by Simone Pond
“Your lover Olen will be thrown into the dungeons.”
This was no surprise to Ciara. He’d mentioned it a time or two during the horrific trip back to the north. She continued staring at the castle. At least she’d have that enormous structure to hide in.
The prince continued his one-sided conversation. “Additionally, I’ve decided I no longer want you as my wife.”
Ciara whipped her head around at the news. That was the only thing that she was hanging around for—to one day become queen. That was her endgame. The bastard demon was ripping away her prize after all the suffering she’d endured.
“How could you be so heartless?” she cried.
He laughed. “Need you ask such a thing? It’s not so bad, really. Before you’re sent off to the Vindius Mountains, I’ll allow you to stay one more week at Verubri. So enjoy it!” He stroked her arm.
Ciara trembled uncontrollably and her stomach roiled like someone was wringing out her insides. Then a torrent came from her depths like a raging dark storm. She quickly grabbed the dirty sheet from under the seat and retched into the material.
“Ugh!” shouted the prince, cringing back and into Watlington, who woke up with a snort.
“What? What is it?”
Ciara kept vomiting into the sheet. When there was nothing remaining, she continued heaving up all the emptiness she felt in her soul.
***
“She’s coming back.” A strange voice echoed all around Ciara’s pounding head.
“What is this?” she whispered, attempting to sit up. It felt like cinderblocks had been placed over her body.
“I brought the healer to ya, me lady,” a familiar voice said.
Ciara peeked open her eyes to see the watchman who had carried her from the ship. He nodded reassuringly and patted her shoulder.
The healer stood over Ciara, her long white hair glimmering. “You been to very black pit,” she said in her heavy accent.
Ciara remembered the healer from the first night she’d arrived at the castle. They’d called her to heal Evelyn. Hopefully she could do the same for Ciara.
“The prince … he … hurt me,” she said, trying not to cry.
The healer leaned over Ciara, her aquamarine eyes peering into her like she was reading her mind. Her long white hair dangled around her angelic face and brushed across Ciara’s cheeks. The strands tickled her skin like feathers.
“He planted seed,” said the healer.
Ciara wasn’t sure she’d heard the woman correctly. “What?”
The healer looked at the watchman. “You leave now. We have woman talk.”
When the door closed, the healer sat on Ciara’s bed and held her hand. “You are with child. A girl.”
Ciara started crying.
The healer leapt onto the bed and in one swoop she came down over Ciara, straddling her in a bizarre squatting position. She pressed Ciara’s shoulders against the mattress and stared down into her eyes. No words were spoken. No chants came from her lips. She remained overtop of Ciara with her eyes locked in.
A warmth began to trickle down the crown of Ciara’s head, over her temples, and down her neck. It felt like warm honey rolling down over her shoulders and back. Then the healer hovered her hands over Ciara’s middle and stayed there a while. The pain that had been scorching between her legs eased. Bliss tingled through her middle and down her legs all the way to her toes.
The healer placed her hand on Ciara’s stomach, then stood. “You restored now.”
“Am I no longer pregnant?” she asked, wiping her tears away. “I don’t want the seed of a demon growing inside me.”
The healer shook her head. “You still with child. I bring life. Not death.”
“But I don’t want this child. It belongs to that … devil.”
“If you want to live, you grow baby. But you say it’s a boy.”
Ciara stopped panicking. She grinned. “I see,” she said.
“You healthy now. Stay alert. No let him touch you.” The healer glided to the door.
“Thank you,” Ciara called.
Before she slipped out of the room, the healer turned around. “The flower no belong to the prince.”
Ciara thought she meant her innocence had been restored, but the healer held her gaze longer. Then she knew exactly what she had meant. Ciara rubbed her abdomen. Her palms sparked with a warm energy as she thought about the baby girl inside her womb. The one that Olen had planted. She smiled. The child wasn’t evil, but the seed of a good man. Olen had saved her life and given her new life.
