Dark & Cold

Chapter Nine: Long Live The Queen

  ERICIA STARES OUT of the Queen’s Study at Princess May, standing in the courtyard with a bow and arrow, demonstrating to the trainees her extraordinary skills in archery. With every bull’s eye shot, she’s applauded for her mastery. The coaches adore her; the trainees are all talking about her; the servants of the palace are all bewildered by her beauty and skill; she’s everyone favourite person ever at the moment –everyone except Prince Henry’s.

  Henry is sitting at the end of the courtyard –Ericia can see him. He’s mildly interested in the events happening before him which have seemed to gather the attention of everyone in the surrounding area. Henry sits with a tall glass of water brought to him by a servant. He shakes his hand when the servant suggests something –perhaps an umbrella, Ericia thinks, since it’s quite hot outside.

  Ericia glances back at the beloved Princess of Lystotia. Her brother joins her, bringing her into a hug after three claps of amusement and a broad smile.

  Ericia decides that she doesn’t quite like May. Princess May is everything she can’t be. Princess May is doing everything she can’t do –everything she’s not allowed to.

  May, though friendly enough to Ericia, is on a level Ericia doesn’t seem to fair too well with. She’s not as outgoing as her brother, but outgoing nonetheless. It’s quite easy for Ericia to tell that the Lystotian Princess is mischievous –even at the age of eighteen. Ericia can also tell by the way May speaks that she is, in general, a very blunt person –only, she’s not blunt to Ericia’s parents, but mainly to individuals around her own age including her brother, Ericia, and Henry.

  Since the arrival of Princess May Wright of Lystotia, Henry has been avoiding Ericia. He’s been avoiding her entirely –even substituting the royal dinner gatherings each evening for extra training with specific soldiers who he claims ‘need the extra work.’

  Ericia frowns. Even Rowan seems to be too caught up caring for his sister to keep himself in interaction with her, but in the very least, he’s not avoiding dinner –or any other meals at all.

    “She is the talk of the palace and perhaps the nearest village,” Queen Olivia says to her daughter, walking beside her to look out at the courtyard. “I’d once wished the same of you, but having seen what being the talk of the town looks like,” the Queen turns to her daughter and smiles, “I’m rather grateful you’re this quiet, Ericia.”

  Ericia wants to laugh. She turns to her mother and gives her a hug. “I do wish I was more outgoing,” she admits. “I wish I was as brave and outspoken as May. Perhaps then it would be easier to know what the people think of me.”

    “Darling,” Olivia says, looking into her daughter’s worried eyes. “Not all beauty is seen. Most of it goes unrecognised. Some things are more praised than others, but it doesn’t make the other things any less beautiful. It doesn’t make the other things less valuable.”

    “Thanks, mum.”

  Queen Olivia takes her daughter’s hands in hers and looks down at them. She sees the scars where Ericia’s wrists had been bruised. Her radiant smile slowly turns into a frown. Ericia notices that her mother has been eyeing the bruises. She laughs nervously, pulling her wrists away. The Queen looks at her daughter, her eyes filling with sadness.

    “It’s okay, mum,” Ericia says in a whisper. “It’s fine. Really.”

  Ericia tries desperately to offer her mother a comforting, courageous, hopeful smile, but her mother doesn’t smile back. She sighs, looking out at the courtyard again, unable to say anything.

***

  King Charles bursts through the doors of his study where Marshal Lancelot of the Royal Court is already waiting for him. Charles stares at the man, walking slowly over as the guards behind him shut the door.

    “What’s this daft news about the Callie family being in the Hyre Village, Lancelot?” asks the King.

  Lancelot laughs a low and subtle, maniacal laugh. “You were always in too much of a haste to enjoy things, Charles,” he says. “Take a seat and breathe. It’s because you’re entertaining too much of the unnecessary is why you’ve got such bad migraines these days, you know,” he says, in quite a blunt tone.

  King Charles takes his seat and stares at the court member. “Don’t waste my time,” he says.

    “Yes,” Lancelot says, “well it appears the Callie family have made it to the top of the caste system.

    “That is impossible,” King Charles says. “Entirely impossible. Their name was destroyed completely when I stripped them of all their titles. There’s no way they could have reached the Hyre Village again.”

