by Daya Daniels
Mother’s ring gleams on Briar’s slender finger as if it were made just for her.
The woman who sits on the throne next to me now has always meant to.
Mahogany locks are swept away from her face and reveal her delicate neckline. My eyes trace pale skin which leads to the cream-colored brocade dress she is wearing. She is covered in jewels, but they are not necessary. She is perfect without them. A woman like Briar has never needed anything to accentuate her natural beauty because she is superb from the inside out. She is a saint with a golden heart. She belongs here…
The crown rests atop her head.
Briar’s shoulders fell just a little when it was placed there by Archbishop Ramsey.
Still, I felt proud.
I-am-proud.
I now have someone to share the weight of the world with.
Only this woman is stronger than me although she does not know it.
Another tear soaks Briar cheek.
Lady Freya rushes forward to dab it away with a silken handkerchief.
Anna dashes around the church, fiddling with the flowers and a panicked Vesper chases behind her.
A chuckle shakes my chest and I clutch my wife’s hand tighter, reminding her that she is not alone in this. We are together and in love. Besotted and utterly dreadful. We are forever changed. We live and breathe in our duty to England.
The artist sketches away.
The knights stand by and regard us with honor.
With utter glee dancing across his face, Hamilton stands far off to my right looking on.
My heart does a few leaps in my chest when in the distance beyond the colorful stained-glass windows the thick clouds part and for just a moment we are gifted with the view of the golden sun as it dips beneath the horizon.
Briar is transfixed on the sky.
We have not seen the sun for months but today it shines down on these lands.
And for that I am so very grateful.
The ground rumbles just as it has been since the trumpet sounded.
I allow myself to laugh a little in the face of Briar’s tears.
They are calling her the Rose Queen.
Beyond the windows and the walls of Westminster Abbey, the people stomp and cheer and scream her name. THE ROSE QUEEN! GOD SAVE THE ROSE QUEEN! CHEERS TO THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND! LONG LIVE THE ROSE QUEEN! GOD SAVE THE KING AND QUEEN OF ENGLAND! LONG LIVE ENGLAND! BE WELL, ROSE QUEEN! It has been going on for hours, and as tumultuous as it sounds, I do not want it to cease. And even when Gaius asked if we wished for the crowds to disperse, I told him no, let them stay.
Let the people be heard.
If anything for Briar…
If anything for my queen.
So that she can know just how much the people love her and how she has filled their hearts with hope. They admire her. They love her. At this very moment, the woman who holds my hand and sits on the throne at my side is more powerful than any mortal man—any king—could ever be.
This land is ours.
Ruled wholly by the House of Montforthe-Byron.
It is our divine right.
It is holy decree.
By the order of God.
Sending me a solemn look, Briar sobs softly. “The Rose Queen.” Her brows knot.
“Yes, that is you.”
She swallows down a sob.
Pride surging through me, I tip my head forward once. “The people are elated that it is you who sits by my side.”
I would wish no other to wear the crown of England.
No mere woman would be up to the mammoth task.
Only you. Only you. Only you.
Offering me a tiny nod and bottom lip trembling, Briar faces ahead. “I am filled with joy that they would have me. Alexander, I never thought they would have me. I never did.” Her face scrunches up in the most painful way. “I love them. I love the people of England. I love this country. I would die for it.”
We are the same, as I have always known.
We are tethered.
Fates sealed in the most uncertain and terrifying way.
Her voice lowers to a whisper. “Still, I never thought they would have me.”
Pulling her hand to my lips, I press a kiss to the back of it. “No other would be worthy.”
A smile tugs at her lips until a little laugh drifts from her.
My Briar.
My wife.
The mother of my children.
A woman who has stolen my heart away and has vowed to never give it back to me.
I do not deserve her, yet she is mine, forevermore.
Smoothing my lips over her soft skin, I regard her with a fierceness. “God save my Rose Queen.”
CHAPTER
XI
Briar
A MONTH LATER…
“Mother, what is this one?” Eyes bright with questions, Anna pulls a flower from the basket and shows it to me.
With a smile, I sniff the white flower. “It is a gardenia.”
“Oh!” Anna skips along as we walk the path through the gardens.
She is growing much too fast.
She is much too smart for her age.
And she has just about everyone in this castle from Charlotte to Matron Rhodes, and of course, Alexander, wrapped around her cute little finger.
Anna rushes off, running through the paths, flowers tumbling from her basket in-hand as she does.
It is morning.
The air is crisp, and although the sky is a smoldering gray, still it is perfect.
Craning my neck up to the sky and planting my hands over my swollen belly, I sniff loudly and the grin I manage is so big that it almost splits my face right in two. Each day which goes by I do wonder what lives in my belly—a boy or a girl—or maybe two—one of each. How wondrous would that be? It would be a miracle.
