As she entered the throne room, she was surprised to see not only Donovan, but the king as well. He sat rigidly on his throne, almost as if invisible strings were holding him up. His face was creased with pain and he looked as if he would break into a sweat at any moment.
The soldiers from Burchess had not yet arrived in the throne room, so Illianah bowed and approached the king. “My Lord, I do not think you should be out of your bedchambers. You do not look well.”
“I must be here. They cannot know I am weak.”
The sound of clanking metal came from the passageway, indicating that the Burchessian soldiers were surrendering their arms in order to have an audience the king. Illianah gave the king’s hand a quick squeeze and she whispered, “I have never seen you weak, My Lord.”
She moved to the wall on the left of the king and quickly sat in a small padded chair suited for lesser nobles. She hoped to be as inconspicuous as a piece of insignificant furniture and not be acknowledged by the Burchessian soldiers.
The five men entered the throne room and bowed to the king, to the prince, and then surprisingly, to her. “Your Highness,” the man standing at the head of the group said.
“Captain Lamir,” she replied, her mouth barely opening. Captain Lamir had been at court in St. Moraine often. Illianah had never liked him, even when she had thought herself to be on his side. He was thin and nearly bald, and to Illianah, he looked as if he could be the human version of a vulture. In fact, that is how he seemed to her: ready to swoop in and scavenge the remains of others.
“I see that have been well cared for, Your Highness,” he said, addressing only Illianah. “And I see that you are at the prince’s side, just as General Montague said you would be.”
His sharp words went straight into her heart and lodged there, causing her mind to fill with worry. Montague was in communication with Prince Harrington? Her throat was too tight to swallow, let alone speak.
“She is here at my side,” the king defended, his voice sounding just as strong and powerful as it had before he had fallen ill. “You speak of Montague. Is he your prisoner?”
“Yes, Your Highness. He surrendered at the Battle of del Sans. We have come in hopes of making an exchange.”
Illianah fought to keep her face passive, not wanting to reveal her thoughts, but she could not control her eyes. She quickly looked at Donovan, who was obviously more skilled at keeping his emotions from his face. He stared at Captain Lamir without fear or sorrow.
“And the condition of my nephew?” the king asked.
“He is well. Injured, but only slightly. I have a letter he has written, although it is not with his good hand. It is legible, however.”
One of the king’s soldiers retrieved the letter from Captain Lamir and brought it to the king. Apparently, the letter was short, as the king’s eyes only left the captain’s for a moment. Then the letter was passed to Donovan.
“I cannot verify this is written by Montague’s hand,” Donovan said.
“Yes, as I mentioned, General Montague took a spear to his right hand. He is not able to use it … currently.”
“And what care is he receiving for this injury?” the king asked.
“I can assure you he is well cared for, although we have not given him a bed of roses to sleep upon, as you have our fair princess.”
“You give me no proof that Montague is alive. How can I agree to an exchange with so little proof?” the king asked.
Captain Lamir smiled wickedly and looked from the king to Illianah, to Donovan, and then back to the king. “Oh, I can assure that Montague is alive and well. He has given his highness, Prince Harrington, great detail about the kindness your son has bestowed upon Princess Illianah.”
Illianah could taste bile in her mouth. She wanted to run from the room and retch until her heart stopped beating.
The king’s face reddened and Illianah worried he would again faint. “I would like to tell you what to say to your prince, but I do fear you will not deliver the words with the appropriate amount of derision. I will pen the words to Prince Harrington myself, and then you will be asked to leave the castle immediately, lest my quill be embedded in your neck.”
Captain Lamir still smiled wickedly, even though he was being escorted from the throne room. The king stood and said, “Privy chambers, now,” to Donovan and the other lords and captains.
Illianah sat frozen in her chair. Just moments ago, she had wished to be nothing more than inconspicuous piece of furniture—an unobtrusive citizen who had not put the Henricks in jeopardy—but she was not that humble, unassuming person. She was a spoiled prig who sought for attention with reckless abandon.
She waited for the throne room to be emptied before she ran to her bedchamber where she shoved the door shut and then leaned against it, wishing she could keep it from ever opening again. She may as well spend the rest of her pitiful life within this plain room, for whenever she left it, she only caused trouble. “I am miserable. I am degenerate,” she said out loud. If her sins fell upon the Donovan’s soldiers and his kingdom, she knew she would forever be damned. And while she had spent so much time praying for Deltegra in the past week, she now knew her prayers to be wasted, as such a sinner did not have the ear of God.
***
Late that evening, a letter was delivered to her room. It was in Donovan’s hand.
Illianah,
The messengers from Burchess have left, and with them, a letter from my father to Prince Harrington.
The king does not desire to exchange prisoners with Prince Harrington, as it is apparent that General Montague has not been faithful to the crown of Deltegra. We do recognize the information he shared may have been a result of torture, but we feel that the nature of the things he disclosed prove him to be a traitor. Assuming he does return to Andoradda, he will be tried for his crimes against our kingdom.
