by Elise Marion
“It’s beautiful,” he said, removing it from its golden scabbard and standing to inspect it in the firelight. “Well made, perfectly balanced. It’s the finest sword I’ve ever owned.”
“The original sword of the Kings of Barony was lost,” she explained. “I wanted you to have an heirloom, one that could be passed down to the next generation and the next. This will be the new sword of the kings.”
Serge re-sheathed the blade and set it on the bed before crushing her against him. His lips brushed her forehead as he held her close, seeming reluctant to let her go.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion as he buried his face in her hair. “I’ve never received a finer gift, and will cherish it always.”
He released her before gesturing for her to sit so he could place her gifts in her lap. “I was going to get you jewelry, but after your time in Gladstone I thought these would be far more suitable.”
The first gift turned out to be a dagger with a jeweled hilt. Isabelle fingered the precious gems. Newly forged just like his sword, it was made with a delicate-looking silver hilt embedded with moonstones. The blade given to her by Ava had been efficient, but had nothing on this one with its deadly beauty.
“I love it,” she said, running her finger lightly over the sharp edge.
“I thought you would,” he said. “I chose the moonstones, because … well, they reminded me of your eyes. So, in a way I did still get you gems.”
She giggled and slipped the dagger back into its silver, filigreed sheath before taking up the second parcel. Serge’s gaze remained on her as she tore it open and lifted a worn, slender book from the wrapping and turned it over in her hands. She ran her finger over the words on the cover and read aloud: “The Ballad of Hua Mulan.”
Serge opened the volume to the first of only a few pages. “It belonged to your father.”
Isabelle’s eyes filled with tears as she read her father’s name across the top, written in his own hand. She ran her fingers over the signature, tracing every letter with care.
“Where did you find this?” she asked as she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“A few days before I left, I was in the library and happened across a collection of books from China. I remembered Primus telling me that your father was fascinated with the foreign land and its culture and took many journeys there. Your mother even came along once, and they returned with trunks filled with ivory and jade, rugs, tapestries, art, and books. Many of the ones I found were written in the original Chinese … but a few are translations. I read this one, and forgot about it completely until we returned, and I thought of your training … I knew it would be of interest to you.”
Isabelle sniffled and turned the page, reading the large, hand-printed words aloud.
“They ask Daughter who is in her thought
They ask Daughter who is on her memory
No one is in Daughter’s thought
No one is on Daughter’s memory
Last night I saw the army notices
The Khan is calling for a great force
The army register is in twelve scrolls
And every scroll has Father’s name
Father has no adult son
Mulan has no older brother
Wish to buy a saddle and horse
And serve in Father’s place.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said as she turned to face him, closing the book and clutching it to her chest. “Thank you.”
Serge stroked her cheek, wiping away a tear before kissing her forehead. “I won’t pretend to understand why you chose to train with the women’s regiment. But, I respect your decision and am proud of you for following through with it until the end. I don’t like the idea of you fighting or being put in danger … but as long as you will promise me not to rush headlong into such danger needlessly, I will not try to stop you from doing what you think is right.”
“I promise,” she assured him. “It was never about proving anything, or spiting you, Serge. I need you to know that. I just wanted to be a part of something … something of my own choosing, that would help me to feel strong instead of weak.”
“And do you … feel strong, that is?” he asked.
She smiled at him, setting the book aside. “More than I ever have.”
Kissing her one last time, he then rose to his feet “Good. Now, what do you say we go down to breakfast? We have quite a day ahead of us, and I am starving. Everyone else ought to be stirring soon.”
Isabelle nodded and left the bed, taking her gifts with her as she went through the connecting door to her bedroom.
“I will send for Gayle so I can dress, and meet you back here when I’m done,” she said before closing the door behind her.
She placed her gifts on the bed before kneeling to pull her heavy trunk from underneath it. She’d send for Gayle in a moment, but needed to accomplish one last thing before she could get on with Christmas Day.
Isabelle had shoved her chest full of Lionus’ mementos under the bed after the day Serge had caught her crying over them. Now, she lifted the lid and removed the contents before moving toward the fireplace. It had already been lit, a servant coming to accomplish the task while she’d been in Serge’s chamber.
She stood staring into the flames, clutching the nightgown from their wedding night against her chest. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, her fingers caressed the white silk. In her mind, she saw Lionus’ face as he laid her on the bed, his eyes filled with understanding at her nervousness, his touch feather-light as he loosened the ribbon at her chest. Isabelle fought down tears as the nightgown slipped through her fingers and into the fire.
She turned to retrieve his cravat and one of his monogrammed handkerchiefs. Pressing them both to her nose, she inhaled before releasing them to the flames as well. One by one, every reminder of Lionus she had fell into the hearth until Isabelle was left with only the miniature, which she would always cherish. It was the final physical reminder of him that she would keep, as everything else she needed was already embedded deep within her soul.