The days behind the walls of Berkhamsted Castle go on as usual…
England has settled back into normalcy and there are hardly any more reports of counties being affected by the Plague. I spend much time with Anna and Sister Rebecca in the church. We pray. We fulfill our duties to the people and every fortnight we venture into the village and hand out roses to everyone and bread and cheese to the hungry.
I have never been so happy.
I am a wife.
I am a mother.
I AM THE QUEEN OF BLOODY ENGLAND!
This land is ours.
Ruled wholly by the House of Montforthe-Byron.
It is our divine right.
It is holy decree.
By the order of God.
Yet, with each passing day and the more my orchid glows at night when Raven Forest is wild, my worries come to life again and they never settle. I visit Terra during those times and listen while she speaks about the days of old and how the battle between good and evil is a never-ending war which has been going on since the beginning of time…Admittedly, Terra is quite right about that.
“Mother!” Anna’s yelling yanks me back to the present. “Come on, the snow will be falling soon.”
I snuggle deeper into my cloak and accept that Anna is right.
We do not have much time left to pick the flowers that have survived the most recent chill which has blanketed these lands. Soon, England for miles will be covered in thick layers of white snow and the frost will cling to all it can.
I tug at the bare branches, pulling dry flowers from them.
“Your Majesty.” A hoarse voice echoes from behind me.
It is one I recognize, so with a smile, I spin around. “Hamilton.”
His eyes hold sincerity. “You look marvelous this morning, Your Majesty. How is the baby?”
“The baby is fine.” I grin.
“Is it okay if we walk ahead?”
“Yes, of course.”
Anna has already made it to the edge of the garden and seems to have found interest in a bullfrog.
“Pleas
e do not touch it, Anna!” I shake my head in frustration.
“I won’t, Mother.” Anna snarls. “It’s quite ugly!”
Hamilton chuckles. “Anna’s innocence is just what Berkhamsted Castle needed, Your Majesty.” He runs a hand over his head. “You found Anna at the perfect time. She has softened all our hearts, including the King’s.” Hamilton tips his head my way. “That can only be a good thing.”
I laugh a bit.
Hamilton sends me a look before his eyes fix back on Anna who dashes farther away from us. “Anna makes the perfect princess. She is humble and bright, just like you. She reminds all of us so much of you when you first came to this castle, Your Majesty.”
“Oh, Hamilton.” I blush with pride.
“It is true.” Hamilton smiles. “You are doing a wonderful job raising her and I mean that, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you.” I breathe in the cool air. “Your words mean so much.”
“Good morning, Hamilton!” Anna waves wildly.
With a soft laugh, Hamilton waves back. “Good morning, Your Majesty!”
Anna goes back to exploring.
“I’ve known the King since he was just a boy.” Hamilton scrubs his jaw. “And I have had the privilege to watch him grow into a man, become the Prince and now the King. It is something his father would have wished to have lived to see.” He frowns. “Oh, how I do miss King Hayden.”
I do too.
And I always will.
“I cannot say I have met another man like him since he went away.” Hamilton snorts out a laugh.
“The King will always live in his shadow and I believe that is why he strives so hard to live out his father’s legacy.” Laughing, he wraps deeper into his cloak. “But King Hayden would never have challenged His Holiness, the Pope.”
My brows knot. “What do you mean?”
“Alexander promised to marry.” Hamilton presses his lips together.
“And he did.”
“Yes, he chose you, Your Majesty, but you must know that Princess Sancha of the Kingdom of Castile was very disappointed when the offer of marriage was withdrawn with the King simply offering the explanation that he fell in love.” Hamilton chuckles. “She seemed to understand. She is married to someone else now herself.”
I pause in my stride and scrutinize Hamilton with my gaze. “Princess Sancha.”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” I fold my arms across my chest, protecting my heart and absorbing the chill as a crisp wind sweeps over us.
“Is everything okay?”
“Um, yes, no.” I laugh a little. “I guess I just thought that the King was set to marry Morganna, that is all.”
Hamilton barks out a laugh and then it instantly dies. “Oh, dear God, no. As much as the House of Montforthe-Byron respects both the Duke and Duchess of Manchester and welcomes them to Berkhamsted Castle often with open arms, we have never failed to see their greed and how fiercely they grapple for position among England’s elite. Morganna never had any true want for Alexander.” Hamilton frowns. “Only desire for the crown.” Hamilton huffs. “I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but there were many times when I could have sworn that woman would have sucked Alexander dry if given the opportunity.” He does not smile.
“I see.”
“I don’t believe Alexander has ever believed much in love.” Hamilton exhales.
I purse my lips together.
“But you, Your Majesty, have made him a believer.”
“Thank you, Hamilton.”
Hamilton tips his chin high. “Of course.”
I have not failed to see that my husband, although so often he manages to get through his days after obtaining very little sleep at night, has softened. We pray. We talk much about forgiveness. We speak on matters of England in private and spend our evenings thumbing chapter by chapter through the Holy Bible.
“It is just a shame that I could not change his mind regarding the fate of the Queen Mother and of Jean-Baptiste.”
