by Diana Flame
Even as he endeavored to convince himself that he should return to Kingdom City, he knew his loyalty to the one who saved him had won. Rulf told himself that he was only going to see her because he was a knight of the highest order and knights were known for their loyalty. He owed her his life. Therefore, he concluded, that it wasn’t his heart he was following but his good conscience as a knight. As the sun sank behind the mountains, he pulled to a stop in front of the small farmstead.
Standing by the gate was Catrain’s father. As Osorus came to a halt, the older man’s face took on a look of despair. Merek’s pale features told Rulf that something had gone awry. His belly wrenched at the thought of Catrain in trouble. Rulf discounted and strode up to the man.
“Sir Knight what brings you to these parts?” Merek inquired.
“I came to have dialogue with Catrain. Is she busy with chores?”
Merek’s face relaxed for a few seconds, before a stricken look overshadowed him. Rulf was confused at the man’s reaction. That feeling of dread washed over him that he stopped breathing for a moment.
“What is the matter, elder?”
Merek leaned against the gate post, seemingly unable to stand upright. “Catrain has been missing for four days,” the man said, his voice breaking.
“That cannot be,” Rulf denied.
“Aye, my lord,” Merek said. “We have searched far and wide. She is nowhere to be found.”
“Are you certain she is not with friends?’
Merek shook his head. “Catrain has never left home for a night, let alone four entire days. She’s never gone beyond the bank of the river. We found her pail in the fields,” Merek added. “She’d never leave that pail behind.”
With his fist curled into a ball, Rulf grounded his teeth together. The first thought that occurred to him as that the rebels took her.
“I swear on my sword I will find you daughter. With my last breath I will search this entire kingdom, knock on every door and tear apart every forest until I find her,” he declared. What did I just promise? I must be going insane…
“Thank you sir knight.” Merek bowed.
* * *
Relief washed over Merek that the knight promised to find Catrain. Otherwise, he would have to do things that might get Catrain killed and him in prison. Brogue would also be in danger. He would need to think carefully about how to proceed.
If Catrain were indeed in the palace, they would not harm her. If he tried to get her out by breaking in, both their lives would be in danger.
Having the knight on his side was good. However, he knew that if Catrain did not return in two days, they would fetch him – as Brogue said, only because he’d allow it.
The morning mist rose up against the rising sun. The chill of the mountain air bit into Guinevere as she pulled her coat about her. Many miles away from Cronada, she hated the very soil on which she stood. This was her fate. If she went against the king’s order, she would be exiled to live life similar to a commoner.
In her heart, she avowed never return to the Cronadian palace. Should it matter to whom she married then? Turning from the bitter cold, she began to make her way out of the garden. On her way, she met one of her chambermaids who had accompanied her from Cronada.
“Madame, you should get back inside lest you catch your death in this cold.”
The garden was vast with many flowering plants. The chill of winter was upon them and many of the flowers had begun to wither from the frost. This told her how far they’d travel from Cronada to Petaria. When they left Cronada it was quite warm. They had crossed many lands as well as the Sea of Zunzt to get there.
Pulling her chambermaid aside, she asked, “What is the commotion inside the palace?”
The night before, many people had gone to the queen’s chambers including the palace physician. Since arriving, she’d heard that the queen was not keeping well. She had not asked anyone and no one offered her any information. Guinevere had not spoken to anyone much and kept herself withdrawn since her arrival. The disappointment of Rulf’s behavior was still fresh and she had not wished to socialize.
“My lady, word has it that Queen Zenevia has taken a turn for the worse.”
The queen’s illness was not a secret. For the past three weeks, the queen’s health had been deteriorating rapidly. Because of this, Guinevere had not the pleasure of making her acquaintance.
Frowning, she moved closer to her chambermaid, speaking in a whisper. “What have you heard of it?”
“My lady,” the servant’s tone was almost a whisper as she looked around. “I heard that the king’s lover did this.”
Guinevere gasped. She did not know that the king had a concubine. On the first day that they had arrived at this castle, Guinevere noted that the king was a sturdy man perhaps twenty years her senior. Could not the queen please him? Would the same happen to her should she wed one of his brothers?
The late Queen mother had been much older than the late king she learned. Guinevere understood that the youngest of the five sons was born minutes before his mother passed. He was supposedly about her age.
Guinevere’s own mother passed away right after she was born so she thought she would feel some kind of kinship with the youngest of the princes. It wasn’t so. Her heart was still heavy from leaving Cronada.
“Is it poison?” Guinevere asked.
The attendant nodded. “It suspected to be so, my lady. You know about such things don’t you?”
“Yes, my father was a great physician who studied about such things. I learned many things under his tutelage.”
Footsteps alerted them that they were no longer alone. The sound of voices approached and they began walking toward the exit of the garden. The ones approaching came into view and she was aghast to see that it was the king.
Guinevere stopped as she was uncertain what to do. When the king noticed her, he waved and hastened his steps, his servants lingering behind.
“How is the lady?” he inquired, his voice rich and smooth.
“Your Majesty, the lady is fine,” she curtsied, keeping her eyes low.