When the last bits of his handkerchief had flaked away to ash, she turned from the fireplace and closed the lid on the trunk before pulling the bell cord to ring for Gayle. She wiped at her tears for the last time and sank onto the bed to wait for the maid.
“Good-bye Lionus,” she whispered.
Chapter 18
The morning passed with festive cheer. After breakfast, Serge and Isabelle met the rest of their family in a drawing room where a Christmas tree had been erected. Smaller than the massive creation that graced the main hall, this tree was meant only for them.
He watched his wife orchestrate the passing out of gifts. She was lovely in burgundy velvet with the Guthrie family rubies adorning her neck and ears. The top half of her golden hair had been pinned back from her face, held in place by matching ruby combs. A stunning brooch given to her by Damien and Esmeralda sparkled at her breast. Her face glowed with happiness, and Serge found her enthusiasm infectious. Where before he had dreaded this day, he now found it to be the happiest since they’d wed—their very first Christmas together.
Her time in Gladstone had changed her and despite his earlier reservations, he could see that it was for the better. She seemed lighter somehow, freer. There was a new confidence in her movements, a grace and a quiet power befitting a queen.
After the gifts had been opened, Isabelle informed them that she had planned a variety of entertainments for the family as well as their guests. There were sleigh rides on the sloping grounds outside the castle walls, followed by an impromptu snowball fight amongst the children. He and Damien had even joined in, laughing along with the little ones of both the lords and ladies of the court, and those of ordinary citizens. Then, they all filed back into the castle covered in flakes of snow with reddened cheeks, to find tea was being served along with a spread of baked confections—cakes and biscuits, warm gingerbread, and scones dolloped with jam and
cream.
Afterward, they were all herded into the ballroom, where rows of chairs had been arranged facing an erected dais. A troupe of actors had been hired to perform, the spectacle planned as the highlight of the day before the Christmas feast.
The spectacle had just gotten underway when a footman came searching for him, giving no thought to the performance as he rushed down the center aisle to find him seated up front with Isabelle.
“Your Highness, you must come now,” he whispered. “It is quite urgent.”
The gravity in the man’s tone got Serge to his feet, and Isabelle—wearing an expression of concern—followed. Once in the privacy of the corridor just outside the ballroom, they turned to face the servant.
“What is it?” he asked.
“A messenger has just arrived with news that Gladstone is under attack.”
Isabelle gasped, turning her face up to him, her eyes gone wide. He put an arm around her and squeezed, trying to keep her calm as his own heart began to gallop.
“How long ago?”
“This morning, and he says he was dispatched right away to deliver the news. The women’s regiment are holding their own, but they are vastly outnumbered.”
Isabelle stiffened in his arms. He knew she must be concerned for her friends, and the villagers who had elected to spend Christmas at home. They would be helpless against the fierce rebels if the women’s regiment fell. He released her from his hold and started off toward the main hall with Isabelle and the footman on his heels.
“Where is Lord Burnham?”
“No one has seen him all day, Your Highness,” the footman answered. “I knew you would have need of him, so I took the liberty of going to his chambers before I came in search of you. He was not there.”
“When I actually need the idiot, he is nowhere to be found,” he muttered as they entered the main hall. He turned back to the footman. “Return to the ballroom. Calmly and quietly pull King Damien aside, and tell him what has happened. Tell him to find General Adams and General Stombol, then gather as many soldiers from the barracks as possible on such short notice—I need them armed and prepared to ride out immediately. Remember not to allow your emotions to show upon your face. There are hundreds of people in there with their families and I do not want them flying into a panic. Many are from Gladstone and they would worry for their homes and friends who stayed behind.”
“At once, Your Highness.”
With a quick bow, the footman disappeared back down the hall at a near run.
Isabelle grasped his arm, steely determination flashing in her eyes. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, you are not,” he argued. “You will remain here with your bodyguards, Mudiwa, Ava, and Hanako to protect you.”
“I do not need protection,” she countered, her hold on his biceps tightening. “I am more than capable of looking after myself. Hanako, Mudiwa, Ava, and I can only be of value to you and your men. Let us help you.”
He turned and grasped her shoulders, holding her tight. Pulling her close, he lowered his head toward her ear. To anyone coming down the corridor it would appear as if he’d pulled her in for a kiss.
“Listen to me, Isabelle,” he whispered. “You are needed here. If the villagers find out what has happened, they will be distraught. I will need you to keep them calm and occupied while my men and I ride out to Gladstone. That is how you can help. Will you do that for me?”
Not to mention, having her at his side would be distracting. Worrying that she could be hurt or killed would occupy his every thought, and the people of Gladstone needed him at his best.
Isabelle sighed, looking as if she wanted to fight him on this. But, she simply nodded, her shoulders sagging as she moved into grace his lips with a swift kiss.
“Be careful,” she said before returning to the ballroom.
Serge watched her retreating form until she had disappeared through the double doors. When she was out of sight, he turned and ran for the armory as fast as his feet could carry him.