    “Ah,” Lancelot says, “but they have.”

    “There’s no way it could have been Olivia. She wouldn’t dare rebel against me in that way.”

    “Well, forgive me for speaking so frankly, Your Majesty, but I’m entirely sure it was Olivia and I have the proof. You see, I’ve been inspecting this situation for quite some time knowing you would react in this manner when you eventually were to be informed about it. Olivia has been sending her personal servant into the village for a very long time. I’ve seen her about –perhaps on her days off. Once, I’d even bumped into her, after which a letter with the Queen’s royal seal upon it fell out of her attire and I’d picked it up to return it to her. She was in the Navet Village in Ballier. I suspected that all this time our dear Queen had been helping them, but I wasn’t sure until I’d seen the Callies themselves in the Hyre Village with my own two eyes.”

    “Could it be that one of the young married into a family that would have increased their ranks in the caste system?”

    “Then why would the servant of the Queen pay them a visit ever so often?” questions the marshal. “Besides, Charles, be realistic. Marie Callie died years ago but I highly doubt the young ones of the Callie family are old enough to be married yet.”

    “That’s quite true... Marie was the eldest, was she not?” Charles considers it. There’s a pause as King Charles’ mind goes into a frenzy over the situation. Lancelot was such a man to the King that he could have a say in anything. He could change the King’s mind. He could pull the King’s strings. King Charles fights an internal conflict within –anger bubbles within him at the thought of his wife going against him in such an extreme way. He slams his fist on the desk. “If she is behind this, there is no way I could do anything with the alliances directly at hand. It would be too much conflict –it may affect the alliances negatively. It may stop them for good.”

    “Or,” Lancelot says, “It could be a good turning point for you.”

    “In what way, Lancelot?” asks the King, impatient, “Get to the point.”

    “If those making the alliances with Vynier were to understand that a wrong was made right at the very time it began to sprout, they would be more than satisfied with moving forward with the alliances,” says Lancelot. “If you were to perhaps... provide proof to the court that she went against you, for example.”

    “That would be quite immature, Lancelot. Of course, I’m sure the majority knows about the strip of the Callie titles and the downgrading of the Callie name, as well as the execution of Marie Callie, but that was many years ago. If I use that as an excuse, I’ll be made a joke.”

    “Then allow me, Your Majesty,” Lancelot says, a grin forming on his face, “to provide you with an alternative.”

  Pulling a partially burnt page out of his coat pocket, Lancelot shows his proof to the King.

    “If this doesn’t persuade you enough, Charles,” Lancelot says, knowingly, “Nothing will.”

  King Charles stares at the paper in intrigue, his mind racing with thoughts of evil. He takes the page from Lancelot, inspecting its authenticity.

    “This is a very valuable and extreme alternative,” says King Charles, knowing exactly what trouble the piece of paper could cause, “but rather effective.”

    “And think of it this way,” Lancelot says, casually, “if this were to take effect, Charles, both the alliances would be brought towards you like a magnet –starting with the Montien alliance. They would be more urgent to bond our kingdoms together. The marriage alliance will also be sped up –and the honourable princess would be too flooded with duties to have spare time wandering around a castle or worrying about the bigger pictures.”

  Charles turns from the evidence to the man. He stares at the court member, raising a brow. “You’re sly, Lancelot, but really quite the wit.”

    “Without you, Charles, I wouldn’t be where I am,” Lancelot says, “so what can I do besides repay you with my services?”

    “You will help me to do this,” King Charles orders, waving the paper at him.

    “I will,” the marshal says, nodding. “Whenever you’re ready, Your Majesty, say the word and it’s done.”

***

  Avie crosses the courtyard holding a silver tray filled with glasses full of water for the soldiers. Too caught up in the thought of how many trips she would have to make into the palace and back before she’s done serving everyone, she trips on a rock in her way –one she clearly didn’t see- and falls forward, dropping all of the glasses and wetting her clean, cream dress.

  Some of the trainees laugh as they turn to speculate, some servants who were beside her couldn’t help since their hands were full.

  Avie groans and passes a hand through her hair, gripping at it and breathing heavily in frustration. She’s sweating, it’s hot, she’s wearing an incredibly uncomfortable dress –which is now almost entirely wet at the bust- and she’s tired. She’s so, so tired.

