by Daya Daniels
She squints.
I cover my mouth with a hand surprised at how quickly the words had left my mouth. I do not hesitate to defend him. “He would never hurt me, Vesper.” A big exhale rushes from me. “He has been kind. So kind.”
Vesper’s chin lowers.
“He is the reason you are here.” I smile.
She swallows.
“It took months to find you, Vesper, but he promised me that he would, and he did.”
“I see.” Her eyes fall to the stone for a while. “I suppose I have been wrong about him then.”
“Yes.”
“I am sorry, Sister, I have never met a kind man, as you know.” She looks away from me. “I don’t trust them. They only hurt. Or, they leave. Or they break your heart.”
“There are good men here at Berkhamsted Castle, Vesper,” I implore.
She stares at me with her distrusting eyes.
“I promise you.”
“Okay.” She sighs.
“And making love can be wonderful.”
“I want to believe it, Briar, but after that morning, I could never compel myself to believe that something as sacred as lying with a man could ever be pleasant.”
“It can be.” My voice is small with my admission.
Vesper’s eyes widen. “Can it be?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And your first time…”
So much guilt infects my smile because I wish Vesper could claim the same. “My first time was perfect.”
She presses a hand over her heart, gushing. “Oh, Briar.” Giggling, she bounces in place. “You must tell me all about it…Please, I need to know.”
Laughing a little, we huddle together just like we did when we were girls and my lips near her ear.
We share devilish secrets.
We fall out in laughter.
And when my love story is done, I kiss my sister on the cheek and promise never to part with her ever again.
Alexander
CUI BONO?
Who benefits?
It is a question I now ask myself, yet I have come up with no sensible answer.
Vengeance ruins hearts.
Impatience makes a man do ridiculous things.
And never truly being loved leaves a woman utterly scorned.
It is late at night.
Darkness has fallen and the embers in the fireplace blaze and burn orange dusting this chamber with a low light. I find I am unable to cease stealing glances of the red roses which sit in a vase a short distance away from me.
Zaccai paces the council chamber and is talking to himself and has been doing so for a while.
Settled in my chair, I stare at the chessboard and I imagine that Father is sitting across from me—the same way he always used to. I prod at the king with a finger. And then I push it gently over and over until it falls over.
Zaccai clutches his head with his hands. “How could she do this?”
“They, Zaccai.” I swallow down the bile which threatens to spew from my throat. “They.”
My brother stops pacing. “What?” His eyes are full of tears.
So are mine.
I allow one to slip down my cheek, warm and heavy.
Zaccai plants himself against the wall and sobs. “HOW COULD SHE DO THIS!”
Shaw lingers in the far corner of the chamber, head low, almost as if he’s ashamed of the words he’d just spoken. “Your Majesty, I am truly very sorry, but I must get back to my work in the village…”
Shaw’s work…
Cleaning up the village. Placing people in quarantine. Counting the dead!
I rise from my seat. “Yes, I understand.”
Shaw leaves the room and the space falls into silence which is only disturbed by my brother’s weeping. I walk over to the large table and trace a line over the maps, allowing myself to absorb how England has changed since it has been under my rule.
There is more order.
Taxes have been lowered.
Territories have been expanded.
All outside of Berkhamsted Castle’s walls has changed.
But everything inside this castle’s twelve-inch-thick walls has remained much the same…
Mother is still treacherous and bitter.
Jean-Baptiste is still greedy and vile.
Additionally, the lot of them still think I am a child.
And now, I have the fucking Plague to deal with.
Inhaling loudly through my nose, I stride toward the window and find a moment of solace.
Zaccai’s wails become uncontrollable.
He sniffles.
He gasps for air.
I do not move when a chair flies across the room, hits the stone wall, and shatters in pieces.
Because that is what we are…
A family in pieces.
“Your Majesty.” Hamilton’s voice skitters its way into my ears as he inches closer, lingering just behind me. “I knew nothing of this.” He sniffles. “I promise you on my life, I did not.”
“Yes, I know.” I swallow down the fear which settles in my throat.
“Why are Shaw’s findings only coming to light now, Hamilton?” I twist to face him.
“I WANT HER DEAD for this!” Zaccai thunders. “I WANT HER HANGED!” His roars bounce off the stone walls. “How could she do this?” He sinks to the floor and buries his face in his hands.
“I spoke with Shaw, Your Majesty, and he explained that he provided his findings to Jean-Baptiste shortly after your father died. I never pushed any further with him, Your Majesty, because I trusted when Jean-Baptiste told me that Shaw had reported that the King died from natural causes. I believed him, Your Majesty.”
“I understand.”
Hamilton’s hands shake terribly when he scrubs his face. “I know that Jean-Baptiste has some unfavorable ways…” Hamilton pulls a breath into his lungs and his eyes narrow. “But, he was your father’s friend. I cannot comprehend this. I just cannot.” He lowers his head. “What has this kingdom come to?”