Face set in a full scowl, I come to another stop. “What do you mean?”
He scans the gardens before he speaks. “Has he not told you?”
I search the edges of my mind accepting that the last time Alexander and I spoke about the fate of the dissenters was on that blustery morning back in Cornwall. Alexander has not spoken of it since.
I had only assumed he’d heeded my words…
Slowly, I twist to regard Hamilton. “Is he granting them pardon?”
Hamilton steps closer and offers me a worried glance. “No, Your Majesty, he is not.”
Revenge only begets revenge.
I begged Alexander to reconsider.
I pushed aside my own pain and loss and grief and consulted with God as to what should be the Queen Mother’s and Jean Baptiste’s fates. The proposal was that they be sent into exile to live out their days in a land far away from all they love and far from those who they hold close to their hearts. That should be penance enough until they meet God and he is given the opportunity to judge them himself.
Who are we to cast a decision against their souls?
Shock ripples through me and causes the baby to shift around in my belly and the next breath I push out seems to require much effort. “What has Alexander decided?”
Although we are outside, Anna’s giggles in the distance do nothing to soften this suffocating mood.
A sadness which is impossible to miss and difficult to regard sets on Hamilton’s features. “I am sorry, Your Majesty, but the Queen Mother is set to be executed at first light on the morrow.”
With a breath, I step back, scowling. “I beg your pardon.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, and Jean-Baptiste will be executed also. He will be hanged.”
My gaze falls to the rich English soil beneath my beautiful shoes. “I thought Alexander had forgiven them, Hamilton.” I dare to finally look him in the eye through my own watery ones.
Hamilton sighs. “No, I am very sorry, Your Majesty, but he has not.”
I am speechless.
“Perhaps, the Queen Mother and Jean-Baptiste will find their salvation in death.”
My eyes shine with unshed tears.
“I have no doubt that Alexander has love in his heart for them, but there are some things, Your Majesty, that a man simply cannot forgive. Perhaps, one day Alexander will forgive them, just not now.”
Cineri gloria sera est.
Glory paid to ashes comes too late…
Alexander
ANOTHER LETTER RECEIVED FROM my dear brother which sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and passed through the English Channel to reach me…
Sprawling in my chair, I unfold the pages and my eyes dance over his perfect script.
Dear Brother,
Along with the shores of England and Charlotte’s peach cobbler, I miss you.
The Kingdom of France is a rambunctious and vast place.
I plan to deliver my promise while I am here, although after many months I have failed to do so.
God willing, I will have better news soon, but in the interim, I wish you all the best with your nuptials. England could not deserve a more fitting queen and Briar deserves the love I could not give her.
I forgive you.
I love you.
I bid you well.
Please take care and I shall see you in due time.
Your brother,
Zaccai
After folding the letter, I let out a breath.
Admittedly, Berkhamsted Castle has not been the same without Zaccai here.
A stubborn piece of me refuses to admit that I do miss him.
He is my brother, after all—my blood—my family.
It is late in the evening, and beyond the window, the snow flurries dance around.
The vicious cold will soon settle upon England.
She always loved the snow…
I can do nothing to stop the pending cha
in of events. Or rather, I am not willing to. With each action there are consequences. And when a man makes a decision which will potentially tilt the future, whether in love or war, he must be prepared to face the repercussions. Broken hearts or blood…A man must accept the consequences.
What kind of king would I be to allow an assassination to go unpunished? I would be welcoming my own death, and possibly that of my wife and of my children…Nevertheless, no matter for how long they are locked away it will never bring my father back. Their expirations from this earth will bring me no solace.
The knock which lands on the door pulls me out of my ruminations.
Head tilted low, Briar slips inside and shuts it quietly behind her. “I thought you’d be here.” She offers me a weak smile.
I rise. “I am always in here.”
This council chamber seems to now be my permanent home.
“Is something the matter?” I reach a hand out, concerned, wondering if it’s about the baby.
Her brows collide. “I am not certain, but I had hoped that I was receiving misinformation.”
“What do you mean?” I stand stiff. “What is it that you speak about?”
She palms her belly as if she’s about to spew. “I was informed that the Queen Mother and Jean-Baptiste are to be executed tomorrow. Is this true?”
“Yes.” The word flies from my mouth in a clipped fashion.
Big hazel eyes burn into me. “So it is true.”
“Yes.”
“You ordered this, Alexander?”
“I do not deny it.” Every muscle in my face locks up tight.
How dare Briar question my decision?
We both lost someone we loved so very dearly—someone irreplaceable.
Isn’t this what she wants?
Justice.
Revenge.
This has gone beyond the opportunity for atonement.
“Alexander, we spoke of forgiveness.” Her eyes fill with tears.
“And you have forgiven them?”
She does not offer me an answer. “I do not know, but I know that it should only be God who decides to take one’s life, Alexander. No mere man should have that right.”
“I am no mere man, Briar, I am a king.”
She regards me with disgust.
And it hurts, hurts, hurts.