to enjoy things, Charles,”
he says. “Take a seat and breathe. It’s because you’re taking on too
much is why you’ve got such bad migraines these days, you
know,” he says, in quite a blunt tone.
King Charles takes his seat and stares at the court member.
“Don’t waste my time,” he says.
“Yes,” Sir Lancelot says, “well it appears the Callie family have
made it to the top of the caste system.
“That is impossible,” King Charles says. “Entirely impossible.
Their name was destroyed completelywhen I stripped them of all
their titles. There’s no way they could have reached the Hyre
Village again.”
“Ah,” Sir Lancelot says, “but they have.”
“There’s no way it could have been Olivia. She wouldn’t dare
rebel against me in that way.”
“Well, forgive me for speaking so frankly, Your Majesty, but
I’m entirely sure it was Olivia and I have the proof. You see, I’ve
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been inspecting this situation for quite some time knowing you
would react in this way when you eventually were to be informed
about it. Olivia has been sending her personal servant into the
village for a very long time. I’ve seen her about –perhaps on her
days off. Once, I’d even bumped into her, after which a letter
with the Queen’s royal seal upon it fell out of her attire and I’d
picked it up to return it to her. She was in the Navet Village in
Ballier. I suspected that all this time our dear Queen had been
helping them, but I wasn’t sure until I’d seen the Callies
themselves in the Hyre Village with my own two eyes.”
“Could it be that one of the young married into a family that
would have increased their ranks in the caste system?”
“Then why would the servant of the Queen pay them a visit
ever so often?” Sir Lancelot questions. “Besides, Charles, be
realistic. Marie Callie died years ago but I highly doubt the young
ones of the Callie family are old enough to be married yet.”
“That’s quite true... Marie was the eldest, was she not?” King
Charles considers it. There’s a pause as King Charles’ mind goes
into a frenzy over the situation. Sir Lancelot was such a man to the
King that he could have a say in anything. He could change the
King’s mind. He could pull the King’s strings. King Charles fights
an internal conflict within –anger bubbles within him at the
thought of his wife going against him in such an extreme way. He
slams his fist on the desk. “If she is behind this, there is no way I
could do anything with the alliances directly at hand. It would be
too much conflict –it may affect the alliances negatively. It may
stop them for good.”
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“Or,” Sir Lancelot says, “It could be a good turning point for
you.”
“In what way, Lancelot?” asks the King, impatient, “Get to the
point.”
“If those making the alliances with Vynier were to understand
that a wrong was made right at the very time it began to sprout,
they would be more than satisfied with moving forward with the
alliances,” says Sir Lancelot. “If you were to perhaps... provide
proof to the court that she went against you, for example.”
“That would be quite immature, Lancelot. Of course, I’m sure
the majority knows about the strip of the Callie titles and the
downgrading of the Callie name, as well as the execution of Marie
Callie, but that was many years ago. If I use that as an excuse, I’ll
be made a joke.”
“Then allow me, Your Majesty,” Sir Lancelot says, a grin
forming on his face, “to provide you with an alternative.”
Pulling a partially burnt page out of his coat pocket, Sir Lancelot
shows his proof to the King.
“If this doesn’t persuade you enough, Charles,” Sir Lancelot
says, knowingly, “Nothing will.”
King Charles stares at the paper in intrigue, his mind racing with
thoughts of evil. He takes the page from Sir Lancelot inspecting its
authenticity.
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“This is a very valuable and extreme alternative,” says King
Charles, knowing exactly what trouble the piece of paper could
cause, “but rather effective.”
“And think of it this way,” Sir Lancelot says, casually, “if this
were to take effect, Charles, both the alliances would be brought
towards you like a magnet –starting with the Phillimont alliance.
They would be more urgent to bond our kingdoms together. The
marriage alliance will also be sped up –and the honourable
princess would be too flooded with duties to have spare time
wandering around a castle or worrying about the bigger pictures.”
King Charles turns from the evidence to the man. He stares at
the court member, raising a brow. “You’re sly, Lancelot, but
really quite the wit.”
“Without you, Charles, I wouldn’t be where I am,” Sir
Lancelot says, “so what can I do besides repay you with my
services?”
“You will help me to do this,” King Charles says, waving the
paper at him.
“I will,” Sir Lancelot says, nodding. “Whenever you’re ready,
Your Majesty, say the word and it’s done.”
***
Avie walks across the courtyard holding a silver tray filled withglasses full of water for the trainees. Too caught up in the thought
of how many trips she would have to make into the palace and
back before she’s done serving everyone, she trips on a rock in her
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way –one she clearly didn’t see- and falls forward, dropping all of
the glasses and wetting her clean, cream dress.
Some of the trainees laugh as they turn back to see what caused
the sound, some servants who were beside her couldn’t help since
their hands were full.
