“HURRY, MY LOVE! I can hear them!”
The lady’s hoarse shout can hardly be heard amidst the heavy pouring of the rain. The trail they were braving through was slick and muddy from the torrential rain that has been ravaging the land for days, and their old horse, stolen from the stable they chanced upon, could barely keep up with the speed they need.
The man with the reins clenched his jaw, tightening his hold on the ropes. He and the lady have been on the run for several days now, and their pursuers have caught up with them. He was physically exhausted, but his resolve was as strong as it has been since they began to run; as strong as it was on the day he met and loved her.
He could feel the lady trembling, her lithe body pressed against his back, her dainty arms wrapped around his waist. He knew she was strong; had known it since the day he looked into her defiant eyes. But she, like him, was tired. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally, as well. The toll of their run was evident on her unruly appearance and her tired face, a far cry from what she used to be like.
But she was happy. He could see the glint of love in her eyes whenever she looked at him.
I have never known true happiness until now, she had said while they were hiding out in an abandoned cottage hidden beneath the magnificent trees by the edge of the woods that they have found a few days back. They had thought they were safe, that they could finally rest and marvel in the miracle of being together; of the joy in being in each other’s arms without fear or worry. But they were wrong. Their pursuers found them, and the danger they were in is graver than ever. Now he was wondering if she regrets ever being with him.
A man’s shout rang above the sound of the rainfall and the hooves of horses. “I can see them! There they are!”
The lady sobbed and pressed her wet face to the back of his neck. She so rarely cried, his lady. It broke his heart whenever she did, for it meant that her pain was so great she could control it no longer. “My love…” she croaked. “They are bound to catch us. There is nothing we can do.”
Despite the truthfulness of her statement, he gritted his teeth. “No.” he said firmly, urging the horse to go faster. “I will not let them tear us apart. I would rather die.”
Her sobs became even louder. “And do you imagine, for a second, that I could bear to see you die?” Her hands clenched at his soaked garments. “It is me they are after. If you leave me and continue to run, you might have a chance at survival. “
“I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU!” he shouted.
“I AM COMMANDING YOU TO!” she shouted back. “If you truly love me, you will do as I say. They will not hurt me. You know they will not. But if they catch you, they will end your life! So do as I say and leave me! Leave me, and live. If you die, I could never bear it. But if I knew that you were alive, I might be able to make it. Leave me now, my love, and I promise we will be together again someday.”
Salty tears mixed with the rain drops on his face. “I could not bear to be parted from you, my lady.”
The lady’s arms wrapped tightly around him. “We will see each other again, my love, I promise you. A year from now, let us meet in the cottage. I will see you there, my love.”
Slowing his horse down, he turned his face around and kissed her. “I love you, my lady, and I will see you again.”
She pressed a kiss to his nose. “I love you.” Then the lady, in her drenched gown, jumped away from the horse, falling on the ground. She quickly stood up and gestured at him with her hands. “Go now, go!” she screamed, before raising her arms and shouting at the pursuers. “I AM HERE! I AM HERE!”
Cursing, he prodded his stead to gallop faster, his ears registering the sound of the hooves of the pursuers’ horses slowing down upon spotting the lady. He could get away, he thought. The lady would be thankful.
But he was wrong.
One of the pursuers continued to chase him, and succeeded. Urging his horse to kick down the old one, the man managed to knock him to the ground, his head hitting a log hard on the way down.
The man pursuing him jumped down his horse and drew his sword, pointing it at him. Despite his efforts, his body is at its lowest, and he could not stand. He lay still, breathing loudly, looking at the arrogant smirk on the man’s familiar face.
“You,” he spat.
The man’s sneer became even more pronounced. “Yes, it is I. The last person you will ever see before your death.” He raised the sword up over his head. “She is mine now. You will never have her.”
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 compl
“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