  A man walks towards her, extending his hand. “It’s okay,” he says, as she takes his hand and he pulls her up to her feet. “Take your time, Miss. Don’t get frustrated. Don’t let the workload kill you. I’d feel terribly burdened by guilt being one of the men you had to serve before you passed away.”

  Avie focuses her deep brown eyes on the man. He’s tall, with caramel skin and black hair –and, as she decides, incredibly handsome. He has hazel eyes that are so light it’s unbelievable and before she could stop herself she’s been staring into them for so long she’s forgotten to speak.

    “Um,” he says, laughing so silently she can’t hear it, “Miss?”

    “Oh,” she says, blinking and snapping out of her daze, clearing her throat. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I am sorry –um...” she looks around frantically at the mess around her. “Oh dear,” she says, “this is bad, um...” she looks at the soldier again –who she has only now come to realise isn’t a trainee but in fact a member of the Phillimont army. “My apologies,” she utters to him, bowing this time. “Thank you for helping me.” She quickly bends and retrieves all of the glasses which aren’t broken and puts them back onto the silver tray, hurrying away. She disappears into the palace. The Montien soldier laughs as he watches her retreat. He shakes his head and returns to his position –which happened to be a lonely little corner on a boulder in the distance, away from the noisy trainees and the obnoxious Montien men.

  Beautiful, he gathers, in a rather clumsy but refreshing manner.

***

  Queen Olivia closes the book, smiling as she’s just finished reading the very last page. She gathers the layers of her skirt and stands, Gaya moving in to help her.

    “Let’s go,” says the Queen, to Gaya. “I want to rest.”

  Gaya bows, following Her Majesty.

  When Olivia gets to the bedroom, she opens the door, enters, and shuts it. Gaya gets to work, going over to the bathroom and preparing the tub full of water drenched in healthy spices for the skin. Olivia then takes a turn into the small office that the King has in the bedroom itself. She notices Charles sitting there, staring at a piece of paper, his back turned to her.

    “Your Majesty,” she says, bowing.

    “Where is your servant?” he asks her.

    “In the bathroo-”

    “-tell her to leave the room immediately,” he says, cutting her off in a tone she can’t decipher.

  Olivia retrieves Gaya and tells her to leave the room. When Gaya leaves and Olivia shuts the door, Charles immediately stands, dragging the chair under him backwards and stepping away from his desk. He turns to her, raising the sheet of paper.

    “What is this?” he asks her, his tone firm.

  Olivia takes a good look at the page in his hand. “A letter? I don’t know, Charles, how could I? I’ve never seen that seal before.”

  Charles’ brows rise. “Oh, you haven’t,” he says, sarcastically, “Well that’s ironic,” he notes, gaining on her, “because this is the one thing you will know better than all other things until the end of your life.”

    “W-What?” Olivia asks, almost choking. “Charles... what is that?”

  By this time, Charles is inches from her. He looks down at her, his face appearing dark as the light behind him creates the shadow on her face.

    “Why did you help them?” he asks, almost calmly. There is a tense silence that follows. “Why would you defy me?”

    “Charles,” she says in a whisper, swallowing a breath.

  Charles grabs her neck in his hand and chokes her. “Were you trying to be noble?” he belittles, lowly. He laughs a pitiful laugh, staring at her helpless face. “Were you trying to do something good?”

    “Charles... stop... pl...please...” Olivia begs, struggling.

    “When I let go of your neck,” Charles says, his hot breaths just over her mouth, “I let go of your life.”

  He releases her and immediately yells, “Guards!” They rush in, bowing. “Take the Queen. She’s committed an act of treason.”

    “Charles, please,” Olivia says, sobbing as the soldiers grab her, “I’m innocent. I’ve done nothing wrong!” The Vynierian guards pull her away, Olivia screaming, “Charles! Your Majesty! Your Majesty! I’m innocent! I haven’t done anything wrong!” until her broken voice disappears.

  Charles stares at the page in his hand –it’s not the same as the one Lancelot had revealed to him before, but it’s the same red wax seal; only reused.

***

  Ericia cracks her knuckles and fans herself, determined to try again. She stares at the actions described and displayed as pictures in the book, and then proceeds to copy it with her sword in her hand.