“Walk with me?” he offered. “I wont be long.”
Guinevere hesitated, “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
She kept a pace behind him as customary, but he stopped and beckoned for her to join steps with him. When he stopped, turning his face to the morning sun, she noticed he was not wearing an overcoat. He inhaled deeply as though he wasn’t breathing the frosty air.
“My king, should you not be careful? It’s rather cold.”
“Ha-ha!” his laugh was quite boisterous. “It’s quite nippy this time of year. I have trained myself to adapt to any weather condition. As king and the commander of one of the greatest armies in the land, one has to be prepared.”
“I see.”
The king turned to face her, his baby blue eyes penetrating her. “You have kept yourself hidden these past days. My brothers have been curious about you.”
“My sincere apologies, my king.”
“I heard you were quite a beauty, they were right,” he smiled. Her heart warmed at the sight. She hadn’t realized how handsome the king was until that moment. “Do you not wish to marry one of my sons, Lady Guinevere?”
“Your Majesty, it is not that I do not wish to marry your son, it is that…,” her words trailed off.
The king nodded thoughtfully. “Ha! Your heart belongs to another.”
Guinevere beamed. “It is so, Your Majesty.”
“Hmm, then we shall wait until you are ready,” he said.
They started moving again, but Guinevere felt uneasy. She paused. “My king, may I be so forward as to ask you a question?”
He narrowed his eyes and looked intently at her. Guinevere lowered her gaze.
“You may.”
“Sire, should you not be by the queen’s bedside this moment?” She said. “I understand she’s gravely ill.”
The king clenched his jaw and gave her a severe stare. Guin
evere thought he was going to reprimand her insolence, but he shrugged and turned away from her before answering.
“The queen has asked that I not see her in this condition,” he replied in a thick voice. “She can be quite shallow when she wishes.”
Without thinking, Guinevere touched the king’s arm. “I am truly sorry, Your Majesty.”
King Christoffle turned to face her, evidently surprised by her gesture. His eyes dropped to her hand and she quickly snatched it away.
“I am sorry, Your Majesty, I did not mean to cross my limits,” she apologized, bowing her head.
The king chuckled. “You are quite different from the others, Lady Guinevere. You will make an exceptional companion. One of my brothers will be a fortunate prince.”
Blushing, she turned away. “You flatter me, my king.”
“It is well deserved, my lady,” he replied. “I am glad I came out on this cold morning. Your presence has warmed me some.”
With eyes wide, she stared at the king. Those words were more than flattery. Was the king flirting with her? No. He is only being nice.
His voice broke her spell. “Shall we go in?”
“Y-yes, Your Majesty.”
Ulrich eyes began to hurt watching his master pace back and forth. Sometimes he would stop as if in deep thought then trammeled the floor again. Since the evening before, Rulf seemed troubled and angry. Ulrich worried for his young master that perhaps he bore too many of the king’s burdens.
Rulf was like a son to the king who trusted the young knight more than anyone in the kingdom. Everyone in the palace knew that. Because of this, the ministers despised him, especially the Prime Minister.
“My Lord, is everything well with you?” Ulrich finally queried.
Rulf stopped, then spun sharply and strode up to Ulrich.
“Have you heard anything amiss in the city these last days?”
“What might that be, my Lord?” Ulrich asked, uncertain of what his master might be asking.
“Have you heard of a girl captured from the village of Frogsgrave?”
“No, my liege,” the manservant replied.
“You will be my eyes and ears Ulrich. You listen and observe,” Rulf told him, though it was more of a command. “Ulrich, I need a tunic,” he added.
“I will fetch one sir, which would you like today, the blue---,”
“No, not mine, a Gerdanian tunic that fits,” Rulf said.
“I will see what I can do my Lord,” Ulrich replied.
Rulf looked gravely at him. “I will need it before sundown Ulrich, so hurry.”
Ulrich knew what his master planned to do and fretted for the young knight. The man was the most skillful fighter in all of Cronada, but that didn’t mean he was invincible. As his elder, Rulf was under his care and that meant his life was his responsibility.
Ulrich felt like a father to the young half-royal, him being a Halabred and loyal servant to Rulf’s family since he was but a boy. Rulf’s father, before his untimely death, entrusted him to take care of his son.
As he left the knight’s dwelling, he was a little confused as to why his master was inquiring about a netherbred girl. Shaking his head, he smiled. If, his master liked a lesser then that was okay.
He quickly exited the city from the back entrance that led to a small village just about a mile away where merchants gathered. He knew they bartered the tunics of the dead rebels so his best option was to purchase one for his master.
* * *
The cold night air sifted up from the Sea of Zunzt. Though it could get extremely cold in Cronada, they did not experience the frost like the other territories. Rulf ignored the cold and made his way toward the Gerdanian camp beyond the Dark Serpent Valley.
Without the moonlight as guide, he depended on his horse’s natural night vision to guide them. Once outside the rebel camp, he dismounted, leaving his thoroughbred to hide himself until his return.