This news didn’t change her original plan of taking over the kingdom of Verubri and beyond. It only hastened it. When the prince learned of her condition—and believed she was carrying a male heir—he’d want to marry. The nuptials would take place long before the child came into the world to reveal the truth. And that gave Ciara plenty of time to plot her strategy. The buzz of vitality tingled through her.
She called for her chambermaid and requested to be dressed. She also sent a formal request to the prince to allow her to visit his chambers.
***
Ciara strutted down the third-floor hallway toward the prince’s chambers, the thrill of the game intensifying. As usual, people of the court and watchmen bustled and scrambled in and out of the prince’s chamber doors. They were in war mode and preparing their armies to march south. Ciara thought about Kateline and almost wished she could be with the men when they struck her down. It’d be a shame to miss watching the backstabbing wench suffer for what she’d done to Ciara. She shook her head as if releasing the thoughts from her mind, less the wretched woman distract her yet again. This time nothing would distract Ciara—no woman, no man. She was going to win this war.
Inside the chambers, counselors and captains argued over maps and scrolls. When the prince saw Ciara, he stood up from behind his desk with a pleased smile. She’d made sure the chambermaid had paid meticulous attention to her appearance. They’d chosen a refined and delicate dress and pulled back her raven hair. This was the type of outward display the prince appreciated. She now understood why. His lustful game was to ravish the innocent to shreds.
“Lady Ciara.” He came forward and reached around the waist of her pale blue gown, pulling her in for a kiss.
She turned her head so his lips landed on her cheek, which caused him to furrow his brow.
“My lord.” She curtsied out of false respect. “May I have a minute of your time?”
“If you’re here to campaign for an extension, I deeply regret to inform you I cannot oblige.” He stroked her cheek. “But don’t worry, I’ll make this last week worth your stay.”
Fury burned away any fear or disgust. Her desire to see him crumble fueled her.
“That’s not it, my lord.”
“Then get on with it. We have a war to plan.”
“In private, my lord?” She knew he’d never grant her this request, which was precisely why she requested it. She wanted to share her news in the presence of his most important counselors.
“Just get on with it,” he snapped.
“My lord, I’ve seen the healer. I’m with child … A boy.”
The prince stared at Ciara with a perplexed gaze, pressing his lips together. Then a slow curl appeared in the corner of his mouth and the golden flecks in his eyes sparkled. He grabbed her hands and pulled her in closely, smothering her with kisses.
“A boy! An heir to the throne!” he shouted to the men.
All activity ceased. The counselors and captains crowded around the prince, patting him on the back and saying words of congratulations. Ciara smiled and tears of joy trickled down her cheeks. Of course these had nothing to do with the prince and everything to do with the first phase of her plan locking into place. Now her mind began to devise the strategy by which she would take down the prince and his council of fools.
Watlington toddled over and whispered in her ear with his cheese breath, “I’d like to see the healer myself to confir
m this …”
Ciara took his fat little hands and squeezed them. “Of course, good sir.”
Watlington would be one of the first of the counselors to go. He was becoming a real nuisance.
9
Evelyn stood at the edge of the forest right outside Verubri Castle. She watched Big Red head back into the trees. Sunset’s golden hues dappled through the leaves, giving him and his steed an ethereal appearance as they trotted away. He’d told Evelyn he would go west to seek Doran and let him know of Evelyn’s plans.
She proceeded toward the castle and began to hear music and merriment. As she came up over the hill she saw torches burning along the entrance and the first floor of the castle was aglow. Laughter streamed out from the balconies in celebration. Of course the prince would throw a party prior to a blood sacrifice.
Perhaps there is a better way of gaining entry into the castle, Evelyn thought as she surveyed the scene. One that doesn’t involve getting captured…
A hand gripped Evelyn’s shoulder. “What are you doing out here?”
A large knight swayed to and fro and tried to focus on Evelyn. He was obviously drunk.
