The Runaway Queen
A Between Fire and Fury Prequel Novella
Shantal Sessions
Chapter 1
He looked at her the way he always did. Feral eyes narrowed, head cocked, studying her slightest movement, as if he were stalking prey. “Will you join me in my chamber tonight, My Queen?” the king asked, sipping wine from his goblet. “It’s been too long.”
Rosamund pushed her plate away and put her hands in her lap. She’d been nauseated the last few days, vomiting after meals. Looking at him from across the table, she dabbed her lips daintily with a napkin and attempted a feeble smile. She worked hard to act the part of regal queen, always trying to please him for fear of retribution, but she couldn’t, not tonight. Her face was cold and clammy to the touch, yet she felt as if she had been in the sun for hours, practicing her archery or walking through the gardens on too hot of a day.
As she stared into those bestial yellow eyes, a frightening thought struck. Like a brick falling from the battlements to the ground, almost hitting her, it startled her into sudden realization. Perhaps he was trying to kill her, ever so slowly, by putting poison into her food, a little at a time.
“I am not well, My Liege,” Rosamund said as graciously as she could. “As you know, my stomach has been unsettled as of late.” Of course, he would know. He had placed spies in her household. It was impossible not to notice the presence of new women assisting her and the disappearance of some of her trusted ladies-in-waiting, dear friends who’d come to the castle with her when she married the king.
“Yes, I had heard that,” King Colestus said, creasing his brows in mock concern, his voice smooth as silk. He continued to stare, those harsh amber eyes boring into her, fingering his long black goatee in an odd, sensual way, his gaze settling on the top of her breasts exposed by her gown. “Still, I miss you greatly.”
Rosamund took a deep breath, trying to be a well of patience, and gave him a false smile. If she weren’t so scared of him, she might’ve laughed. The endearment was nothing but a farce, a pageant of insincerity. She could not think of another person in the world who cared less for her, and he did not miss her. He was never alone in the dark hours of the night when his rapacious appetites arose. She had seen servants scurrying battered young whores down the long halls of the castle away from his bedchamber.
He just needs an heir by me, Rosamund thought callously. Colestus had admitted it to her the first time on their wedding night, as he’d forced himself upon her, his brutally honest words spilling onto her face, like his wretched seed between her legs.
Rosamund stood, but felt unsteady and placed a hand on the table to find her balance, willing herself not to faint. Bile rose in her throat, so disgusted she was by him. She swallowed hard and tried to think of a way to excuse herself gracefully without Colestus thinking that she’d rather be a million leagues away.
“I will send Lady Alimaida to you when I am ready to do your . . . bidding.”
May that be never, Rosamund fumed as she gathered her gown in her hands and began to walk out of their private dining chamber, passing him. The textured walls and velvet draperies were blood red and trimmed in gold, accentuating the amber eyes that followed her. Not a muscle twitched as Colestus sat in a mahogany, ornately carved and padded chair. There was not a space on the armrests, nor the legs of the table that didn’t boast the carving of a ferocious animal, fangs bared for the kill.
As Rosamund passed Colestus’s steward, Guerra, he muttered, “Cold, barren . . . why shouldn’t the king do away with you?” The insult, coming out of the mouth of man who fashioned himself in the image of his king, was not a surprise. She ignored him, raised her chin proudly, and walked out of the room to her ladies-in-waiting who waited in the great hall for her return. As they took the long route to her chambers, Rosamund allowed a hidden desire to swirl in her mind: she wanted to run away. She’d always been the good wife, willing to put up with whatever frightful conditions her husband forced her to live under. What choice did she have, or any woman have, for that matter, but to stay and be faithful to her vows? Colestus always had certain appetites that she had never become accustomed to, but his attitude toward her was changing. His rage, which usually simmered, at least around her, began to boil. Meaner and more aggressive with her in private, she worried that his animosity would explode in public. She hoped not. What he did to her in private was humiliating enough.