However, my father, King Henrick, is concerned that if we now treat Montague as a traitor to the crown, his speculation and assumptions about inappropriate relationships here at the castle will be assumed true by Prince Harrington and could have serious consequences for myself, as well as for you, Princess Illianah. We thought it would be best to deal with Montague when the time comes and not give Prince Harrington reason to think we do not desire an exchange of prisoners.
Illianah stopped reading and grabbed at her heart. So they had agreed upon an exchange after all? She would rather have a sword run through her chest than to be sent back to Prince Harrington’s side.
My father did send his own terms for the exchange of prisoners, as a nephew of the king is not akin to the value of a princess. We have asked for the return of Montague and the one hundred-fifty-nine soldiers captured in the Battle of del Sans, in exchange for the sole heiress to the crown of Burchess. We cannot know for certain, but we suspect Harrington’s vanity will not allow a trade of all his prisoners of war.
I will inform you when we have his response.
Sleep well,
Donovan
Sleep well? Illianah thought. She did not know how she would ever sleep another wink while awaiting word of her fate.
Her shame kept her conscience from slumbering as well. It was obvious she had wronged the Prince of Deltegra so greatly that ramifications would fall upon both their heads and possibly upon his kingdom. Equally as shameful was the fact that her heart ached over reading a letter from Donovan and not seeing the words come from his lips. He did not tell her these things in person, likely meaning he was ashamed of her behavior as well. A sword may as well rend her in two, as she did not deserve a soul.
Chapter Thirteen
While waiting to hear back from Prince Harrington, news came to the castle of his attack on Cordana. Word was brought to Illianah’s bedchamber that the battle was fiercer than expected. From the northeastern border, Burchessian troops emerged from Kerrik with cannons, which were being fired at the walls of the fortress. Cordana soldiers had taken out several cannons, but it seemed where one woul
d be destroyed, within hours, two more cannons would be wheeled in to take its place. The lord of Cordana had written to the king with the message, “I fear we cannot hold them off for long. Please send reinforcements.”
Even though Illianah had removed herself from the heart of the castle, she could still feel the way the air hung thickly over Andoradda. It felt as if the entire population of the castle walked about on tip toes, not wanting to draw the attention of the brutal Burchessian army.
Two days after Donovan had last written to her, he wrote again. Prince Harrington had denied the conditions of the exchange, stating that he did not desire to release one hundred-fifty-nine men just to have to conquer them again. He reinstated the offer to exchange Montague for Illianah and said that he may as well kill the other prisoners now, rather than continue feeding them from his own soldiers’ rations. Donovan’s note continued:
My father is drafting a letter to Prince Harrington, stating that killing prisoners so coldly will result in other countries turning on Burchess for committing war crimes, something that King Henrick will declare loudly to the world to avenge the murder of one hundred and fifty-nine men. However, I do think Prince Harrington finds himself to be above the laws of the Western Corridor Council and will stop at nothing to triumph over Deltegra.
There is one bit of good news: we intercepted a letter from Prince Harrington’s father, King Edvard. Apparently, Prince Harrington has asked for assistance from Liksland, which means he does not feel confident that he has enough troops to successfully capture our country. That is very encouraging. But that is not the best part: King Edvard denied the request. His claim is that this war is between Burchess and Deltegra. Liksland will not join in the war unless a crime is committed against them or directly against Prince Harrington. We do take that to mean that if harm comes to Prince Harrington, we can expect retribution from Liksland. It also was apparent through the letter we intercepted that Prince Harrington had hoped that the capture of his wife would be grounds for support from his native kingdom, but King Edvard stated that “holding royalty for ransom is a common practice and is not meant as an insult to Liksland.” We have returned the letter to Prince Harrington so he can ruminate over this most unfortunate setback.
It looks like God has given us protection from demise at this time. Please continue to pray for the poor souls at Cordana, as it is their sacrifice which will keep our kingdom from falling to Burchess.
Yours,
Donovan
Again, reading Donovan’s words instead of hearing them spoken brought pain to Illianah. She had not seen him since that day in the throne room and she worried he hated her for the shame she had brought upon them both. Certainly that must be the case, as he apparently could not bring himself to convey the news to her directly. His time was precious, yet he resorted to writing lengthy letters when she was but a five minute walk away from his chambers. Since she did not plan on leaving her tower and he was not making the effort to see her, she did not know that her eyes would ever fall upon Prince Henrick’s enchanting face again.
Just as she had come to accept that her heart would always mourn the loss of seeing Donovan face to face, her lady’s maid came to inform Illianah that her presence was requested at supper that evening.
“King Henrick is well enough to dine in the great hall?” Illianah asked.
“No, I do not believe he is. However, he will not listen to the physician, nor anyone else. He insists on your company tonight.”
Illianah did not have the courage to ask whether or not Donovan would be joining them, but she expected he would. If the king was dining in the great hall, so would the prince.
The maid helped Illianah dress for the evening, and while the chosen gown and the braid upon her hair were deemed “grand,” Illianah felt anything but. Once the maid left, Illianah sat somberly in front of her mirror. “Who am I?” she whispered.
