Alas, I’m painfully human, she reminded herself.
She saw a sealed carriage, accompanied by guards armed to the teeth, roll through another group of guards, who carefully inspected the carriage. During the previous weeks, Ressa had been able to identify the carriage as the one that brought in Cavel’s treasures. All she’d been doing since the discovery was looking for a break in the guards’ routine. They were, indeed, very rigorous in carrying out their duties. And then there was the issue of the two-headed wolves. If a way presented itself, the wolves would dead-end it.
Ressa sighed and shut her eyes, trying to hold in the tears. Her chest hurt badly. Her mission to rescue her father was slipping quickly out of her fingers. It was only two days to the blue spring moon. Two days to her wedding with Cavel. And two days to the ultimatum Slade Storm had given her.
If a seer had told Ressa that she would one day find herself in this kind of situation, she would have doubted the potency of their powers. But here she was. Five weeks was almost gone, and she was nowhere near to upholding her side of the bargain.
“Oh, what am I going to do?” she wondered aloud.
She peered through the spyglass again and spotted a group of women, Cavel’s mistresses being snuck out the gate at the back of the castle. Most of them were women she’d met the night she met Cavel. She’d made an opportunity out of the king’s favor and pleaded severally for their release.
“They can be reformed,” she’d pleaded.
The king had smiled weakly.
“My girl, you’ll learn soon enough that not everybody can be changed,” he replied.
However, he had them released.
Looking at them now, Ressa couldn’t help noticing how right the king had been. The same group of women, who had barely escaped the king’s wrath, were risking it … again.
Some people will never change, Ressa thought.
As the women hurried out towards the waiting carriage, the upper part of their busts, revealed by the low cut neckline of their dresses, trembled. They smiled through the faded make-up on their faces. Why shouldn’t they? They’d just had an immensely pleasurable night. Ressa felt a spike of pain inside her.
Is this what my life is going to be like if I fail? she wailed internally. Living a lie of a marriage while I’m surrounded by whores?
A cloud of sadness descended on her; at the same time, the spike of pain inside her intensified. And then it dawned on her. She was jealous.
Ressa didn’t need a book or hearsay from the servants in the castle. She knew the man she was getting married to; his lecherous way of life at least. She had witnessed it firsthand. That, in itself, was all the reason why she shouldn’t have been susceptible to feelings and emotions like hurt and jealousy over his affairs with women. But she couldn’t help the fluttering in her stomach whenever he was around her. His handsome features, his charm, and his smile always possessed the power to drag her in, head over heels.
As if to rub salt into her injury, Cavel, gorgeous as ever, walked out towards the mistresses. Ressa saw him smile amiably, and she felt a twisting sensation in the depths of her stomach. Cavel’s hands patted their backsides before pushing them into the carriage. From there it was a one-way ride to their homes at the slums. The same slums he created with his heavy taxes. It was only a matter of daytime before they were back again at night.
It struck Ressa that King Alvert ought to be made aware of the changes Cavel had made to his kingdom. Cavel had, within a very short time, soiled centuries of hard work, of love and devotion to the throne, of the throne’s providence to the people. Sometimes, while they talked, Ressa could feel the words in her throat, but then she would look at the king: Bald, full gray beard, fragile, like sun-dried bone—courtesy of his ascension through the rungs of time and age and his ailing health. Both of them had grown fond of each other during the weeks that led from her selection as Cavel’s bride to now. Very often, when the old man took his mandatory walk, usually in the evenings, Ressa would accompany him by his side, while a duo of nurses followed a few feet behind them. She found the king very excellent at conversations. They would talk about a variety of things, joke, and laugh.
“You know, you’ll make a good queen,” he’d often compliment. “You remind me of my late wife Alaura, full of spirit and passion for life.”
Ressa would laugh, and Willum would feel a flush of amusement and awe at the sound of her laughter.
“Have I ever told you how pleasant your laughter is to the ears? That you laugh from your depths?” he would ask.
“Only every time I laugh, my king,” Ressa would reply, and then he would smile.
“You know, I’ve sometimes wished I had a daughter,” the king often said to her. “I know Cavel is … well … he has his problems, but I’m glad you’re going to be queen. You will be the daughter I never had before, you know, this old man joins his ancestors.”
Ressa very often found herself looking forward to these times when she would walk and talk with the king. His infectious mirth did help relieve her mind from the daunting and frustrating dead-ends she encountered in the course of achieving her mission.
She didn’t want to do anything that would hurt the old king and cause further irritation to whatever pain he was feeling.
Still, Ressa knew that she had to steal the Red Diamond. She could not forsake that. Not for anything. Not even under an enchantment. She also knew that after having stolen the diamond, she would have to leave the kingdom and, in doing so, would leave the king heartbroken. The thought always filled her with pain, so she’d taken to placing it in the depths of her mind where its hurt would have very little effect.