Rosamund tossed and turned in bed that night, still fighting waves of nausea. Needing fresh air, she reached over and opened the thick red curtains hanging from her canopy. Why was everything in this castle so bloody red? Colestus had ordered her bed placed in a corner of the room far from any windows, and it was often hot and stifling. Of course, that’s the way he liked it. In his chamber, he kept her uncomfortably close to a roaring blaze, a look of beatified ecstasy in his eyes as he gazed at her naked body in the firelight and the shimmer of her blood and sweat mingling as it ran down her sides.
Forcing the memories to the back of her mind, through a door she always tried to keep locked, she padded quietly to her dresser for a sip of wine and listened for Lady Alimaida’s deep breathing. Her loyal head lady-in-waiting always slept in the same room, unless the king came. Rosamund knew, even during those times, that Alimaida was right outside the door pacing, and always the first to rush to her aid.
The lavish bedchamber was befitting the Queen of Edmira. A large room with closets built into the lower half of the walls, they stored dozens of exquisite gowns and jewelry. Each closet door was made of dark wood and elaborately carved with impossibly detailed chiseling on her four-poster bed, dresser, tables, and stools throughout the room. A chandelier made of pure gold hung in the middle of the room, always alight with candles.
Rosamund had spent many sleepless nights puzzling over Colestus’s order to keep the room lit until she studied the murals above the closets. They could not possibly induce sleep. But that, of course, was not the point. The artist had rendered horrific scenes of Colestus in various stages of battle, stabbing, hacking, chopping, and impaling his enemies. He wanted to make sure they could always be seen. Rosamund understood the message clearly, what he wanted her to remember every night. She took another sip of wine, trying to calm herself, hoping his chamberlain would not come knocking on the door. What new fetish would Colestus inflict upon her? Rosamund sighed and shook her head in resignation, cursing her parents for selling her to the king.
Before they married, Colestus had spent most of his years as a young man fighting for the throne. His claim was very distant, laughably so; most believed he should not have been fighting for it at all. His family descended from the youngest son of the revered and ancient King Alexander, Prince Roland, but this line was not considered as legitimate and was almost always under attack from stronger claimants. Colestus and his family had taken the throne by force, regardless of their more distant bloodline. To cement his grasp on the throne, Colestus needed to marry into a royal line that descended from Prince Dane, the oldest son of Alexander. By marrying a woman from the higher lineage, he could boast the beginning of a new bloodline that fused two royal families together.
After scouring the country, Colestus had chosen Rosamund for her ancestry, of course, but also for her ivory skin, thick chestnut hair, and startling light blue eyes. It was not lost upon him that the women in her family were known to be excessively fertile, producing both boys and girls aplenty. Colestus offered her family a fortune and they jumped at the chance to have their daughter singled out, but Rosamund was mortified. She had always thought she would marry Gregory, the young man from a neighborin
g manor who had always loved her, who stole kisses from her when she was a child, and who had enchanted her as a young teen.
The king, now in his forties, married Rosamund when she was fifteen. The wedding took place in the grand cathedral. At the time, she thought it was so extraordinary that it bordered on the magical. How could something so beautiful not be the harbinger of a bright future? When Colestus presented her to the people on his balcony, they roared with approval, cheered, and showered her with rose petals. Perhaps this wouldn’t mean the end of her happiness after all.
That was five years ago, before she knew the torture of his chamber, and she had not yet borne him a child.
Guerra was probably right. She was barren, and because of it, Colestus would eventually kill her and then find a wife who could give him what he needed — a proper heir. Rosamund climbed back in bed but kept the curtains open so the air would flow. Pulling a pillow toward her and clutching it tight, tears ran down her cheeks. As she wept into the pillow, she’d never felt more trapped in her life. Rosamund wanted to live, but not like this. She had tried, but the circumstances in her life made it impossible to banish the idea of running away, even though she knew that she’d never have the courage to follow through. An escape would be impossible to work out alone, and she was unwilling to risk the lives of the few people she loved to help her. In addition, there were too many eyes upon her, always watching, people placed in her service that she hardly knew and could never trust. Yet the thoughts continued to purl and eddy in her mind. What would it be like to be the fastest horse in the pen, of being able to outwit and outrun anyone?