Avie groans and passes a hand through her hair, gripping at it
and breathing heavily in frustration. She’s sweating, it’s hot, she’s
wearing an incredibly uncomfortable dress –which is now almost
entirely wet on her chest area- and she’s tired. She’s so, so tired.
A man walks towards her, extending his hand. “It’s okay,” he
says, as she takes his hand and he pulls her up to her feet. “Take
your time, Miss. Don’t get frustrated. Don’t let the workload kill
you. I’d feel terribly burdened being one of the men you had to
serve before you passed away.”
Avie focuses her brown eyes on the man. He’s tall, with caramel
skin and black hair –and, as she decides, incredibly handsome. He
has hazel eyes that are so light it’s unbelievable and before she
could stop herself she’s been staring into them for so long she’s
forgotten to speak.
“Um,” he says, laughing so silently she can’t hear it, “Miss?”
“Oh,” she says, blinking and snapping out of her daze, clearing
her throat. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I am sorry –um...” she looks
around frantically at the mess around her. “Oh dear,” she says,
“this is bad, um...” she looks at the trainee again –who she has
only now come to realise isn’t a trainee but in fact a member of
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the Phillimont army. “I’m sorry,” she says to him again, bowing
this time. “Thank you for helping me up.” She quickly bends and
retrieves all of the glasses which aren’t broken and puts them back
onto the silver tray, hurrying away. She disappears into the palace.
The Phillimont soldier laughs as he watches her retreat. He shakes
his head and returns to his position –which happened to be a
lonely little corner on a boulder in the distance, away from the
noisy trainees and the obnoxious Phillimont men.
She’s pretty, he thinks, in a rather clumsy but refreshing manner.
***
Queen Olivia closes the book, smiling as she’s just finishedreading the very last page. She gathers the layers of her skirt and
stands, Gaya moving in to help her.
“Let’s go,” says the Queen, to Gaya. “I want to rest.”
Gaya bows, following her Majesty.
When Olivia gets to the bedroom, she opens the door, enters,
and shuts it. Gaya gets to work, going over to the bathroom and
preparing the tub full of water drenched in healthy spices for the
skin. Olivia then takes a turn into the small office that the King has
in the bedroom itself. She then notices Charles sitting there,
staring at a piece of paper, his back turned to her.
“Your Majesty,” she says, bowing.
“Where is your servant?” he asks her.
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“In the bathroo-”
“-tell her to leave the room immediately,” he says, cutting her
off in a tone she can’t decipher.
Olivia retrieves Gaya and tells her to leave the room. When
Gaya leaves and Olivia shuts the door, Charles immediately
stands, dragging the chair under him backwards and stepping away
from his desk. He turns to her, raising the paper.
“What is this?” he asks her, his tone clearly building in rage.
Olivia takes a good look at the page in his hand. “A letter? I
don’t know, Charles, how could I? I’ve never seen that seal
before.”
King Charles’ brows both rise simultaneously. “Oh, you
haven’t,” he says, sarcastically, “well that’s ironic,” he says,
gaining on her, “because this is the only thing you’re going to
know for the rest of your life.”
“W-What?” Olivia asks, almost choking. “Charles... what is
that?”
By this time, Charles is directly before her, inches away. He
looks down at her, his face appearing dark as the light behind him
creates the shadow on her face.
“Why did you help them?” he asks, almost calmly. He yells into
her face with his next words. “Why would you defy me!? ”
“Ch-Charles,” she says in a whisper, swallowing a breath.
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King Charles grabs her neck in his hand and chokes her. “Were
you trying to be noble?” he asks her, lowly. He laughs a pitiful
laugh, staring at her helpless face. “Were you trying to do
something good?”
“Charles... let... me... go... pl...please...” Olivia begs,
struggling.
“When I let go of your neck,” King Charles says, his hot
breaths just over her mouth, “I let go of your life, too.”
He lets go of her and immediately yells, “Guards!” They rush in,
bowing. “Take the Queen to the cellars and lock her up. She’s
committed an act of treason.”
“Charles, please,” Olivia says, beginning to cry as the guards
hand-cuff her, “I’m innocent. I haven’t done anything wrong!”
The guards begin to pull her away, Olivia screaming, “Charles!
Your Majesty! Your Majesty! I’m innocent! I haven’t done
anything wrong!” until her crying voice disappears from his
earshot.
Charles stares at the page in his hand –it’s not the same as the
one Sir Lancelot had revealed to him before, but it’s the same red
wax seal; only reused.
***
Ericia cracks her knuckles and fans herself, determined to tryagain. She stares at the actions described and displayed as pictures
in the book, and then proceeds to copy it with her sword in her
hand.
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Suddenly, there’s banging on her door. The banging comes
once, twice, three times, before Ericia could find her voice to
speak.
“Who would dare bang on my door like that?!” she yells,
annoyed.
“Ericia,” says the voice of Prince Henry, “Open up.” He bangs
on the door again.