Tired of spying on Cavel, Ressa let the spyglass drop to the grass by her side and turned away from the scene. She raised her face towards the soft infant light of the rising sun then sighed. The feelings of anger and jealousy towards Cavel were still there, and they were rapidly spreading. She hated that he made her feel these things. She hated his good looks, his charms, and how he flaunted them unabashedly, knowing very well that they would earn him the hearts of many a woman. Ressa hated that she wanted him. The man who cared only for the people of wealth and nothing for the rest, plunging them into absolute poverty. The man who had her father arrested and sold off to the treacherous sea pirate Captain Slade Storm.
Using the anger she felt, she wiped away thoughts that contained her desire for Cavel. Rolling to her stomach, she picked up her spyglass to resume examining the security routine around her goal.
He’s a job. Nothing more than that, she told herself.
As she put the spyglass back to her eye, she was struck by the futility of only having just convinced herself. Cavel was still there, with the mistresses in the carriage. The sight of him with them caused a blade of pain to nick Ressa’s heart.
Disgusted by Cavel and his farewell smooch, Ressa dropped the spyglass and rolled onto her back.
I’ll just look away long enough to let the mistresses depart, she thought.
As she looked skywards, her attention was brought to a group of colorful birds flitting through the overhanging branches of the trees around her. They chirped at each other as they flitted, and for a moment Ressa felt a spurt of joy.
What could they possibly be talking about? she asked herself. They could be exchanging greetings perhaps or talking about the large human lying below them in the grass. Whatever it is, they’re happy.
After a few seconds, the birds flew away. And the hands of sadness quickly laid their claim on Ressa’s heart. The sadness she felt was catalyzed by the way the birds flew off. The freedom. Something that Ressa did not have. Something that her father did not have. She wanted them both to be free and happy. Just like those birds. She was deep in a complicated situation at the moment, but she knew that if she could pull this off, she would know happiness again. All she had to do was find a way to get to the Red Diamond.
There was also the issue of these feelings Cavel made her feel. They frightened
Ressa, made her fear that she would have to forgo her mission if she kept on indulging them.
She picked up the spyglass and, when she peered through, cussed furiously.
While she had been taking a breather, waiting for Cavel and his carriage of mistresses to depart, the carriage carrying the treasure had gone. Already safe within the treasure room. The gate was closed. She’d missed the window she’d been waiting to find.
Ressa sat up from the grass; then she opened her satchel and dropped the spyglass in. She stood to her feet and dusted her dress of particles of grass and whatever little grass-home insects had decided to find a new habitat in the folds of her skirt.
The sun was fully out of the horizon by now, a full disc of primordial golden light filling the blue of the sky with radiance. The castle would very well be coming to life by now. It was around this hour that Ressa’s morning tea was brought to her bed chamber. She had to return before her absence would be brought into public notice. Not that anyone suspected her intentions; she had seen no gestures or behaviors that would suggest so. However, it wasn’t her wish to create an unnecessary fuss.
I’m going back empty-handed yet another time, she said to herself. I’ll try a new approach tomorrow.
She combed her fingers through her free-falling hair to get rid of whatever twig or grass was stuck in there.
Ressa had come out from the company of trees and was already taking a detour that would lead her to one of the smaller gates that lined the castle walls when she froze in her tracks.
It was something she’d heard. The unmistakable sound of footsteps. And they were fast, getting louder and closer. Her heart pounded furiously. Her legs could not do more than keep her standing.
Chapter Four
Twenty-five-year-old Ezra Thorn, a second non-biological son to King Willum Alvert, cousin to Cavel, and head of the Royal Guard, grew up within the castle walls since he’d lost his parents to an unfortunate incident when he was ten. His mother was the younger sister to King Willum Alvert and his father a wealthy charismatic merchant. The cruel hands of death snapped up his mother and father in an assassination attempt during a party thrown at the palace. One moment, it was all music, food, and merriment and the next chaos as poisoned arrows, skillfully shot from an unseen crossbow, jutted out the chests of the king’s sister and her husband barely missing the king. Willum had seen the message clearly. His kingdom was about to be overthrown. War was at his door. Not wanting any more of his family to be affected by the war, he took in his sister’s only child, Ezra.
Willum raised Ezra together with his son Cavel. He gave Ezra almost all the privileges Cavel enjoyed. Cavel, being the only child and often lonely, was happy with Ezra’s company. They grew up like brothers, running through the castle halls and involving themselves in what little mischief growing children loved to involve themselves in.
However, when it was clear to Cavel that King Alvert favored Ezra more than his only son a distance began to appear between the two boys as they grew older. Thankful for his new father figure, Ezra seemed to have studied King Alvert’s ways—his generosity and kindness towards his people. Cavel, on the other hand, angry at his father, took a different path. He refused his father's ways and chose to gorge himself with the power, money, and girls that came with the title of prince.
Although he never said it out loud, King Alvert had secretly wished that Ezra was his son. He was so much like him. However, the privilege of the heir to his throne fell on Cavel.
Ezra’s skill in weaponry came to light during the training duels he would take with Cavel. He was faster, stronger, and more agile. It came as no surprise to anyone when he voiced his interest in pursuing his passion in the company of the Royal Guard.
Ezra gained fame for himself and became more endeared to the king’s heart when he was sixteen. King Alvert and his boys—Cavel and Ezra—were taking a stroll just after Ezra’s training through the castle’s western courtyard when a crossbow had whistled through the air at the king.
