Return of the Prince_Medieval Romance

by Elise de Sallier

  As they approached the great hall, they encountered more and more people, lining the walls. Cold, disapproving eyes watched them pass, or so it seemed to Eloise. She’d been clinging to the vain hope that Destrian’s parents might choose to meet with them in private, or at least, with a minimal audience, as this was essentially a family matter. But it appeared the entire court had been convened.

  When they reached the wide double doors to the throne room, Lord Winterfold stepped forward from the sidelines, murmuring close to Destrian’s ear, “The situation has deteriorated considerably since this morning. You’d best brace yourselves.”

  “For what?” Eloise turned to Destrian in alarm. “What haven’t you told me?”

  The pain in his eyes caused tears to spring to her own, and she clutched his arm more tightly.

  “King Gorvenal is refusing allow his daughter to rule in her own right. He’s going to force her to marry before he dies, and his choice of husband could be to all our detriment.”

  “Oh, no. The poor princess.” Eloise had been relieved her happiness had not come at the expense of another’s. Rather than be hurt by his desertion, Destrian had assured her that Seraphina would benefit from it, but now that wasn’t the case.

  “I’d be more worried about your own situation,” Lord Winterfold muttered, earning a scowl from Destrian. “There’s no time to explain, but you can see for yourselves.”

  Lord Winterfold gestured to the dais at the far end of the great hall where King Cedric waited, seated upon a high-backed throne. Slightly lower thrones were positioned to either side of him for King Gorvenal, their respective wives, and both Princess Seraphina and Prince Merek. The arrangement was intimidating but not entirely unexpected. It was only as Destrian led Eloise down the central aisle that formed as the crowd parted, that the meaning behind Lord Winterfold’s warning became clear.

  Standing not six feet from the throne, wearing an extravagant blue gown and a malicious smile, stood Gloria. Millicent and Winifred, dressed in the gowns they had worn to the ball and with smug smiles of their own, stood off to the side.

  Eloise’s step faltered and Destrian’s grip on her arm tightened. “It is going to be all right,” he murmured close to her ear. “I promise.”

  She wanted to believe him, but what was left of her confidence crumbled when Mr Festerly stepped up behind Gloria, his arms folded across his massive chest, and his cold eyes narrowing.

  Chapter 20

  From Eloise’s reaction, Destrian assumed the mature-aged woman in the blue gown was Sir Charles’ widow. He could appreciate his new wife’s concern, as she had suffered greatly at the hands of her stepmother and was ill-prepared for her presence. So was Destrian, not that he minded. He wouldn’t have chosen such a public venue, but he was looking forward to seeing the woman brought to justice. Although his priority was making sure Eloise knew she was safe and that her stepmother could never harm her again.

  Limited by the setting, he murmured an assurance in Eloise’s ear in hopes of allaying her fears. Beautiful, as ever, in her sapphire blue gown, she graced him with a tremulous smile. Then raising her chin, she turned to face forward. Ignoring their unwelcome audience, Destrian allowed his gaze to linger on his bride, as admiration for her bravery strengthened his own resolve.

  Come what may, he would never regret making her his.

  Then Eloise flinched, her rose-tinged cheeks paling to alabaster, and Destrian jerked his head to the front in search of the cause of her distress. Spying the brute who had come close to claiming her for his own, he pulled Eloise against his side. Her stepmother’s presence he could somewhat understand, but what the hell was Festerly doing here? He was supposed to be imprisoned, not standing with his father’s most trusted advisors, an arrogant tilt to his bulldog jaw.

  “We couldn’t keep holding him.” Coming alongside, Justin answered Destrian’s unspoken question. “He has not broken any laws, as Lady Sommerville had given her blessing to the marriage.”

  “What of Rulf?” Destrian searched the sea of faces as they slowly advanced. “Tell me he is still imprisoned.”

  Justin shrugged and glanced to where Destrian’s betrayer, wounded but clearly defiant, stood shoulder to shoulder with other members of Cedric’s trusted inner circle.

