THE rain was pouring hard on the stone roof of the Tower the day that King Alaric of Vrasambail, the Third of His Name, died.
It was early in the morning, barely a quarter after the eight hour, and Prince Archer, the eldest born of the King and the long-dead Good Queen Amarantha, was alone reading in his chambers in what is commonly referred to as the Tower but in actuality was the residence of the royal family of Vrasambail when Lucius, the King’s squire, brought him the dire news.
“My Lord,” the 15-year old stocky lad with a mop of brown hair began after a cursory bow, “the King had passed in his sleep. Elder Anselm sent me to let you know.”
The scripture of the kingdom’s mountain clans that the prince had been reading fell to the floor. With the King having been in a sickly disposition for several months now, he had thought that perhaps the pain of his passing would be significantly lesser than it would have been had the death been a complete surprise, but he was wrong. He stood there agape, his chest tightening with every shallow breath.
“Where is he, Lucius? I wish to see him.”
The young man dropped his eyes to the stone floor of the prince’s room. Lucius, despite hailing from one of the proudest families in the kingdom, had always been timid. “He is in his chambers, my Lord, attended to by the Sisters.” The Sisters are the healers of the Kingdom, and they attend to the dead, as well.
He nodded absently. “I wish to see him. Have my sisters been informed?”
“Not yet, my Lord. My orders were to go straight to you. Shall I go now and let them know?”
Archer shook his blond head. “I will do it, Lucius. I will tell my sisters the news. Do you know where Agatha and Madeleine are?”
“Martha said,” he replied, referring to the castle’s elderly cook, “they were in the Princess Agatha’s chambers, my Lord,”
“I shall be gone, then. Tell Anselm that we shall meet him in Father’s chambers shortly.”
ARCHER heard the loud giggling of his sister Agatha as he knocked on the oak door of her chambers. “Agatha? Madeleine? It is I, Archer. I need to speak with the both of you.”
The heavy door opened, revealing a grinning Princess Agatha. She was a lively, fierce one: always high-spirited, but at the moment, she took one look at his grim expression, and her grin dropped. She stood up straighter, her usually mischievous eyes somber.
“Is it Father?”
Archer took a deep breath, and nodded minutely. Agatha furiously blinked her eyes to prevent the falling of the tears that immediately formed.
Archer turned his head and saw his youngest sister, seventeen year-old Princess Madeleine, sitting on her elder sister’s bed. While he and Agatha both inherited their father’s golden curls and blue eyes, Madeleine, with her straight black hair and dark eyes, looks exactly as their mother did at her age.
“Maddy..” he called gently, using her pet name. She was loved by everyone in their family, but by their father especially so. He knew how much the news of his demise would hurt her. “Our Father, the King, has passed.”
Her dark eyes clouded. “I know. I heard you telling Agatha.”
Silence ensued among the three siblings: Archer, head bowed; Agatha, swallowing hard and blinking; Madeleine, clenching the silk sheets of the bed in her hand. However much pain they are feeling, they were born royals: tough, controlled, and do not easily express emotions.
After a while, Archer cleared his throat. “My sisters, Father is in his chambers right now, and I am heading there to see him. You may come with me if you wish to do so.”
Both princesses nodded. Madeleine stood up from the bed and stood next to her sister.
“Lead the way, my Lord.”
HIGH Elder Anselm, the leader of the Council of Elders, was waiting outside the King’s chambers when the three siblings, led by the heir of the throne, arrived to see their father. Two guard were standing there, as well. He bowed upon seeing them, showing his all-white hair. “My Lord. Princess Agatha. Princess Madeleine.”
The prince spoke. “We wish to see our Father.”
“Of course, my Lord,” the old man said, nodding to the guard stationed to the right of the door. Despite not being members of the royalty, the Council’s influence over the Kingdom of Vrasambail cannot be dismissed. They are composed of seven nobilities from the seven most influential families in the Kingdom: High Elder Anselm, Elder Athelstan, Elder Gieronymus, Elder Hezekiah, Elder Hildegarde, Elder Ermentrude, and Elder Theodosia. They are the royal family’s most trusted advisors, and although the King’s word is final, every person in Vrasambail, from the lofty castles of the lords and the ladies to the slums of the capitol, knows that the Council holds immense influence over the King. High Elder Anselm, being the leader of the group, undoubtedly had the monarch’s confidence.
