Always: A Prequel Novella (The Lost Princesses)

by Jody Hedlund

  Books by Jody Hedlund

  Young Adult: The Lost Princesses Series

  Always: Prequel Novella

  Evermore

  Foremost

  Hereafter

  Young Adult: Noble Knights Series

  The Vow: Prequel Novella

  An Uncertain Choice

  A Daring Sacrifice

  For Love & Honor

  A Loyal Heart

  A Worthy Rebel

  The Bride Ships Series

  A Reluctant Bride

  The Runaway Bride

  The Orphan Train Series

  An Awakened Heart: A Novella

  With You Always

  Together Forever

  Searching for You

  The Beacons of Hope Series

  Out of the Storm: A Novella

  Love Unexpected

  Hearts Made Whole

  Undaunted Hope

  Forever Safe

  Never Forget

  The Hearts of Faith Collection

  The Preacher’s Bride

  The Doctor’s Lady

  Rebellious Heart

  The Michigan Brides Collection

  Unending Devotion

  A Noble Groom

  Captured by Love

  Historical

  Luther and Katharina

  Newton & Polly

  Always

  Northern Lights Press

  © 2019 Copyright

  Jody Hedlund Kindle Edition

  www.jodyhedlund.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are accordingly inevitable. All other characters are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Emilie Hendryx of E. A. Hendryx Creative

  Table of Contents

  Half-Title

  Books by Jody Hedlund

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  About the Author

  Young Adult Fiction from Jody Hedlund

  More from Jody Hedlund

  Chapter

  1

  Felicia

  “Another sip, Your Majesty,” I pleaded, holding out the golden chalice of raspberry-leaf tea. I tried to quell my shaking so I wouldn’t spill the liquid that was supposed to slow the bleeding but hadn’t yet.

  The queen clamped her lips closed to fend off another scream. Against the feather bolster and pillow beres, the beautiful woman was as pale as the linen sheets she lay upon. Her eyes were glassy, and her blond hair had come loose from its plait and now lay in tangled waves, damp with perspiration.

  “The babe is finally coming.” The head midwife spoke calmly from the footboard of the large canopied bed. “I need more chamomile massage oil.”

  One of the other ladies rushed across the chamber to do the midwife’s bidding in preparation for the next royal son or daughter. With so few ladies remaining after the evacuation of the palace, we’d all worked tirelessly during the past eighteen hours that the queen had been in labor, attempting to ease her distress as best we could.

  Although my stomach roiled with squeamishness every time I glimpsed the bloody sheets the midwives kept taking away, I was thankful I hadn’t left Delsworth Castle with the other ladies-in-waiting as the queen had urged. After all the kindness she’d shown to me in the year I’d lived at the royal residence, aiding in her travail was the least I could do in return.

  “Push, Your Majesty,” the head midwife said, her voice commanding and soothing at the same time.

  The queen fumbled for something to grasp. I rapidly placed the chalice on the bedside table and enfolded her hand in mine.

  “You are a strong and brave woman.” I bent in closer and smoothed loose strands off her forehead. “You can do this.”

  “No, Felicia. I cannot.” She gasped, and the muscles in her neck and face bulged with the strain of her labor.

  “If anyone can do this,” I said softly, “it is you.”

  And I believed it with all my heart. Her Royal Majesty Dierdal Aurora Leandra, Queen of Mercia, was truly the kindest, noblest, and most gracious woman I knew. While she required impeccable conduct from her ladies-in-waiting, she always expected more of herself than of anyone else.

  Even during the past fortnight while an invading army had overrun the capital city of Mercia and besieged the castle, the queen had maintained the strictest order among the few of us ladies who were still with her. She’d kept us all too busy to think about the enemy surrounding the moat and fortified walls. When the battering rams had grown loud, she requested we play our music louder. When the smoke from the firebombs penetrated the inner rooms of the keep, she had more fans and incense brought in. When the reports of skirmishes on the ramparts had been unfavorable, she added more prayer hours to our schedule.

  Yesterday, after a young soldier came with news that the king had been injured during a particularly fierce battle on the wall, the queen had remained focused and strong—at least outwardly. Privately, I had no doubt she was worried about her husband, and I couldn’t keep from wondering if the report of the king’s injury had caused her to go into labor. The midwives hadn’t seemed overly anxious about the arrival of the child a few weeks early, especially since the queen’s abdomen had shown the babe to be of a good size.

  Now the queen strained, holding her breath and squeezing my hand for so long, I started to panic. “Breathe, Your Majesty,” I urged.

  Her lips turned blue and quivered before she finally sucked in a sharp gasp of air. A tiny wail rent the air. A newborn wail.

  Tears pricked my eyes—tears of both joy and relief. The childbirth was over.

  Around the room came excited murmurs and clapping from the other ladies, followed by the midwife’s triumphant pronouncement. “You’ve delivered a healthy princess, Your Majesty.”