  Suddenly, there’s banging on her door. The banging comes once, twice, three times, before Ericia could find her voice to speak.

    “Who in God’s name is banging so recklessly on my door?” she yells, annoyed.

    “Ericia,” says the voice of Prince Henry, “Open up.” He knocks.

    “He-Henry?” she asks, confused. She drops her sword on the bed and walks over to the door. She opens it just as he was about to bang on it again.

    “What do you want, Henry? Was all that banging on the door necessary?”

    “Your mother,” he says, capturing her attention, “there’s... something’s terribly wrong.”

  Ericia freezes as she stares at the Prince before her –his face clearly overwhelmed with worry.

    “Henry,” she says, lowly, “what happened?”

    “May...” he hesitates, “May I come in?”

  Ericia looks behind her for a moment before deciding that whatever’s going on with her mother must be more important than thinking about inviting a prince into her room right now.

    “Come in,” she says, clearing the entrance before allowing him to step inside. She shuts the door.

  The Prince turns to her, ignoring everything else about the room.

    “What’s going on?” Ericia asks, worried.

    “Your mother,” Henry says, “she’s been accused of committing an act of treason.”

  Ericia’s eyes go wide. “What?!” She stares at the Prince. “My mother would never do such a thing. She wouldn’t be able to... she... she wouldn’t do that. My father must have done something. Mum,” she says, her eyes welling up with tears, “Mum, would never...”

    “I was one of the first to be notified of this,” Prince Henry says, running a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I thought someone had already informed you, but the news is relatively new.”

  Ericia moves to sit on her bed. She stares down at her feet. Her eyes fill with tears and hear heart with fear at the thought of what could happen to her mother. She’s overwhelmed with sadness. Father... you did something... didn’t you? What did you do? What did you do? “Where... is my mother?” she asks.

    “What was that?” asks the Prince, as he hadn’t heard her.

    “Where is she!?” Ericia bellows with a broken voice, standing. She begins to sob bitterly, her eyes too wet to see the Prince at all.

    “She’s in a cellar,” Henry says, his voice calm. “There is going to be a single trial in which King Charles is determined to end everything. He’s very upset –it’s obvious to everyone around him.”

    “I’m going to see my mother,” Ericia says, ignoring all of the consequences that could mean for her.

    “No,” Henry says, blocking her path. “Don’t.”

  Ericia moves beside him, he grips her wrist and she hisses, staring down at her hand, but he doesn’t let go. He grips at her tighter.

    “You’re hurting me!” Ericia cries out, trying to pull away from him.

    “I’m not letting go until you swear you won’t go to your mother. Not now,” Henry says, sternly.

    “Why?” Ericia cries, sniffling, “My mother may be punished severely –or worse yet, she may die!”

    “If you go to her now your father will be angry with you, too. And then who knows what he’ll do in that fit of rage.”

  Ericia, at the mention of her father’s fits of rage, stops crying and stares up at the Prince. “What?” she asks, softly. She’s sure he doesn’t know about the a***e. He must not. He may just be assuming things based on what he’s seen so far.

    “Don’t go to your mother,” he reiterates –his voice is just as low and commanding as it was the first time he had ever commanded her to do something. “You will not go to your mother. Not now –for your own good.”

She stares at him, tears streaming down but her face neutral, her cheeks flushed and flooded. Her eyes are red. When Henry has decided that she’s stared at him long enough he lets go of her wrist.

  Ericia backs away from him until she feels the wooden frame of her bed behind her leg. She sits. She stares ahead, blankly, for a very long time.

  Henry sighs, sitting beside her. He doesn’t look at her.

    “I thought that Rowan would have gotten to you before I did,” Henry says. “I’m actually surprised.” His head drops as he chuckles.

    “Rowan hasn’t had a proper conversation with me since his sister arrived,” Ericia admits, sounding as though she could care less about that. “You have, too. I should be the one saying I’m surprised that you actually cared to come tell me this.”

  Henry turns to the Princess. “Ericia,” he says, “Are you sure your mother wasn’t involved in any sort of questionable activity?”

    “My mother would never do something like that,” Ericia claims, and though she wants to cry again, she can’t bring herself to. “She wouldn’t,” she repeats, shaking her head. “She just wouldn’t.”