Evelyn stepped back a few inches. Her bum foot throbbed from the pressure, but she stayed steady. “I’m …”
He clumsily brandished his short-sword and aimed at her neck. “I know what you’re up to …”
Scratch the ‘not getting captured’ plan. She inched back another step. “I just wanted …”
“You just wanted to shirk your duties and spy on the lasses having a good time, didn’t ya, stable boy?” He waved his sword around and nearly lost his footing. “Go on and git back to your horses. Or I’ll cut off your hand so you can’t pick up another bucket of grain.”
Evelyn bowed her head. “Yes, sir. I’m on my way. Please don’t tell on me.”
The knight thwacked her arm with the flat side of his sword then staggered away, muttering something about horse dung. Evelyn—momentarily astonished by the strange encounter—turned and limped to the stables.
The horses neighed and snorted as she passed by their stalls. She went over to Tynan and gave him a gentle stroke. The beautiful black stallion recognized her and nuzzled his snout against her cheek. The warm air tickled her face and she giggled lightly.
“I love you too, friend,” she said. “Do you have any ideas on how I can get into that castle?”
Evelyn froze when she heard the giggle of a woman emanating from behind the stables. Evelyn slowly entered Tynan’s stall and ducked behind the door.
“Stop it, you naughty, naughty man!” said the woman, laughing as she did.
“You know you love it,” a man’s deep voice goaded.
“I’m not going to let you pluck my flower in a filthy horse stable!”
The doors to the stable burst open and the two sashayed inside, pressing up against one of the stall doors and smashing their faces together in a dramatic kiss.
“You’re so beautiful, my buttercup. Allow me to delight in you.” The man moaned.
“But my husband …”
“Your husband is a frivolous dolt who knows less about pleasuring a woman than a goat. I’ll show you what it means to experience true bliss …”
The sound of rustling and lips smacking and more moaning rose through the stables. Some of the horses neighed and chuffed. This caused the woman to giggle more, then gasp in delight. One of the doors of a stall slammed shut and there was even more rustling around and groaning.
“On the hay?” she asked, breathy.
“Take off your outer garment and lay it flat.” His voice was more commanding than a moment ago.
“But …”
“Shh … Just trust me, my buttercup.”
And so she did. Evelyn thought about leaving the stables to get away from the two as they went at it only a few stalls away, but she had come up with a brilliant plan to get inside the castle. She waited, wondering how long she’d have to endure this wanton act.
One minute later, the grunting and squeals of delight simmered down to just heavy panting.
“I must get back to the council,” the man said.
“But …”
“We can’t walk back inside together. Your husband already suspects something.”
The woman remained quiet.
When the door to the outside slammed shut, Evelyn came out of her stall, grabbed a pitchfork, and headed to where the lady sat pathetically in the hay, whimpering into her hands.
“That’s too bad,” said Evelyn, stepping into the stall and leaning on the pitchfork.
The woman jerked her head up in surprise. She was a stunning creature, with honey-blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes. Young, too—her supple skin beamed from the afterglow. She whipped her arms across herself to cover up the heaping bosom toppling over her white satin corset.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“I’m the one who’s going to borrow that dress of yours.” Evelyn pointed the pronged end of the pitchfork.
“My dress? How dare you suggest such a thing!” The woman began to stand up in protest, but stopped when Evelyn stepped closer. “Lady Evelyn? What are you doing here?”
Evelyn took some rope down from a hook. “No time to explain. I am going to tie you up. I’ll be sure to let one of the staff know that I saw a suspicious man pulling a woman toward the stables. That way, if what I plan on doing tonight fails, you won’t be blameworthy.”
Her blue eyes grew bright. “Is it true you killed the dragon?”
Evelyn was gently binding up the woman’s hands and then tying the rope to a pillar. “Yes. And I plan to kill the prince. He and his cohorts are very evil men.”
The young woman’s bright eyes grew wide, then she blushed. “I am ashamed—about what happened earlier in here.”