  It was Destrian’s turn for his steps to falter, as he tried to fathom what was going on. “How could my father approve his release? He abducted Eloise and tried to kill me!”

  A grimace of distaste twisted Justin’s lip. “Technically, you attacked him first. He merely acted in self-defence at the church, and prior to that, in yours and Varianda’s best interests. Or that’s the story being spun.”

  Eloise’s grip on Destrian’s arm tightened, and his protective instincts, already on high alert, roared fully to life. His right hand reached for his sword, forming a fist when it came up empty. Bearing arms to an audience with his father would have been unprecedented, but he sorely regretted the lack of a weapon. Something was wrong . . . very wrong. He had expected an argument, that fast talking would be required to convince his father that his actions, while hasty, had not been rash and that the political situation was still salvageable. Now Destrian feared he would have a fight on his hands just to be able to leave the way he had arrived . . . with Eloise at his side.

  Turning to face her, he waited until she met his gaze. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, raising her hand to his mouth for a brief kiss. “No matter what happens, we shall get through this together.”

  “Together.” She gave him a shaky nod, her eyes sparking with determination.

  Destrian smiled in return. His new wife was so courageous, so lovely, and so help anyone who tried to separate them.

  As they approached the dais, Destrian saw the disapproving expression on his father’s face, and pride in his beloved was displaced by the resentment that had been simmering within him for some time. He had done whatever was required of him, given everything to prove his worth, and yet it never seemed enough. Despite his brother’s recklessness, there were times Destrian suspected his father would have preferred his charismatic sibling was the heir. There were definitely those who questioned whether Destrian was strong enough to lead, to hold to his convictions and go after what he wanted, taking it, by force, if necessary.

  He may have chosen a hell of a time to stand up for himself, but this response was uncalled for. His frustration at the years of subtle insult boiled over into outright fury. It was obvious a plot had been woven against him, and he was determined to discover whatever lies fed the smug assurance emanating from his accusers. But his greatest anger was reserved for his father. He should have given him the benefit of the doubt, meeting with Destrian and Eloise in private to discuss what was, primarily, a family matter, not demanding they appear before a veritable inquisition. How he thought this farce could end in anything less than a circus was beyond him, and he could only imagine his father had been poorly advised . . . by Rulf?

  Destrian had never killed a man in cold blood, and he had thought he was doing the right thing leaving his previously trusted mentor alive. He had wanted to get to the bottom of what he suspected was a far-reaching conspiracy, but he had overlooked how convincing—and underestimated how devious—Rulf could be.

  Halting in the empty space before the dais, Destrian eyed his father boldly before looking to his mother. A born peacemaker, she hated conflict and looked close to tears. Her efforts to convince her husband to be merciful were usually expended on her youngest son’s behalf, not her eldest, Destrian not having needed her intercession since he was a boy. Uncomfortable at causing his mother distress, he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring look. Her face crumpled, tears spilling over onto her cheeks, and Destrian’s gut clenched.

  What the hell was going on?

  King Gorvenal, his complexion mottled and tinged with grey, glowered at Eloise before turning his attention to Destrian. His fists clenching repeatedly, the aged monarch appeared ready to take Destrian on single-han
ded, despite the fact he had only just inched back from death’s door and looked as if he could cross the threshold at any moment. His wife, Queen Deirdre, barely spared Destrian a glance, her fretful focus on her husband.

  Seraphina, impossible to read as ever, could have been at an afternoon tea party for all the emotion showing on her face, while Merek—bloody Merek—looked amused.

  “Father, Mother, Your Royal Highnesses.” Despite his roiling emotions, Destrian made a respectful bow. “May I introduce my wife, Eloise?” Releasing his arm, Eloise curtsied, the skirt of her gown spreading around her as she swept low. As soon as she stood, she reached for his hand, and he grasped it gladly. “Eloise’s father was Sir Charles Sommerville, a courtier banished from Althelos’s court for his staunch support of your more temperate views.” Destrian hoped the pointed reminder would encourage his father not to emulate the despot he had recently replaced, but he looked unimpressed.