    “Why would your father lie? He even has evidence,” Henry says.

    “I don’t know, Henry,” she says, frustrated. “I don’t know.”

    “You’ll be at the trial, Ericia,” Henry tells her. “After that, depending on what is decided, we will go to your mother –together,” he assures her.

  Tears begin to pour out as Ericia stares at the promising Prince. He places a warm hand over the back of her wet one.

  Together... she thinks, looking at him... I like that word.

  Before she can finish thinking about anything else, Henry frowns, raising her hand to look at it closely.

    “It’s bleeding,” he says, “Did I...” he swallows, “Did I grip your wrist that hard?”

    “No,” she replies, sniffling as she pulls her hand away from him and hides the bleeding wrist under her other hand. “No, that wasn’t your fault.”

  Henry doesn’t say anything else. He studies her as she tries desperately to cover the scars that he can see clearly on both her wrists. Now that it’s been confirmed that he hadn’t done something like that, he’s more worried –worried about why those are there at all.

***

  Queen Olivia is brought before the members of the court, the King, the Princes and the Princesses. She’s shackled, her garment torn. She hadn’t eaten anything at all. Her skin is dirty. She’s sweaty, and she has a burst lip and a purple cheek with only Ericia being able to assume what had happened. It’s clear to everyone in the room that she’s no longer being seen as a Queen, but as a prisoner.

  The trial begins, but King Charles is sure to reveal quickly the source of his accusation against Queen Olivia. He presents the sheet of paper –a letter written by King Amil Na’il of Yemen from the territories of the Middle East and sealed with his royal seal. It is one stating that the Queen has recognised the authority of said King and that she would consider joining forces with them. There are two truths of this evidence that King Charles and Marshal Lancelot refuse to disclose.

  One; Lancelot had visited Yemen and burnt a territory to almost nothing, gathering the scraps of a royal letter and keeping the seal of the King safe to bring back to Vynier.

  Two; King Charles and Lancelot had written the letter they are now showing as evidence, and the seal was freshly waxed to the front of this letter to make it as though it was genuine. Even the forged signature of King Amil was created by the marshal. Charles then provides a letter which he had written himself in Queen Olivia’s handwriting, stamping it with her royal seal which is kept in the bedroom, and using that as corresponding evidence.

  Olivia has no way out.

  The court has decided upon it; Ericia is too struck by shock to listen to anything else that happens in the trial; by the end of it, Queen Olivia is condemned to death, her date of execution set, her title stripped.

    “As you can see, Your Highnesses,” King Charles says to the other Royals in the Throne Room, “when something goes wrong, it is fixed immediately. We do not linger in fields of indecisiveness. I do hope you understand our method and do not find it too extreme.”

  Prince Rowan shakes his head, glancing at Ericia –whose face is undecipherable as she stares at her hopeless mother- and then turning to the King. “It’s not extreme,” says Prince Rowan, turning to his sister. “I’m rather pleased with the regard of Justice.”

    “It’s a terrible fate for a Queen,” Princess May says, shaking her head, “But, I suppose, where evil is brewing it must be snuffed out at the root.”

  King Charles almost wants to laugh at the responses of the Wright Royals, but then he turns to Prince Henry, who is staring at the ruined Queen before them.

    “Prince Henry, do you have anything to add?” the King asks him.

    “May I see the letter again, Your Majesty?” Prince Henry asks.

  King Charles sends a soldier to the Prince with the letters. He takes them. He reads them again.

  There is no fault in it. They have the deal, the names, the dates, the handwriting precise, and if Prince Henry was to pull the seals off from the paper, he would be accused of destroying evidence.

  King Charles, he realises, has planned this perfectly –that is, if he’s right about this all being forged. Prince Henry is usually right about these things, but there is only so much he can do, he realises, in this situation.

    “I have nothing to add, Your Majesty,” Prince Henry says. He stares ahead at the Queen, who looks directly at him, having hoped he would find the flaws. From the corner of his eye, Henry could see Ericia’s head shoot towards him in disbelief and dismay as he says such a thing.

  There is nothing I can do, Ericia.

  I’m sorry.

***

  Ericia strolls through the corridors alone, her steps staggering, lagging, lazing through the palace grounds until she makes her way into the palace cellars.