Chapter 2
The castle of kings in Edmira was built on a steep mountain of granite, a lone crag amidst rolling hills, pine trees sprouting thickly from its sides. The architecture of the castle did not contrast with its location in the least. A tall, narrow building at least six stories with lofty towers and turrets, the castle needed no wall for protection. The High Castle Road, a single path of switchbacks through impenetrable terrain provided the only way in or out. Edmira was a fertile land surrounded by towering, jagged, and uninhabitable mountains, but the meadows and forests approaching them were the loveliest places on earth. Rosamund preferred to ride her horse to one of them every day.
Hardwin, the castle’s best stable hand, always accompanied her. A sturdy chap with an easy smile, he wore his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and sprigs of straw the same color as his hair clung to his simple clothing. He and two of the king’s guards had taken to riding with her since none of her ladies enjoyed the outdoors very much and the king preferred to hunt.
“And how is your little cherub today?” Rosamund asked Hardwin once they stopped to rest their horses.
“Oh, she’s the apple of her old man’s eye, got me wrapped around her pinky finger,” Hardwin said, glowing with pride over his fifth daughter. “She just gets fatter every day. My wife is so pleased. She had worried so much for some of our other daughters who were not so healthy as babes. But we’ve not lost one yet, a rarity to be sure.”
Hardwin and Lady Alimaida were the only servants left in Rosamund’s employ who’d come with her as a teen bride to her new home at the castle. He and his family lived in a nearby village that supplied most of the goods shipped to the castle. His wife was the most talented dyer of fabric in the region. Even the king preferred the colors she concocted. When Rosamund went to visit Hardwin’s family with gifts for their daughters, his wife tucked her baby in a sling while stirring fabric in huge vats of water. The older girls were often sent scampering through the meadows to find the plants and insects to provide color for the dying, while Hardwin always lifted the wet fabric out of the vats to dry. Hardwin himself was loyal to a fault to his family and to his queen.
“I do love a chubby baby,” Rosamund said, grinning at him. “And little Annabelle has the cutest dimples in all the world. You are blessed, Hardwin.”
“Thank you,” Hardwin said, clearing his throat and looking around uneasily when one of her guards glowered at him. “Shall we, then?” he asked, tugging on the reins of his horse to turn and follow the trail through the forest.
“Race you to the meadow!” Rosamund shouted as she blasted past him, standing in the stirrups and giving her horse plenty of slack from the reins to run. How she loved to ride fast. It made her forget Colestus and concentrate only on the task of staying on her horse. It was hard to do and not every woman welcomed it. Lady Alimaida reminded her constantly that is was risky and not royal behavior, least of all for the queen.
It felt so good to run free, the wind whipping through her hair and fluttering her cloak behind her.
There was something a little dangerous about it that made it all the more enticing, all the more worth doing. There was always a chance that something could go wrong. The horse could stumble, she could hit a branch, or lose her balance and fall, but everything became more alive. Her heart pounded, her cheeks flushed, and her breathing increased as her body worked to stay atop the animal. Rosamund had never felt anything else like it in the world. It must be like when the healers gave their patients a dose of poppy syrup. They felt no more pain, smiled, and laughed as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
“My Queen!” Hardwin yelled when he caught up to her. “You mustn’t sprint like that. It’s dangerous.”
“But she’s such a fine animal and so capable, aren’t you, Merry Lightning?” Rosamund protested, leaning around the horse’s neck and rubbing the animal’s jaw.
“Merry Lightning?” Hardwin said with some scorn. “That’s not a proper name for a horse.”