The bonfires and torches from within the camp made his entry clear. Keeping to the shadows, he observed the groups of men camped around bonfires. Some were already asleep while others kept guard, keeping their conversations low. Moving on padded feet, Rulf made no sound as he crept near to where a group huddled close together. As he drew close, he overheard them discussing the following day’s battle strategy.
Rulf chuckled softly, thinking that their plan was sure to fail. At least now, he could advice the captain about their plot and end this farce of a war.
Keeping low, he moved stealthily across the encampment, listening for any mention of a violet-eyed golden hair lesser on the site. Nothing came up. By the time he circled the entire area, he came to the conclusion that she was not there. If they had captured her, she would have been made a public spectacle and perhaps bartered among the men to the highest bidder. Or worse, she’d be passed around like a slab of meat.
The best case scenario would have been that she would be reserved for their leader and kept hidden in his tent. Rulf made his way close to the main tent, which was heavily guarded. As he moved through the shadows, he grounded his teeth in irritation that he felt responsible for her.
He was even angrier with himself that he’d kissed her. How could he have kissed a lesser born? It was unheard of that a half-royal would romance someone as she. Taking one to bed as a means of sating oneself was one thing, but having his heart flutter at the mere thought of her was completely ridiculous!
He managed to slither to the back of the main tent and listened. The people inside spoke in subdued tones. Rulf, now anxious to see what was happening, pulled his stiletto, silently piercing the tent. The blade made a small hole. The Rebel king was sitting around a makeshift table made of a slab of wood and a large stone. With him were three of his high-ranking soldiers.
Apart from them four, the tent was empty. Relief flooded him as his shoulders relaxed. With the release of his earlier tension came also a sinking feeling that Catrain was in Kingdom City for the use of the soldiers from the east. His respite lasted but a few seconds before anger burned his belly.
Gritting his teeth, Rulf curled his fist and punched the night air. How could his men take her after her refusal? The king specifically ordered them to bring only those women who came willingly.
Making his way back to his horse, he was in such a foul mood that he almost walked into a group of soldiers sitting around a fire. When he realized what he’d done, he turned and began walking briskly toward the edge of the campsite.
As he neared where he’d left his horse a soldier approached him. Rulf kept moving with his head down. He’d made a few more steps when a hand clamped his shoulder.
“Are you hard of hearing or what?” a Gerdanian asked
In reply, Rulf turned, trapping the soldier’s hand. Twisting the wrist, he brought the man to his knees. Before the soldier could raise an alarm, Rulf let go of the hand. The soldier grinned and began to rise to his feet. Grinning as well, Rulf cupped the man’s chin and the back of his head, twisting in one swift move. The Gerdanian fell face down with his head at an unusual angle.
Sharp pain sliced through her abdomen and stomach. Catrain curled on the small cot, trying to will the pain away. Nausea rose to her throat as her head throbbed wickedly. It was four days in that Godforsaken cell and not a morsel touched her lips. She swore she would not touch food until they set her free. If not, she would rather die.
Someone knelt beside the cot and touched her shoulder. “You must eat, or you will get sick.”
Groaning, she brushed the hand away. The movement brought another shooting pain in her core. Biting her lips from crying out she grimaced and buried her face in the cot. She would not show them her weakness. She stayed like that for some time until she slowly drifted to sleep.
* * *
Frederick puckered his forehead as he paced the floor in front of the cell. The girl hadn’t eaten since they’d taken her. He worried because his orders were to not let anything happen to her.
The Prime Minister was goi
ng to be furious if she fell ill because of him. He could tell that she was in pain, even though she tried to hide it from him. She’d been lying in that position now for nearly twenty-four hours. Her soft groan filtered through the cell door, proving she was in pain.
Frederick moved away from the cell and made his way to the aast wing of the castle where the Prime Minister’s private quarters were. After knocking twice, he entered the chambers. The minister’s head was bent as he scribed on papyrus.
“What is it?” Cronus demanded.
“Minister, it’s about the lesser.”
“Don’t call her that.”
Frederick frowned. Was the minister sweet on her? What was he to call her? He didn’t even know her name. Scratching his head with lines creasing his brow, he shuffled uncomfortably.
“Her name is Catrain,” the Minister added.
“Yes, Minister,” he replied.
“Now tell me, what about her?”
A single bead of sweat meandered its way down his back. Palms also sweaty, Frederick squirmed as the sweat tickled his flesh. The Minister raised his sharp eyes, which seemed to pierce through him like an arrow.
“What have you done?” Cronus slowly rose to his feet. His face darkened as he advanced on Frederick.
The younger man stepped back. “N-n-nothing, Minister,” he stuttered. “I have done nothing, sire.”
“Then what?” Cronus’ voice rose a pitch.
“My lord, she hasn’t taken food since being here.”
Cronus returned to his seat, his face relaxing. “I cannot afford to let anything happen to her, she is the key to the kingdom.”
Frederick’s eyes widened. Key to the kingdom? He repeated in his head. What does that mean? He wanted to ask the Minister what he meant by it. He kept quiet as the minister stared at the papyrus set on the table.
“When it is quiet all around, when every man is asleep, move her to one of the empty chambers near my quarters. Give her new raiment.