I wish I knew…
“We cannot afford this treachery, Your Highness.” Hamilton exhales.
Yes, I am aware.
Zaccai is still sobbing.
Hamilton sends me a knowing look. “Your Majesty, this is high treason in one of its worst forms.”
I nod.
But, she is my mother…
“I will not offer you advice on this matter.” He gestures with a hand. “You are King.”
“Yes.” I run a hand over my beard and my eyes stay fixed on Raven Forest.
Tonight, it is calm, but the sky is gray, and the air is cold. Eventually, the rain starts to fall and saturates the English soil. I examine each splatter as it hits the glass and trickles its way down the window in soft lines.
I pray it will wash away the rats.
It is a cleansing.
Perhaps that is what this kingdom needs…
“I will wait for your words, Your Majesty.” Hamilton’s voice cracks.
Zaccai is still sobbing and breaking things.
I cry for my father too.
When a man doth compass or imagine the death of our lord, the King, or of our lady, his queen, or of their eldest son and heir…
They shall be convicted of high treason and the punishment shall be that they are hanged, drawn and quartered, burnt at the stake, or beheaded shall a king feel it fair to bring a swift death to the dissident…
Hamilton waits patiently until I finally find the courage to say the words.
“Please summon the knights to seize the Queen Mother and Jean-Baptiste.” It is all a whisper.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Prepare them.” I suck in a breath.
But there is only one witness…
“The accused will beg for mercy and leniency and will promise to repent before God.” I suck in a breath.
Another chair sh
atter when it hits the wall.
A table is pushed over.
It is pure commotion which surrounds me.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Hamilton ignores it all.
“They can rot in the dungeon until I have made a final decision regarding their fates.”
There will be no trial.
There will be no lengthy days of questioning.
There are no merciful ears prepared to hear their reasoning.
There will be no bargaining on the matter at all.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” With that, Hamilton offers me a bow and rushes toward the doors.
CLICK.
With his departure, I march over to my brother where he sits on the floor with his head buried in his knees and is weeping like a child. I lower myself to the stone floor, and when he realizes I am near him, his chin rises.
“We were not ready to lose him, Alexander. This kingdom was not prepared,” he bellows.
“I know.” Fiercely, I pull him close to me and into my chest, and for once we do something in harmony, together.
We cry.
CHAPTER
V
Briar
THE SEASON HAS CHANGED…
Warm moist air surrounds me beneath the night sky which makes my task of pruning roses that much more laborious. In the midst of the greenery, I sit back on my haunches and wipe a hand across my sweaty brow. I gaze up and adore the stars and the bright moon which shines down on all of England tonight.
It is beautiful.
As this green countryside has always been…
The crickets chirp and a warm wind rushes over me but it does nothing to cool my skin.
With Jean-Baptiste and the Queen Mother’s banishment to the dungeon, the House of Montforthe-Byron mourned for even longer in quiet solitude. England does not know of the Queen Mother’s and Jean-Baptiste’s traitorous act, and according to Alexander, they possibly never will. The pair were not hanged, as I had expected they would be. Instead their banishment to the bowels of Berkhamsted Castle has proven torturous enough and seems to be their punishment.
Life has carried on…
England has persevered although we are in the midst of one of the worst plagues this century has seen. Sister Rebecca and I continue to visit the village, but we have been prevented by the various blockades set up by all the King’s men to ensure that we are not wandering into infected territories.
As a result, our work has been affected.
I am prisoner once again behind the walls of Berkhamsted Castle…
With a breath, I pause and caress the white petal of a rose and then run my finger over its thorns. Shutting my eyes, I breathe the fragrant scent in and revel in its sweetness. The roses used to remind of beauty and life. But now, because I had given away so many of them to the sick and needy, all they remind me of is death. It surrounds me even more now like the black sky which so often hovers above us. It has been months since I’ve seen the smiles of children. It’s been weeks since Sister Rebecca and I have handed out cheese and bread. It seems like it has been for an eternity that we have been on our knees each day, heads bowed, and hands clasped in prayer as we beg for the future of this country.
We fear for the future of England…
Entire villages have been burned down to the ground.
Mountains of the dead have been set ablaze.
I have never seen such a horrific sight in my life.
That night, beneath a thunderous sky and amidst the cries and whimpers of families who would never be the same again, Gaius placed his lit torch to the pile of dead bodies. And with a roar, a bright orange bonfire began, and the putrid scent of cooking flesh and bone wafted through the blazing night air. I covered my nose and mouth, but still, I could not get that scent of death out of my nostrils for days after I had smelled it. It will never leave me…
Oftentimes, I still smell it…in my nightmares.
Burning flesh.
The screams and shrieks of frightened children assault my ears.
Blood—cold, wet, and red soaks my hands.