* * *
Isabelle watched as Damien silently gathered General Adams and General Stombol before leading them out of the ballroom. The theatrical performance continued, and while all the children remained engrossed in the comedic spectacle, many of the adults began to notice that something was amiss. The absence of both kings as well as the generals spoke louder than any words could have. As Serge had predicted, many were already on edge. Mudiwa appeared at her side as Damien and the two generals disappeared from the ballroom. Her shrewd gaze had missed nothing.
“What is happening?” she whispered.
“Gladstone is under attack,” Isabelle replied, leaning close and lowering her voice.
Mudiwa sucked in a sharp breath, one hand clenching at her side in a visceral reaction. “We must go to them.”
She shook her head, gaze darting about the room as she kept watch over the people in her care. With Serge gone, she was now responsible for them all—a duty that became more daunting as she began to realized how swiftly panic could spread.
“King Serge has ordered us to remain here, along with my bodyguards. He and his men, along with King Damien, General Adams, and General Stombol, are riding out to Gladstone now. He has charged us with keeping the people calm and occupied while they are gone.”
Mudiwa seemed reluctant to follow such orders, but nodded her agreement anyway. “Then that is what we will do. How can I help?”
“Inform Ava and Hanako … keep your eyes on our guests and ensure they are kept happy and distracted. If anyone asks what is going on, inform them that the kings and generals have simply ridden out to ensure we can continue celebrating safely. Give no details beyond that until I say otherwise.”
“Right away, Your Highness,” Mudiwa replied before setting off toward their friends, who stood watching and waiting from the other side of the ballroom.
Vernon then appeared at her side, now wearing his sword belt. Opening his coat, he showed her the knives he’d armed himself with before hiding them away again.
“We have our instructions from His Highness,” he said. “I am not leaving your side until the threat has passed, and the others are prepared to do what they must should it come to that.”
“Good,” she replied. “My hope is that everyone will remain calm and the situation in Gladstone will be resolved quickly. Perhaps it is not as bad as we think, and our Christmas can continue without further incident.”
Even as she said the words, the heavy weight of apprehension settled in her stomach. A tremor of some unnamed fear traveled down her spine, and bile rose in the back of her throat.
This day, which had started off so happily, was quickly spiraling toward something devastating; she could feel it in her bones.
* * *
An hour later, the performance had ended and no word had arrived from her husband. The ride to Gladstone would take another hour or two, at least, which meant she must find some other way to occupy them. She had gone up onto the dais once the actors had cleared it, informing them all that the planned Christmas dinner was not quite yet ready, so they would entertain themselves until it was.
She had just organized a game of charades when another footman came running into the ballroom. Her stomach clenched and trembled, the dread she’d managed to calm now coming back over her in a rush.
The servant ran to Vernon and the two whispered in hushed tones. Annoyed that she was being ignored in favor of Vernon when something important was obviously happening, she made her way toward them on swift feet. The footman fell silent as she approached. Vernon’s face was white as a sheet, his expression grim as he turned to face her.
“Gather your women and the other bodyguards, and meet me in the corridor,” he whispered.
Fighting down panic, Isabelle did as he asked, her heart pounding and her palms breaking out into a sweat.
Once free of the ballroom, Vernon spoke up again. “Lord Burnham has just arrived. He claims to have news of a rebel plan to attack
Guthrie Hall. Apparently, the assault on Gladstone was only a diversion.”
Isabelle pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle the panicked cry that had risen in her throat. She forced herself to take a deep breath and think. Serge had left, taking a large chunk of their fighting force with him. If Primus could be believed, they had been crippled by such an act. Or, at least the rebels had counted upon them being crippled. But, Isabelle was here, and she had Ava and the others at her side. The barracks still housed hundreds of soldiers, and there were other able-bodied men within the castle who could take up arms if need be.
Bolstered by this knowledge, squared her shoulders and took command.
“Vernon, take Francis, Thomas, and Nicholas … find as many able-bodied footman as you can. Find every stable boy, every groom, any man with a strong back, and take them to the armory. Gather every weapon and piece of armor you can lay hands upon, and bring them to the ballroom.”
The bodyguards raced off without hesitation to do her bidding. She then turned to Mudiwa, Hanako, and Ava.
“Gather your weapons and put on your armor. Find my chambers and bring mine to me as well.”
“What is your plan, Your Highness?” Ava asked. “What will we do?”
“We will defend this castle until our king returns. We will fight, and we will pray.”
“We are with you,” Ava declared, before dashing off down the corridor with Hanako and Mudiwa on her heels.
As they went, Primus approached from the other direction, his strides long and swift, his battered face set with determination.
He went down to one knee before her, his head lowered. “Your Majesty … forgive me for not being here, but had I not taken my leave when I did I never would have gotten wind of the attack.”
“Rise,” she commanded him. “Where have you been, and how do you know the rebels are coming?”