“It is if the horse is sweet, lively, and wickedly fast. Besides, I’ll shorten it to Merry, anyway. I couldn’t resist the name or the opportunity to outrun you, Hardwin,” Rosamund said, smiling. When she noticed Hardwin’s expression, his features tinged with worry, she sobered and sat straight in the saddle. “What is it, Hardwin?”
As the guards let their animals wander to graze, he sidled closer to Rosamund so only she could hear what he had to say. “I worry what the king might do to you or to me if you hurt yourself. The man knows how to hold a grudge.”
“Oh, that’s silly,” Rosamund huffed in opposition. “This precious creature can’t hurt me. Besides, I’m a competent rider. I’m in control, no matter how fast I’m going.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Hardwin sighed in frustration. He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle and glanced to make sure the guards weren’t looking. He reached toward her neck, but stopped short, knowing it wasn’t proper to touch the queen. “You have a bruise just there.” He pointed to a spot on his own neck.
“That’s none of your concern,” Rosamund said sharply, as she pulled her cloak tighter around her neck.
“There’s no sense in trying to hide them. I’ve seen them before,” Hardwin said sheepishly, his face red with embarrassment.
“I had hoped to keep it from those I care about,” Rosamund whispered, staring at the ground. Then realization shook her. “Has he threatened you?”
“Apparently, he wants you healthy . . . for your ability to carry an heir, of course,” Hardwin clarified, it seemed, in an effort to spare her feelings, but he was still unable to look her in the eyes. Rosamund thought that the real reason must be because he wanted to inflict damage on a healthy body, not anyone or anything else. She swallowed hard thinking of those ravening, unnatural appetites.
“I see,” Rosamund said, hot tears prickling her eyes. She couldn’t escape Colestus, not even here. “I won’t do anything to jeopardize you or your family, Hardwin. I promise.”
“That’s not my concern,” Hardwin said. “I can take care of my family. I know how to keep them safe if such a threat arose. I . . . I. . .” He stuttered miserably. “I am worried for you. He doesn’t deserve you.” He shook his head and looked at her, his brown eyes woeful.
“I think I would like to ride to that overlook.” Desperate to change the subject, she gestured with her head toward a pre
cipice jutting from the mountainside. “I’ll be riding fast, Hardwin. The king can say what he will, but I will do what I want out here,” Rosamund hollered over her shoulder, spurring her horse to action.
“But My Queen!”
“Don’t worry, Hardwin, I know you will be right beside me.”
***
They rode back to the castle in relative quiet enjoying the beautiful day, and Rosamund could feel the tension release from her neck and shoulders. She even felt the hint of a smile working its way toward her cheeks as she watched children running alongside them, screeching and laughing, darting into fields and skipping through tall grasses. The setting sun, its reflection bright and brilliant across Lake Sugunia, one of many giant lakes in Edmira, cast the world in a golden glow when they reached the High Castle Road.
Once outside the stable, Hardwin helped her dismount and pulled the horse by the reins into the shelter, lanterns burning bright. Rosamund walked by the animal’s side rummaging for an apple she had tucked into a pocket inside her cloak. Once the horse was inside the stall, she produced the apple and let it nibble, its grainy, wet tongue tickling her hand. Then the horse swooped the apple into its mouth and used hard, flat teeth to grind it quickly and swallow.
“You need all the food you can get to run so fast, isn’t that right, Merry?” Rosamund said, beaming, and rubbed along the horse’s jawline and behind its ears. “I never knew a girl who could turn her back on a sweet apple.”
“You turn your back on me all the time.”
Rosamund froze upon hearing the king, his voice dripping with malevolence and a strange, unexpected twinge of envy.
“My Liege,” Rosamund turned toward him, her eyes wide with fear and curtsied low, her head bowed. “I had no idea that you would be riding today. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
The Runaway Queen, A Fire and Fury Prequel Novella Page 1