The armed guard opened the heavy wooden door, and Archer stepped inside, the two princesses and High Elder Anselm at his trail. There, in his massive bed, lay the deceased body of King Alaric, the beloved king of Vrasambail, husband to departed Queen Amarantha, and father to Archer, Agatha, and Madeleine. Six women clad in white robes – all members of the Sisterhood of Healers who attend to births, the sickly, and the dead—were around him.
Oh, Father, he thought. King Alaric looked small in his death. During his life, he was as fierce a warrior as he was good a ruler. Towering over most men, he had a thunderous voice, and a glare so fierce it could make anyone’s blood run cold.
But behind that fierceness was the loving father that Archer and his sisters grew up with. Their mother passed when Madeleine was but a child of three. It was said that she never recovered from the difficult pregnancy she’d had with her youngest, and the toll of giving birth, for she had had labored for three continuous night and day with Madeleine. With the loss of the queen, King Alaric became the only parent that they knew. He never remarried, and instead focused on ruling Vrasambail and raising the children left to him by his beloved wife.
The Prince walked towards his father’s body, his sisters at his side. He could hear Agatha’s controlled gasps, and the quiet heaving of Madeleine’s body as she struggles to control the tears falling down her white face. He rested a finger across one cheek of the King’s already-cold body.
“My Prince,” he heard Elder Anselm behind him. “I share yours and your sisters’ grief in the passing of the King. He was a good King, and an even better man.”
“I thank you, Elder Anselm.”
“However,” the old man added, “We must consider the steps to be taken, particularly the coronation, and your marriage to the Lady Cecily.”
Archer closed his eyes tightly. Cecily, the granddaughter of Elder Hildegarde, was a childhood companion of his, and his betrothed as well. Her sire was a good friend of the king.
“I am aware of my duties, Anselm,” he answered firmly. “But as you yourself had said, my Father was a good man. He deserves to be mourned, to be honored. Prepare for his funeral, Elder, and make it worth the sacrifices that he had given to this Kingdom. I myself shall handle the coronation and my marriage, but in my own time. For now, leave my sisters and I alone with our father. Go, all of you. I will call for you when I am ready.”
“THE coronation shall take place a moon’s turn from now, my Prince.” Elder Gieronymus, a formidable man of sixty, gray-haired and sharp-eyed, announced at the council table. The King’s funeral procession took place two days prior. “As per your wishes, the preparations for your crowning were set aside to make way for the funeral of the late King Alaric. The lords from the faraway territories who arrived for the funeral have opted to stay and wait for the coronation, while those whose castles are nearby have returned to their lands, and shall be back in time for the big event. We have sent word to our allied kingdoms, and they shall be present, as well.” Elder Hildegarde spoke. “Your marriage to Lady Cecily is another matter of concern, my Lord. My family thinks it may be wise for it to take place the same time as the coronation. What better time than when the whole kingdom is present?” Prince Archer was looking at the window as he quiet
INSTEAD of summoning Lady Cecily to the palace, Prince Archer decided to pay her a visit at her family’s castle. After asking his squire, fourteen year old Ernest, to saddle his horse, he went straight to the castle with the boy and three of his best guards.When Godfrey, the curly-haired steward of the castle, saw him, he dropped to his knees. “My King Archer.”He smiled fondly at the man who had been witness to his and Cecily’s childhood plays and whims, back when it was his father, the now-deceased Hubert, who was the steward of the house. “Not quite yet, Godfrey. Get up, and do tell me where I can find the Lady Cecily.”Godfrey hastened to his feet. “She is in the gardens near the fountain, my Lord, with the Lady Anthea. Shall I fetch her for you?”“No, no. Let me go to her.” Gesturing to Ernest and his guards to follow, he walked to the lush gardens to find his betrothed.