“What’s your name?” asked Evelyn.
“Katrina of Dilberberry.”
“Well, Katrina of Dilberberry, it’s easy to be deceived by things that sparkle and shine, but sometimes underneath the veneer is a darkness that only wants to destroy. Stay alert.”
Evelyn removed her clothes and slipped into Katrina’s dress. It wasn’t a suitable fit. She was at least five inches taller than Evelyn and a lot more endowed with curves. But she didn’t plan on wearing the gown for long. She just needed to get inside the castle, then she’d change back into her clothes and head to the dungeon. She laced up the boots, then tucked her garments under her arm.
“You should use my fan to help cover your face.”
“Where is it?”
Katrina looked downward to her bosom.
“In the corset?”
Katrina grinned as Evelyn leaned down to remove a beautiful fan that matched the dress. She gave a curt nod, then limped to the door.
Katrina called out, “You ought to know something …”
“What say you?”
“Your former chambermaid is with the prince’s child. A boy. That’s what they’re celebrating.”
Evelyn wasn’t surprised. “The lady moves quick …”
***
At the castle entrance, Evelyn hoisted up the gown to avoid tripping over the mounds of material. She fluttered the fan in front of her face. The watchman at the door greeted her and asked her name.
Evelyn raised her chin and chuffed as if annoyed by the question. “Katrina of Dilberberry. Did you not see me depart to take a promenade around the grounds just a short while ago? I stated plainly that I would return soon and now here I am. What is your name so I can report you to your captain?”
“My apologies, Lady Katrina. I remember now. Please join the festivities.”
Evelyn stood in the grand reception hall and took in the grandeur of Verubri Castle. Though it was beautiful, an oppressive presence hung in the air. Memories of her brief time there came flooding back. Dancing with the prince. Seeing the dragon. Being beaten nearly to death by the prince. Thrown into the dungeons. Hopefully new memories would be created shortly—ones to replace
the vile ones garnered here.
The prince had spared no expense for the celebration. Food and drink were abundantly lavished upon the guests. Wine overflowed into their cups. Maids carried silver trays piled high with cheeses of every kind and extravagant desserts. Men crashed goblets together in toasts, splashing their drinks.
The dance floor was packed with couples swirling around to the music. Evelyn slouched into the crowd and threaded her way to the back of the grand hall. She wanted to reach the kitchen area, having vaguely remembered the route the watchman—Braxton of Delfry—had taken to the dungeons.
She was about halfway across the floor when one of the guests stepped on the material of her gown, causing her to trip. She landed face-first on a pair of boots. Because it was so packed and people were so drunk, nobody seemed to notice. Except for the man whose boots she had landed upon.
He helped her up and studied her up and down. His gray eyes narrowed. “Who are you and what are you doing in Katrina’s gown?”
She recognized the man’s voice from the stables earlier. Evelyn pulled away and shoved through the crowd to the perimeter, grabbing one of the watchmen. She pointed to the counselor, whispering that she’d seen him dragging a woman into the horse stables. The watchman focused in on the counselor and began to stalk toward him. The counselor quickly darted in the other direction. Evelyn forced herself to continue walking, though her foot throbbed immensely. She made it through one of the doors and into a hallway. It just happened to lead right to the kitchen.
The candlelight flickered as Evelyn limped along. She started to remember the route, but it was hazy. Then she saw the corner where she’d waited for Braxton—where she’d crouched naked and shivering—and everything came back to her. She knew exactly how to get to the dungeons.
“Evelyn.” A familiar voice came from behind.
She could’ve kept going forward and ignored the call. She could’ve started running. There were a number of far wiser options, but Evelyn chose to turn around.
“Ciara,” she said.
The raven-haired beauty stepped out of the shadows. The glow of candlelight danced in her sapphire eyes. She wore an opulent red gown that sparkled as though it was made of rubies. The extraordinary volume of red material draped to the ground, pooling around her like a lake of blood.