  There, the guards open the cellar doors for her and she steps inside the dark room lit by lanterns to find her mother in the distant right, sitting on the stone bed.

  She stares at her mother, entirely defeated, her movements dead, her eyes dark, as she closes in on her mother’s cell.

    “Mum,” she says, though she can’t say it out loud. “Mum,” she tries again, but all that comes out of her is tears. “Mum,” she says louder, holding onto the bars of the cell. “Mum...” she finally says, her voice broken.

  Her mother stands, slowing towards her.

    “Ericia,” Olivia coos at Ericia, whose face is wet and red. “My darling daughter,” she cries softly. “I’m sorry.”

    “Did you...” Ericia asks her, “did you really do that?”

    “No,” she admits. “I would never.”

  Ericia stares behind her mother at the stony walls of the cell. She rests in the knowledge of her own understanding.

    “I knew it.”

  She grips onto the bars of the cell, squeezing it into her skin and dragging her hand downwards until her soft flesh begins to peel with the rough texture of the disintegrating metal. She stares at her mother, continuing the action.

    “I knew it,” she says again.

    “Stop it, Ericia,” Olivia says, sternly. “Don’t do that!”

    “He’s spiting you for nothing! He’s been torturing you and abusing you and now he’s condemned you to death all for nothing!” Ericia screams.

    “Ericia, be quiet!” commands her mother, genuinely afraid. “He’s not doing it for nothing.”

  Ericia releases her grip and stares at her. “What?”

    “I helped the Callie family to reach the Hyre Village,” Queen Olivia confesses. “You remember Marie. Her family’s name was entirely destroyed. They were forced to live in Merrington. They didn’t deserve it,” she tells her daughter, “so I helped them.”

    “You knew,” Ericia says, broken, “that the King would punish you for doing such a thing and you did it anyway?” Olivia returns to her stony seat, looking up at her daughter before her from behind the bars.

    “Regardless of the span of my life, Ericia, I want to be a compassionate ruler. I want to be good. I choose to be good. We’re all to die someday,” she says, “but what we choose to do with the time we have is what is important –regardless of whether we are Royal or not.”

    “Did you not think of me?” Ericia asks, her chest aching, “Did you not consider how this would affect me? Did you not imagine what would become of me if you were gone? Are you that selfish?”

  Tears flow from Olivia’s eyes and down her cheeks again as she listens to her daughter. “You know as well as I do, Ericia, that the King has wanted to be rid of me for a very long time. You know why. You know everything. If you don’t understand why I chose to help the people of my Kingdom, then you do not understand what it means to have power. Will you be a ruler like your father? Will you allow him to control you as he controlled me?”

    Ericia grips the bars again. There is nothing she can say. She weeps loudly and drops to her knees. “Please don’t leave me...”

  Her mother walks over to her and stoops, running her hand through Ericia’s blonde hair. “When you look in the mirror, you won’t see me. You’ll see parts of me –and I hope you are proud enough to see that. When you rule this kingdom, I hope that you are true to yourself –no matter the circumstances, do not allow anyone to control you. You are to be a Queen. My reign was short and filled with so much sorrow and regret,” she says, “but Ericia, darling, look at me,” she raises her daughter’s chin, “it was all worth it, because I did what my heart believed was absolutely right.”

    “What am I going to do?” Ericia asks her, in a whisper.

    “Promise me, Ericia, that you will be a wise, just, and compassionate Queen, but that you will be true to yourself, strong, brave, and know that you are worthy of nothing less than the best.”

  Ericia stares at her mother, who has stopped sobbing in an effort to comfort her. Olivia moves her warm, partially wet hand from on her cheek and caresses it.

    “Promise me, darling,” she says, though her voice is breaking.

    “I promise.”

  Ericia stays with her mother for a little while longer until Olivia tells her to leave before she gets into trouble.

  Ericia walks away from the cellar in the same way she arrived at it, lazily; defeated.

  She walks out into the open, finding herself unable to breathe. She runs into the middle of the gravel passageway, and when she’s far enough away from the palace, she screams, falling to her knees and screaming out again. She screams until the rain starts to fall, and then she just sits there, hoping to get sick enough not to wake up the next day.