  The queen dropped her head into the pillow beres and bolster, her body limp, her face more ashen. As her lashes fell, I caught a glimpse of sadness before a tear escaped down her cheek. The birth of a child ought to be a time of joy, not despair. But with her husband injured and the city besieged, perhaps the rejoicing would come later.

  With a start and sharp gasp, the queen sat forward, clutching my hand again. Another contraction wracked her body, this one tighter and more powerful than any that had come before. Though the regal woman had endured her travail silently thus far, a chilling scream escaped her lips as if torn from her by force.

  Every conversation and movement came to a halt, and all eyes turned upon her.

  The midwife’s brow furrowed, adding wrinkles to her already aged face. Her intelligent eyes flashed with worry that sparked fear inside me. She examined the queen again, and her eyes widened with surprise. “I do believe the queen is about to have a second babe.”

  Twins? Gasps rippled around th
e chamber.

  For an endless moment, the queen struggled to bring another new life into the world. Veins in her temples protruded, pulsing and pounding ribbons of blue. After the tiny squalling cries of a second babe finally rose to greet us, the queen collapsed against her pillow beres once more.

  “Another princess,” the other ladies whispered reverently.

  “I need my stitching kit,” the midwife called, handing the care of the infant over to her attendant. Instead of triumph, urgency edged the midwife’s voice, which only stirred the anxiety in my chest.

  The queen’s grip in mine melted away. Her lashes fluttered up to reveal eyes so glazed I wasn’t sure she could focus. Nevertheless, she shifted her gaze to my hovering face.

  I snatched up the chalice of raspberry-leaf tea and lifted it to her lips.

  She shook her head, turning her mouth away. “Felicia?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I am here.”

  “Take my babes.” Her voice was halting and breathless.

  The nursemaids were already in the process of bathing and swaddling the first of the newborns in the nursery next to the queen’s chambers and would soon be doing the same for the second. The wet nurse was ready and waiting. I could do nothing for the princesses, but I couldn’t tell that to the queen, not in her state. The best course was to agree with whatever she asked and pacify her as much as I could. “Where would you like me to take the babes, Your Majesty?”

  “Flee from Delsworth,” the queen continued with gasping breaths.

  Flee from Delsworth? Was the fighting going so poorly the queen feared defeat?

  “My crown.” She glanced sideways at the pedestal table on the opposite side of the bed where the crown sat upon a black velvet cushion. “Take out two rubies, one for each twin.”

  I nodded, not sure how I would do so but determined to promise anything to this woman who’d welcomed me so warmly into her home.

  “You must find Constance,” she rasped.

  The three-year-old crown princess Constance had already been removed from the Delsworth fortress several weeks ago when King Francis ordered the evacuation. That’s when most of the other ladies-in-waiting had left with as many of the castle staff and courtiers who could be spared. The entourage journeyed by barges up the Cress River to another royal dwelling in Everly, one of the Iron Cities. The king had wanted the queen to leave, but she’d already taken to her bed with early labor pains and had been in too much discomfort to travel.

  At the time, the relocation had been only a precaution. We’d heard rumors King Ethelwulf of Warwick was on the move, that he’d hired mercenaries from the continent—toughened Dane warriors as well as lethal brown-skinned Saracens. However, we hadn’t expected King Ethelwulf to attack by sea so swiftly and with so much power. Certainly, we’d never believed he could overcome the massive seaport fortress that King Francis and Queen Dierdal had made their primary residence. Built of granite from the Highlands, the outer wall was ten feet thick.

  “Please, Felicia,” the queen whispered, her lips thin, her voice barely audible. “I trust you more than any other to see that my daughters are safe.”

  Trust me? Why?

  At seventeen, I was one of the youngest ladies-in-waiting, and I wasn’t anyone special. In fact, the queen knew I was more of a misfit because I disdained the noble courtship process—the system whereby each family sent one of their daughters to the royal court to be matched with a young man chosen as the heir of his own family.

  The process of singling out a son and daughter was fraught with complications that had torn apart many families, including my own, in ways that were irreparable. My brothers had fought bitterly in a rivalry to become the chosen son who would eventually inherit our family’s Avington estate and fortune. Even though Charles had prevailed and gone to court and was now betrothed, my brothers hadn’t reconciled and likely never would. Furthermore, my two older sisters resented me—the chosen daughter.

  Now, after almost a year at the palace, I scorned the courtship process even more. I felt like a decorative object on a pedestal under intense scrutiny, with men constantly surveying my waist-length sable curls, every inch of my smooth complexion that Mother had worked so hard to keep unblemished, and my slender body that was honed to perfection.

  I might not have been the most beautiful young noblewoman at court, but I’d been groomed for this existence my entire life and should have felt privileged. But my dissatisfaction had only grown. Although I’d tried to keep it from the queen, she’d been too perceptive. She’d coaxed me into explaining my reservations about court life and had listened attentively as she always did.