  “I have been made aware of the girl’s identity by her legal guardian, Sir Charles’ widow, but I question the assertion Eloise is your wife . . . regardless of whatever antics the two of you have been engaged in.”

  Eloise’s soft cry was all but drowned out by the murmurs of the crowd, and Destrian gave her hand a squeeze. Refusing to be cowed by his father’s provocation, he raised his voice, so all would hear. “We were wed before the altar at the church in the village of Hallewell. Our vows were consecrated by the priest, a Father Benedict. I am sure he will vouch for us.”

  His father’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t doubt a ceremony was performed, merely its legitimacy. The girl was not free to marry, as she was promised to another.”

  “A brute who paid for the privilege, so he could use her father’s connections to gain access to your court.” Destrian drew in a harsh breath, struggling to maintain a civil tone. “Her so-called betrothed cares not one whit for Eloise, and she had no desire to wed the man.”

  His father flicked his fingers in a dismissive wave. “Permission was granted by her stepmother, and the banns were read. You should have spoken up if you objected, before the ceremony, not that you would have had just cause. Neither party are related or had been previously wed, though I suppose you could have made a case for the girl’s lack of purity.”

  His father’s words hit Destrian like a fist to his gut. “You have no grounds for making such an accusation. My wife was a virgin when she wed.”

  “So you say, and if that is the case, she has my apology. But since I doubt she is any longer, the outcome is much the same. You had no right to take her to your bed, as she was promised to another. A fact you were well aware of, since you broke up the wedding! If you think being my son means you can ride roughshod over those of a lower station, you are no better than my predecessor.”

  Gasps and murmurs sounded all around the throne room at the insult, but in contrast to the shocked reaction of the crowd, Destrian felt a wave of calm settle over him. His father thought he was behaving like Althelos . . . arrogant, self-serving. His sense of justice had been offended, but only because he wasn’t aware of the truth.

  “Would it help to know that upon her father’s death, Eloise, a mere child at the time, was forced to work as the lowliest servant in her family home? Or that the woman in whom her father entrusted his daughter’s care treated her with utter contempt, abusing her daily for years on end?”

  Eloise ducked her head, not that Destrian blamed her. Her reputation had been maligned, and now her painful, private business was being discussed in open forum. He wished he could stop to comfort her, but fighting for their future took precedence. “Irrespective of my feelings. I was planning to see Eloise’s so-called guardian brought to justice.”

  His father rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, based on the lies the girl told you.”

  “Lies?” Destrian pointed at Eloise’s stepmother. Bitterness had etched harsh lines around her mouth, but she was still an attractive woman. It wasn’t difficult to see how Sir Charles might have been taken in by her deceitful charms—just as his father was, apparently. “The only liar here is my wife’s stepmother.”

  “I doubt that. According to Lady Sommerville, Eloise was a troubled child, prone to fits of rage, spoiled, disobedient. Lying to get her own way seems rather in keeping with her poor character.”

  Eloise made a whimpering sound, but when Destrian opened his mouth to defend her, his father cut him off.

  “In recent years, the girl has taken to running away, going unchaperoned—”

  “Unprotected, you mean!” Destrian took a step forward, barely able to contain his rage. “Braving dangers that few men would willingly face, armed and in company, she was forced to go out in the forest, alone, to forage for herbs and the like. All so that she could make money for this greedy, heartless woman who cares nought for her stepdaughter’s safety!”

  “Enough, Destrian! You will show respect for the Widow Sommerville.”

  Destrian shook his head, not caring one iota for Eloise’s stepmother, who was holding a hand to her forehead as if to ward off a faint.

  “I stand by my accusations.” He ground the words between his teeth. “The woman is a bully and a liar and deserves to be punished . . . severely.”

  “It is Eloise who deserves to be punished for playing the harlot!” Lady Sommerville’s strident voice rose above the murmuring of the crowd. When silence had been restored, Destrian expected his father to admonish the woman, but he joined in on the denunciation.

