Chapter 3

There was a narrow path behind Holy Brook Abbey that led to an abandoned building. The path was overgrown and rarely used.

Every morning, I walked that path to stretch my legs.

After more than two weeks, I became acquainted with an elderly woman who lived in the abandoned building. Her name was Beatrice Holm. She had lived at the abbey for 26 years.

Lily asked around and discovered that Beatrice had once been a consort of the late king. Before his death, she had asked to leave the palace and live the rest of her life in seclusion. The Royal Council revoked her title and struck her name from the royal household rolls.

I sat on the stone steps, sorting greens for Beatrice while she chopped firewood nearby. The calluses on her hands were much thicker than mine.

She split the log in two and asked, "How long did you stay in the palace?"

"Nine years," I replied.

"That's not so long." She stacked the firewood and brushed the splinters from her hands. "I spent 12 years there."

I said nothing, placing the vegetable into a basket.

She glanced at me, her tone as casual as if she were commenting on the weather. "Spending three years up here would be torture for you.

"But to the king, it would simply mean waiting for you to come to your senses and return to your cage. If you truly want out, don't wait three years. Cut all ties now, while he still doesn't care to stop you."

My fingers tightened around the vegetable.

Beatrice brought the axe down again, splitting another log.

"The late king was a kind man. Before he died, he permitted me to leave the palace, and the Royal Council later removed my name from the royal household rolls," she said.

"Go to your family and have them submit a petition to the Royal Council. You may be able to do it without going through the king."

The mountain wind swept through the pine trees, stirring a few loose leaves in the basket. I sat there until the sun had passed its highest point.

That evening, I sat down to write a letter.

Lily prepared the ink beside me, her hands trembling. "Your Grace, are you writing to your father?"

"Yes." My hand was surprisingly steady as I began to write. "I need his help with something."

The letter was short, barely a hundred words. I sealed it with wax and handed it to Lily. "Deliver it yourself tomorrow. Don't let anyone else touch it."

The next day, the palace sent the month's provisions as usual.

A gift box came with them. Inside were a length of fine white silk and two jars of truffle paste, no different from the gifts sent to the family of some insignificant court official.

I put the silk away in the cabinet and had Lily take the truffle paste to the kitchen.

Beneath the box lay a slip of paper, tucked in by the young maid Lily knew.

"His Majesty said he was worried Lady Rosalyn might be lonely at the abbey, so he asked Lady Winona to come visit in a few days."

Lily's face turned red in anger as she finished reading it.

I took the note from her, folded it twice, and tucked it beneath the candleholder.

"Go on. Deliver the letter to my father."

Lily clutched the letter tightly and hurried down the mountain.

I sat by the window, watching the shadow of the old pine tree inch across the courtyard from the east wall to the west.

By the time it reached the foot of the western wall, dusk was falling.