“He-Henry?” she asks, confused. She drops her sword on the
bed and walks over to the door. She opens it just as he was about
to bang on it again.
“What do you want, Henry? Was all that banging on the door
necessary?”
“Your mother,” he says, capturing her attention, “there’s...
something’s terribly wrong.”
Ericia becomes frozen as she stares at the Prince before her –his
face clearly overwhelmed with worry.
“Henry,” she says, lowly, “what happened?”
“May...” he asks, frantically, though he’s trying to stop himself
from saying it but decides not to, “May I come in?” he asks.
Ericia looks behind her for a moment before realising that
whatever’s going on with her mother must be more important
than thinking about inviting a prince into her room right now.
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“Come on in,” she says, clearing the entrance before allowing
him to step inside. She shuts the door.
The Prince turns to her, ignoring everything else about the
room.
“What’s going on?” Ericia asks, worried.
“Your mother,” Prince Henry says, “she’s been accused of
committing an act of treason.”
Ericia’s eyes go wide. “What?! ” She stares at the Prince. “My
mother would never do such a thing. She wouldn’t be able to...
she... she wouldn’t do that. My father must have done something.
Mum,” she says, her eyes welling up with tears, “Mum, no...”
“I was one of the first to be notified of this,” Prince Henry says,
running a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I thought someone
had already informed you, but the news is relatively new.”
Ericia moves to sit on her bed. She stares down at her feet. Her
eyes fill with tears and hear heart with fear at the thought of what
could happen to her mother. She’s overwhelmed with sadness.
Father... you did something... didn’t you? What did you do? What did
you do? “Where... is my mother?” she asks.
“What was that?” asks the Prince, as he hadn’t heard her.
“Where is she!?” Ericia yells out, standing. She begins to sob
bitterly, her eyes too wet to see the Prince at all.
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“She’s in a cellar,” Prince Henry says, his voice calm. “There is
going to be a single trial in which King Charles is determined to
end everything. He’s very upset –it’s obvious to everyone around
him.”
“I’m going to see my mother,” Ericia says, ignoring all of the
consequences that could mean for her.
“No,” Henry says, blocking her path. “Don’t.”
Ericia moves beside him, he grips her wrist and she hisses,
staring down at her hand, but he doesn’t let her go. He grips at
her tighter.
“You’re hurting me!” Ericia cries out, trying to pull away from
him.
“I’m not letting go until you swear you won’t go to your
mother. Not now,” Henry says, sternly.
“Why?” Ericia cries, sniffling, “My mother may be punished
severely –or worse yet, she may die!”
“If you go to her now your father will be angry with you, too.
And then who knows what he’ll do in that fit of rage.”
Ericia, at the mention of her father’s fits of rage, stops crying
and stares up at the Prince. “What?” she asks, softly. She’s sure he
doesn’t know about the abuse. He must not. He may just be
assuming things based on what he’s seen so far.
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“Don’t go to your mother,” Henry says –his voice is just as low
and commanding as it was the first time he had ever commanded
her to do something. “You will not go to your mother. Not now –
for your own good.”
She stares at him, crying, but her face is neutral, her cheeks are
flushed and flooded. Her eyes are red. When Henry has decided
that she’s stared at him long enough he lets go of her wrist.
Ericia backs away from him until she feels the wooden frame of
her bed behind her leg. She sits. She stares ahead, blankly, for a
very long time.
Henry sighs, sitting beside her. He doesn’t look at her.
“I thought that Rowan would have gotten to you before I did,”
Henry says. “I’m actually surprised.” His head drops as he
chuckles.
“Rowan hasn’t had a proper conversation with me since his
sister arrived,” Ericia admits, sounding as though she could care
less about that. “You have, too. I should be the one saying I’m
surprised that you actually cared to come tell me this.”
Henry turns to the Princess. “Ericia,” he says, “Are you sure
your mother wasn’t involved in any sort of activity as such?”
“My mother would never do something like that,” Ericia says,
and though she wants to cry again, she can’t bring herself to. “She
wouldn’t,” she says, shaking her head. “She just wouldn’t.”
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“Why would your father lie? He even has evidence,” Henry
says.
“I don’t know, Henry,” she says, frustrated. “I don’t know.”
“You’ll be at the trial, Ericia,” Henry tells her. “After that,
depending on what happens afterwards, we will go see your
mother – together,” he assures her.
Tears begin to pour out again as Ericia stares at the promising
Prince. He places a warm hand over the back of her wet one.
Together... she thinks, looking at him... I like that word.
Before she can finish thinking about anything else, Prince Henry
frowns, raising her hand to look at it closely.
“It’s bleeding,” he says, “Did I...” he swallows, “Did I grip your
wrist that hard?”
“No,” Ericia says, sniffling as she pulls away her hand from him
and hides the bleeding wrist under her other hand. “No, that
wasn’t your fault.”
Prince Henry doesn’t say anything else. He looks at her as she
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