With his senses and reflexes already fine-tuned by training, Ezra was able to detect the odd movement from the periphery of his vision just in time to deflect the arrow with his sword. There were masked figures dressed entirely in black who tried to hide behind the piers of the aisle surrounding the courtyard.
It didn’t take as much as two heartbeats for the guards to come to the defense of their king. Ezra helped the guards to chase off the attackers.
Immensely grateful to Ezra for saving his life, King Alvert knighted him on the spot and made him the leader of the Royal Guard. The gesture earned a fiercer devotion and loyalty from Ezra.
Under the capacity of leader of the Royal Guard, Ezra watched over the king and his cousin jealously and, as such, took it upon himself to watch, with narrowed eyes, over Cavel’s bride-to-be. Apart from being a peasant from lower Markenia, Ezra knew nothing about Ressa. And that was all the cause for suspicion he needed.
He had no idea how she managed to slip past him, but it didn’t matter. She was rather sloppy, leaving too many tracks that could lead expressly to her location. So he followed them, those tracks, until they came to the surrounding hillside that gave a direct view of the back of the castle and the prince’s chambers.
What’s she doing here? he asked himself. Probably out to find some relief.
Ezra understood that life in the castle, for someone who had grown up with commoners since birth, could be a lot to take in. He considered the possibility that she had come outside to engage in an environment that had an air of familiarity, few rules, and no routine.
Ezra combed his hand through his light brown golden hair as he looked around, combing the vast expanse of trees and shrubs.
Whatever tracks she left, he thought, are lost in all this vegetation.
He’d almost turned to go when he heard the shuffling of feet. A little to his left, he saw her stand out of the covering of a group of trees. She was wearing a purple dress with sleeves that ended tapered off. He could spot the strap of a brown leather satchel running from her right shoulder down to her left hip. Her blonde hair cascaded, like water from a fountain, almost reaching the small of her back.
Got you, he thought and began to move swiftly towards her.
He saw her stop then turn back to look at him.
Ressa breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that it didn’t show on her face.
Who else could it be if not the Golden Boy? she thought with exasperation.
‘Golden Boy’ was the name she’d taken to using in reference to Ezra—in the secrecy of her mind of course—because of his seemingly golden skin, gold-brown eyes, light brown golden hair, and impressive physique. The leader of the Royal Guard never allowed her more than a fair share of alone time whenever she was out of her room.
“It’s either me watching over you quietly or a full squad of guards dogging your every step with their weapons clinking against their armor,” he had replied once when she had questioned him.
She tried to stalk off, but he was swift and soon stood in front of her, blocking her path.
“You gave me the slip,” he said.
Ressa tasted the accusation in the statement.
“And what if I did?” she retorted.
There was a moment of silence; then Ezra tried to diffuse whatever tension was building up in the air.
“Early morning stroll, huh?” he asked.
Ressa nodded.
As was required, Ezra proceeded to grill Ressa. “What could a young lady like you possibly want out here?”
“Maybe a little peace, privacy, and quiet,” Ressa said.
She found his questions boring and tiring, but she was mandated to give satisfactory replies to each of them. She was grateful she wasn’t being searched or the spyglass in her satchel would raise questions with hotter scrutiny and most definitely suspicion.
Shortly after Ressa’s selection as a bride-to-be, Cavel had visited Ezra, appointing him to watch over her.
“Now, co
usin, you know I’ve got bigger things to worry about than personally overseeing the safety of your future bride? It is your safety and your father’s safety that I worry about,” Ezra had replied when Cavel had made the offer.
“I know and I understand. But this, my dear cousin, this isn’t duty. I’m asking a favor of you, brother. Help me look after her, please. Do this as a favor for me. There’s no one else I would trust with such a big responsibility,” Cavel had entreated.
Ezra knew Cavel’s words were nothing more than desperate lies. From what he’d observed it seemed like Cavel had appointed him to babysit his bride, and take her out of his hair, while he engaged in wild trysts within the secrecy of his room.
Goaded by Cavel’s plea, Ezra had been under the impression that Ressa was a pest. However, he received a reorientation, one he harbored secretly in his heart; one he’d gotten from watching over her. He found her captivating. She had good looks and manners. She was nothing like the women Cavel regularly entertained himself with. Yet, he’d known the royal family all his life and her for just five weeks. She was still a potential threat notwithstanding, and his sole duty and responsibility were to his family, as cousin and nephew, and to the throne as captain of the Royal Guard.
Satisfied with her reply to his questions Ezra decided it was time to leave the openness of the hills and go into the safety of the castle walls.
One never knows what surprise lurks in the unprotected open, especially in these times, he thought.
He looked at Ressa and spread his lips into a smile.
“Come now, my lady, being out here all alone isn’t safe,” he said.
“Alone?” Ressa asked, the light of derision in her eyes. “Why, I’m rarely alone. Isn’t that what you’re here for?”
“I think you know why that is, my lady. So I won’t bore you with the lecture.”
Rose and Thorn: Possession of The King (Book 1) (A Collection of Roses) Page 3