She certainly looked the part of royalty—her hair impeccably woven upon her head, her red gown contrasting against her perfectly pale skin—but she no longer felt like a princess. Princesses had allegiances to their countries. To their kings. Princesses were courteous and demure. They did not wear their hearts upon their sleeves. Everything that a princess was—she was not. She was a vixen, just as King Henrick had accused her of from his sick bed.
“They are waiting, My Lady,” the maid said from the doorway.
They.
Donovan.
Illianah swallowed her emotions and rose from the dressing table. She did not hold her head high and pretend to act the part of princess when the men of Deltegra knew she was nothing more than a wanton shell of a female.
She could not bring her eyes to Donovan’s face when she entered the great hall. She was invited to sit at the king’s right, and Donovan at the king’s left. When she finally gained the courage to look across the table, she discovered that Donovan was avoiding her face as well. He kept his eyes cast upon his plate most of the evening and other than opening his mouth for food, he did not open it otherwise.
The entire group in the great hall was strangely silent, almost as if this was a funeral banquet and not an average supper. When Illianah commented that the king looked well, he verified that they were a kingdom in mourning. “I look just as well as a king can when his countrymen are being murdered for his sake.”
“I am truly sorry for your loss, My Lord,” she said.
“As am I,” he replied. He took a long drink from his goblet and said, “A king always mourns for the loss of his soldiers. But at this time, I am having a hard time accepting the imminent loss of the women and children of Cordana as well. I fear they will befall the same fate as the soldiers in the forests of del Sans.”
“Were the women and children not evacuated?” she asked, suddenly looking across the table to Donovan. He knew of the impending attack on Cordana and he did not have the helpless ones ushered out?
“No,” Donovan replied quietly. “We did not want to alert Burchessian spies that we were not making efforts to enforce the village. We tried to make it look as if we were bringing soldiers to Cordana, and not emptying the village.”
When his eyes met hers momentarily, she could see a deep chasm of pain within his soul. He looked as if he would collapse within that chasm, never to emerge. “It is an unfortunate loss,” he added, “But …”
“’Tis murder!” the king exclaimed. “We did not even have the decency to tell them we would not be sending reinforcements. We have betrayed our own people!”
Donovan did not react with anger, as he typically would. He took a deep breath and said, “I know, father. It will haunt me always. It falls upon my shoulders, not yours. Please, do not upset yourself. You know …”
“Do not tell me how to behave!” the king yelled. His face grew redder by the second until he began to gasp and choke, as if he could not get his chest to fill with air. Illianah quickly went to his side and began to loosen his collar. She helped him drink and gradually his skin returned to its normal ruddiness. He sank in his chair, as if he no longer had the ability to keep himself upright.
“Thank you, Illianah,” he said. He sighed several times and she returned to her chair, assured that he would not faint. “You have been so kind, my girl,” the king said. “I owe you a great debt.”
“No …” she began.
“I have not treated you with the respect you deserve,” he interrupted. “Please forgive me.”
“But of course,” she said with a smile. She felt no ill-will toward the king and from the kindness within his eyes, she could see he felt the same toward her.
“I am sorry, Illianah. Sorry for what you have been through. Sorry for what … for what …” he again sighed deeply and then seemed to sit taller. “Well, I do not think I can eat another bite. I wish to call it a night,” he said.
Illianah felt momentarily blinded by his change in conversation, but then she quickly stood and said, “I will help you to your chambers.”
She linked he
r arm through his to escort him from the great hall, and Donovan soon linked arms with his father on the other side.
But the king did not go in the direction of the royal bedchambers. “I wish to go to the chapel,” he explained, “to pray for our people.”
Once outside the double door to the chapel, Illianah stopped. “Will you not join us in prayer?” the king asked.
A great tremor shook Illianah’s chest. Her eyes burned hot with tears. As much as she wanted to join the king and his son, she knew she could not. “I am not …” she stopped and tried to choke away the tears. “I am not worthy to enter your chapel,” she said weakly.
The king turned and faced her. His eyes were compassionate and not critical as they had once been. “Nonsense. You have a heart of gold, Illianah. Your only crime is that you were raised with the belief that your worth is on your skin.”
The tears fell unabashedly from her eyes in such great droves that the king became a blur before her. He kissed her cheek and whispered, “God bless you, Princess Illianah of Burchess.”
Illianah turned and walked swiftly through the castle, feeling as if she did not have control over where her feet took her. She retreated to the quiet of her bedchamber, wondering why the king had spoken with such decorum, yet with such great kindness. Perhaps he knew he would die soon. Or perhaps he knew something else.
***
Illianah’s eyes flew open. It was pitch black in her bedchambers. A hand was pressed firmly across her mouth, rendering her unable to cry for help.
“Illianah,” a voice whispered. “It is I, Donovan.”
Donovan? In her room? In the middle of the night?
Her heart had already been racing from her harsh awakening, but now it seemed to beat so heavily that it might make her bed crash through the floor.
“Do you trust me, Illianah?” he asked.
The Reign of Trees Page 16