  “Be reasonable, Destrian. You claim the girl was a virgin, but you would not be the first man to be tricked into believing a lie. Why do you think she was still unwed at her advanced age? With her reputation ruined, and her dowry wilfully squandered, her stepmother couldn’t find a man willing to marry her. So what if her legitimate betrothed wants to use her connections to further his business dealings? The man deserves some recompense for taking her on, especially after the way he has been treated.”

  “The way he’s been treated?” Ignoring their setting, Destrian wrapped his arm round Eloise’s shaking shoulders. He had expected to face his father’s ire over defying his wishes, but he had never imagined he would take it out on Eloise. Publicly humiliating an innocent young woman was out of character for the man he knew, and he could only assume that Gloria, with Rulf’s help, no doubt, had been very convincing. “Whatever you might have been led to believe, Eloise is the victim here. You need only question the other servants in the Sommerville household to verify her story.”

  Eloise’s stepmother made a triumphant sound, and Destrian looked to see a return of the smug smile she had worn earlier. It was mirrored on the faces of Festerly and Rulf, who had risen to stand beside them.

  “What do you take me for?” His father scowled, and the knot in Destrian’s gut twisted. “I would never make such accusations without proof. Lady Sommerville’s daughters and her senior staff have been interviewed, and they confirm her version of events. It is time you faced the truth, Destrian. The woman you think you married doesn’t exist.”

  Chapter 21

  The last time Eloise had been inside the Great Hall, she had been intimidated by her surroundings and terrified of exposure. In all other respects, attending the king’s ball had been a dream come true—albeit one she had never dared to indulge. Now, with all eyes looking upon her in judgement, and the accusations against her growing in severity, she felt like she was trapped in a nightmare. While determined to support Destrian as he accounted to his father for their actions, she hadn’t expected the king to choose such a public forum.

  Seeing the pain of his father’s betrayal in Destrian’s eyes, Eloise’s heart ached. Gloria’s vicious accusations were no less than she had expected, but the king was reputed to be a just and reasonable man. Destrian had always been loyal to his father; obedient, hard-working in his role as prince. In sharing his heart with her, he had admitted his reserved nature made fulfilling his obligations difficult at times, and that there were those amongst his father’s advisors who q
uestioned his ability to lead.

  Was this some sort of test of his character?

  If it was, Eloise questioned his father’s judgement and wondered how Destrian would recover from the insult. What she didn’t question was the king’s acceptance of Gloria’s lies, as she knew only too well how charming and manipulative her stepmother could be. In the years since her father’s death, she’d had no choice but to endure Gloria’s slights and abuse, but the time for suffering in silence was past.

  “My stepmother is lying!” Eloise’s voice shook, as she forced the words past the lump in her throat. “None of it is true. The servants only said what they did because they are afraid of her, of being punished or losing their positions.”

  “More lies!” Gloria gestured wildly. “This is the kind of thing I was telling you about, Your Highness. You cannot believe a word that comes out of the ungrateful wretch’s mouth.”

  Holding fast to the remnants of her courage, Eloise met the king’s stern gaze. “I have sold my wares in the village market for many years, Your Highness, at my stepmother’s bidding. You can ask any of the other market stall sellers, and they shall tell you that I have always done whatever she asked of me.”

  The king’s lips pursed together, as he appeared to consider Eloise’s words. When he turned his attention to Gloria, her stepmother visibly reined in her temper, resuming the false air of gentility she liked to portray.

  “You would trust the word of common folk over those of a lady?” she asked, placing a hand over her heart.

  Eloise’s hopes plummeted. She had not considered the risk to the people in the village if they spoke in her defence, in particular the danger to Ayleth. With her father’s good name restored upon King Cedric’s return, his widow’s position as a bone fide member of the court was assured. Bearing false witness against a member of the gentry or nobility was a hanging offence, a threat Gloria wouldn’t hesitate to pursue in order to silence any opposition.