  I hadn’t expected her to rise up and revolutionize a system that most of the aristocracy believed kept our noble lineages strong and flourishing. Nevertheless, I had felt better for sharing honestly with the queen, and I admired her all the more for her willingness to understand my frustration.

  Her words had stayed with me. “Ofttimes we cannot change the entire direction of a route already set in motion. But we can do our small part to shift the path one degree at a time.”

  “What will your part be, Felicia?” she’d asked.

  I hadn’t known how to answer her. I still didn’t. But I had been attempting to discover my purpose ever since.

  Even so, I couldn’t imagine why she would trust me with her newborn babes. Not when other, more important, stronger people could surely keep her daughters safer than I could. After all, how would I be able to leave the castle? Not when King Ethelwulf’s mighty army surrounded it. Slipping out of the walled fortress and past the enemy would have been hard enough by myself. But carrying two newborn babes—and royal heirs no less? Impossible. King Ethelwulf’s jealousy, greed, and ruthlessness preceded him. He wouldn’t willingly allow any of the royal family to escape. Besides, if I somehow managed to smuggle the babes away, where would I go? How would I provide for them?

  “Felicia,” the queen whispered so faintly I had to bend low. “You can do this. For me. For my daughters. For all of us.”

  From the end of the bed, the midwife shouted for more supplies, her voice insistent and panicked. The queen held my gaze, and her eyes cleared of the haze of pain, revealing the strong, intelligent, and kind woman I had come to know. A glimmer in the depths told me she believed in me and thought I was strong and intelligent too.

  “I will try to save them, Your Majesty,” I said, but not without trepidation.

  “Do you vow it?”

  “I do.”

  She lifted her hand from the bed. It shook terribly and seemed to cost her the last ounce of remaining energy. I bent and placed three kisses there, as was the custom when making a vow, in turn pledging my allegiance, my loyalty, and my life.

  Although I had not expected such a heavy task to befall me, nor to make such a pledge, I pressed a fourth and final kiss against the queen’s hand—the seal of my vow to her, a promise upon a promise, the assurance that her trust in me was well-placed.

  She gave a gentle, almost imperceptible squeeze before loosening her grip and dropping her hand. I kept my head bent in servitude, but also because I didn’t want her to see the fear and uncertainty in my eyes when I lifted my countenance.

  Her hand slipped off the bed and dangled limply in midair.

  Around me, the midwives called frantic orders, and the other ladies rushed to fulfill the commands. “I have to find a way to stop the bleeding!” the head midwife said, no longer attempting to mask her fear. “Lady Felicia, give the queen more of that tea. Now!”

  I picked up the chalice but halted halfway to the queen’s lips. Her eyes were closed, her lashes fanned across her pale skin. Everything about her body lay silent and still. Her lips were slightly parted as if she’d spoken her last words and taken her last breath.

  My fingers began to shake so violently that some of the tea sloshed over the rim and splashed onto the sheet. A crimson spot spread like a fast-growing web, its layers tangling and dividing and encroaching
as if to catch its prey.

  I took a quick step back, unable to tear my eyes from the dead queen. She’d known she was dying. She’d known a silky snare was growing that would soon catch us all in its tangle. And she’d known I would need to race to save the princesses.

  I prayed to God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost I wasn’t too late.

  Chapter

  2

  LANCE

  THE GRIT OF smoke and sweat lined every crevice of my face, the metallic taste of blood lingering against my lips and on my tongue. Whether my own or the splattered lifeblood of my latest kill, I could not distinguish.

  The sword sheathed at my side clanked against my chain mail on one side. My flail swung from the other. My leather soldier boots slapped the hallway floor in tempo to the frantic thud of my heart. Breathless, I reached the king’s chamber and saluted the two soldiers standing guard before I identified myself by touching the silver boar badge affixed to my chest. The insignia symbolized the bravery and honor I’d earned that set me apart as a retainer in the king’s private army. The honor allowed me extra privileges and a higher income I eagerly sent home to my mother and siblings.

  But tonight, at this moment, the order from my commander to deliver the latest battle news to the king was not a privilege I’d wanted to have. Not when the news was so devastating. And not when I was tasked with secreting the king to safety—a move our noble ruler would surely resist.

  The soldiers at the door regarded me with frightened eyes. Their gazes darted past me to the passageway, to the screams of torture and terror that were no longer contained to the castle walls but drew closer with each passing minute.

  “Lance of the Elite Guard. I must see the king at once.”

  The soldiers parted and opened the door for me. The room was dimly lit and hazy from the smoke of a dozen incense pots and thick with the bitter odor of bloodwort. I homed in on King Francis lying unmoving on his luxurious bed. A physician pressed leeches against the king’s already bruised arm for another bloodletting. At the clank of my armor and heavy thud of my boots upon my entrance, the king lifted his head and attempted to push up to his elbows, but immediately dropped back with a groan.