And then, covered in sweat and quivering from utter fright, I wake.
Now, there are more orphans wandering the muddy streets than England has ever seen.
And the rats…
They are everywhere.
At the crackling of twigs and the rustling of grass beneath boots, I lift my head.
Alexander dawdles at the far edge of the garden, walking through the rows of colorful flowers, touching and sniffing them. Oftentimes, it all brings a smile to his face. But most times, it does not. I watch him. As he so often watches me. And in the evenings, just like now, he comes here. But I am not certain if it is because I am here or if it is because he truly finds solace in this place, just as I do. And in those times, I prune the roses. And Alexander walks. He does not speak with me. He does not bother me. And after he has found his moment of peace, he retreats back to his chamber.
I have not neared him in quite some time.
He does not demand my presence at breakfast.
And I have not begged for his attention and as he likely presumed I would.
England needs me.
As England needs their king…
I do not suspect I rob him of sensibility, but some part of me fears that what we both need right now is not each other. There are important matters to tend to. And they are not matters of the flesh…
Looking up, I meet Alexander’s gray eyes beneath the darkness.
He loiters among the waist-high rose shrubs wearing nothing but a thin robe which covers the rest of his sleeping attire. His hair is pulled back away from his face, revealing the chiseled lines of his features and his beard is neatly kept. He is striking beneath the sky.
He stands tall.
Like a king.
Like a man who rules the world.
Like a man who could ruin hearts and lives with a gentle gesture.
His presence is powerful.
Everything about him is delicately formidable, if there is such a thing.
And the patience he possesses begs to be respected.
With every look. With every word which leaves his mouth…Each time he speaks my name I am drawn to him—closer, closer, closer. It is a powerful force which is impossible to ignore…
Sending my fingers into the dark English soil, I get back to handling the roses.
“Why did you not tell me that Beatrix confessed to know more about my father’s death?” Alexander’s deep voice encourages my head to snap up and I freeze completely.
How could he know that?
I swallow hard.
He tips his head my way. “When your king asks you a question you do not hesitate to answer, Princess Briar.”
My mouth fixes tight. “I thought best of it, Alexander.”
He chuckles. “How so?”
“She is my friend.”
He lifts a brow and peers down at me with a strange expression etched across his glorious features.
“I feared for her safety. Besides, Shaw already confirmed his findings. There was no need to involve Beatrix.” I stare at my soil-dusted hands.
“Another witness would have been most helpful, Princess Briar.”
Scoffing, I shake my head. “Can you please stop calling me that?”
He smirks, says nothing.
I get back to work.
“Hominibus plenum, amicis vacuum.” He steps closer, allowing his shadow to loom over me.
“Crowded with men, yet bare of friends…” The words drift from me on a breath and get carried off with the summer breeze that takes a wisp of Alexander’s long hair with it.
He gestures toward the castle walls. “It is often how I feel when I am inside Berkhamsted Castle, Briar.”
“I know.” I blink.
“It is how you should feel too…” He turns away from me.
Struggling to rise in my dress that’s now
stained with grass and soil, I manage the feat and drop my tools. “You should not worry, Alexander.” I point a finger toward Raven Forest. “It has been calm lately.”
He laughs a low laugh.
I inch closer and my voice lowers to a whisper. “You said something was coming…”
With a groan, he nods.
“It has come, as you said it would…”
The Queen Mother is locked away and so is Jean-Baptiste…
His worried eyes find mine. “I am not so sure…”
I lower my chin. “Have you visited Terra?”
“No.” A host of reservations mar his features and I beg to know why.
“It is the Plague, Alexander. It has ravaged England. It has come…” Taking his hand, I implore him to believe me. “And it will gooooo…I promise you.”
His eyes shut for a moment and his warm fingers wrap tighter around mine, giving them a gentle reassuring squeeze.
“I have not been able to leave this castle…” I grow sadder with that acceptance.
Alexander regards me curiously.
My mouth is devoid of words as I struggle to explain my wish to leave even though I know there is nothing but death beyond these walls. All sensibility gets stuck in my throat and I instead gaze up at Alexander and remain silent.
He turns to face me. “My brother is in France.”
“Yes, I am aware.” I keep my head low.
“I am responsible for you, Briar.” His eyes are gentle with the admittance. “I care for you.”
This man feels beholden to me.
But why?
I have done nothing to make him feel so obligated. Therefore, I am left speechless and fumbling with my thoughts while searching for a response. For the little bit of life which I often feel is left in me, I cannot offer him one.
This man speaks of care…
A man who does not care even for his own advisors.
A man who much of the time mocks his own brother.
A man who holds disdain for his own mother…
A lonely, lonely and broken man who is nothing but a depiction of unwavering strength to all those who do not know him.
What does a man like Alexander know of care when all he has ever professed to love is England?
With parted lips, I peer into his features and hear nothing but sincerity swirling around his words.