WHEN the three royal siblings, Archer, Agatha, and Madeleine were but children, it was the middle-born princess who always got into trouble with their mother and father, and with the stewards and maids of the Tower. She was always naughty and unruly; forever making the servants chase after her; acting in a way that some might consider unbecoming of a royal princess.But Archer, having known the princess since the moment she came out of their mother’s womb, always suspected that it was because Agatha often felt left out and disregarded by the king and the queen. Archer, being the heir to the throne, had been the focal point of King Alaric’s attention and mentorship from the day he was born. On the other hand, Princess Madeleine, being the youngest of the brood, was adored and doted on by their mother up until the good queen died. Princess Agatha, despite her tough exterior and mischievous deeds, has a soft and sensitive heart begging to be loved an
If Princess Agatha were fire, the Princess Madeleine was ice. That was what Archer had always thought about his two younger sisters while they were growing up. That was what was running through his mind as he walked to the Tower’s library, where he was told Princess Madeleine was. He wondered what she would say once he told her of his plans. Would she be understanding, as Lady Cecily was? Would she be as angry as Agatha? “Archer?” his sister’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. There, in the velvet cushion by the large glass window, sat Princess Madeleine, the youngest of all three children of King Alaric and Queen Amarantha. She was wearing a blue silk gown with long sleeves that covered her arms, her straight black hair in a neat braid perched on her right shoulder, its color a stark contrast to the lightness of her gown. She was lithe where he and Agatha were broad, small in stature where her two elder siblings were tall. She was
The sun was barely up by the time Prince Archer and his 14-year-old squire Ernest started their journey by the edge of the Forest. They were riding horses side by side; the prince riding his trustworthy chestnut-colored stead, while Ernest is on a black horse lent to him by his father. They were both wearing simple garments, and both carrying swords. Archer could tell that the boy was nervous. It was, after all, his first time to join in a trip to the Forest that may last for weeks. The lack of guards to accompany them seemed to be adding up to the boy’s fear. “Are you alright there, Ernest?” he asked the squire kindly, looking over at him. The boy nodded his head, his black hair falling on his eyes. “Yes, my Lord.” “Theobald, remember? You must remember to call me that,” he reminded Ernest. It was what they had agreed on. The prince will go by the name of Theobald, while the squire will retain his name. They would introduce themselves as bro
THE SMOKE was coming from a bonfire outside a small brick cottage. The house was surrounded by different plants of varying colors and sizes. Prince Archer hopped down from the horse, and helped his squire get off the animal, gently holding his arms, avoiding his festered wound as to not cause him any more pain. Letting the boy lean on him for balance, he called out. “Is anyone there? Can anyone help us?” He heard shuffling from the inside of the tiny house, and small, quiet steps followed. An old woman peered from the door, her eyebrows furrowed, trying to see who was calling. Archer slowly walked towards the woman, his left arm across Ernest’s waist. “Please, help us. My brother is wounded, and he is becoming weaker. We need a healer. Please help us.” Peering over them thoughtfully, the woman gestured to the house. “Get him inside, and fast.” ONCE inside, the prince looked for a place to sit Er
DINNER was a tense event, with Old Maude’s infrequent questions, Archer’s short replies, and Aurora’s complete silence. The prince had fed his squire Ernest earlier, having moved him to a cot on one side of the cottage. He could see the boy now from where he was sitting: asleep, body hunched like a little child. A thick brown cloth was draped over him, yet he was still shivering. Archer could feel the guilt eating at him whenever he sees the boy’s pale pallor. Had he not insisted on bringing him along on his adventure, he would have been safe and sound at his family’s estate. Old Maude noticed his frequent glances at the boy, and tutted. “Now, do not worry so much about your brother, Theobald. While it is true that he should have been brought to me right away, I will try my very best to make sure he lives. Now, only if I still have the flower of bastion…” “The flower of bastion, my lady?” the prince inquired. He had never heard such fruit before. The old woman nodded. “It’s what I u
PRINCE ARCHER had been walking for nearly half an hour, his sword on his right hip, his bow and arrow and some nets and traps on a knapsack on his back, when he spotted Aurora, her bright red hair glimmering under the rays of the sun. She was crouched on one of her traps, holding a fat, brownish rabbit. “Aurora!” he called. She turned to look at the sound of his voice, her eyebrows furrowing. Despite her unwelcoming expression, he still felt joy in his chest upon seeing the lady again. He jogged towards her, only stopping when he was an arm’s length away from her. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I told you to stay in the cottage.” Archer grinned stupidly at her. She sounded angry, yet she still was the loveliest woman in his eyes. “Your grandmother said the Forest was huge, and I could hunt somewhere different from you. I swear that I did not know that the trail I was following was the one you took as well.” Aurora purs