***

  Prince Henry keeps to himself –leaving training to go directly to his room. He doesn’t step out to talk to anyone. He ponders over the situation at hand.

  Seeing Ericia kneeling in the rain, hopeless, had triggered something inside of him that he hadn’t felt in years.

  He stands from his bed, unable to sleep, and walks towards the standing mirror in the room. When he looks into it, he can see the stark resemblance of his mother in himself –the same hair; the same eyes; the same complexion. Prince Peter Darwin, his little brother who had stayed in Phillimont with his father, looks nothing like their mother. It’s true; Henry had acquired all of her distinguishable features. Even if Peter was to acquire some traits of their mother, he wouldn’t know how to appreciate it.

  Peter was only a year old –much younger than Henry, since Henry was at the time eight years old –when their mother died. Their father loved her dearly, as did all of Phillimont. King Edward never remarried –he could never love another as much as he loved her.

  Henry stares into his own eyes as he recalls the funeral that was held for his mother. He had done exactly what Ericia had done –running out into the open and screaming –crying. He understands the moment –when all is lost and nothing else can be done; when tears are the only words of a broken heart. He had stayed until rains began to pour. He had stayed until he decided to pick himself up and head back into the castle –where he then rushed to his room and cried a whole lot more.

  Henry knows how Ericia must be feeling. Her mother is about to die. His hands form fists as he regrets not running out to her; regrets not running out into the rain and bringing her back into the palace; regrets not wrapping her in a warm blanket and allowing her to cry over his shoulder.

  What are these feelings? He asks himself, suddenly beginning to tear up, that I should endure them so heavily in my heart? Pain is as inevitable as Love.

  He almost punches the mirror, wanting to distort the image of a broken boy from before his eyes.

  Instead, he punches the wall near to his bed, his knuckles beginning to bleed as he scrapes his skin down the jagged stone. Henry’s heart aches worse than it had before. It takes him hours to gather his thoughts, and he brings himself to finally be sure of his feelings.

***

  The execution ceremony begins. Olivia is brought before an audience of the members of the Royal Court and some of the villagers who have taken the side of the King and his men.

  Princess Ericia Charlotte Avington is sitting beside her Betrothed and the King, Princess May beside her brother. Prince Henry’s seat is empty –he did not show up.

  Ericia doesn’t take her eyes off of her mother; she doesn’t say anything. It’s as if time is moving in slow motion before her –yet everything is moving all too quickly. She can’t hear any of the voices scorning her mother –she can only see the haunting, disgusted faces as they scream. It’s as though sound has shut down in her system. Ericia doesn’t realise it, but her senses are all shutting down one by one. She doesn’t seem to mind, even if she does realise it. She’s hoping that this is all a bad dream –she’s had so many. She can wake up tomorrow; her mother would be alive; her mother would be strong and brave and gracious; her mother would come to her room and comb her hair as she used to; she would apply her own makeup and put on her lipstick on Ericia as she did when the princess was just a small child; she would share laughs with her once more –tell her all of this was a joke; she would assure Ericia tomorrow that she would never be executed; she would never do something that would get her killed; she would never do something that would make her selfishly not think about how her daughter would feel afterwards.

  Then someone asks Olivia about her last words, and Ericia hears her own name, echoing through her mother’s voice, “Ericia... Ericia... Ericia...” until the Princess turns to her mother, and then her mother says, “You promised. I love you.”

  Ericia’s eyes well up with tears as she mouths, “I love you, too” back to her mother.

  Her mother smiles one last time, and then they blind fold her, and everything goes soundless again for the Princess. Everyone in the room stands. The arrow flies. It meets the Queen at the heart. Ericia doesn’t look away.

  And then, the light in her eyes disappear. And then, she forgets how to breathe.

***

  Prince Henry rushes through the corridors, running and panting as he tries to make it to the execution in time.

  He wasn’t going to attend, but the vision of Ericia; alone, depressed, overwhelmed with sorrow, crossed his mind, and after fighting his feelings for the last time, he could not stand it anymore. He would not leave her alone this time. He would not let her face this by herself. He would not let her wander slowly into insanity. She cannot rely on her father –this much he knows. She cannot rely on her Betrothed –this much he knows. She will rely on him –he will always be there for her. He will not allow her to be destroyed.

  When Henry makes it into the execution ceremony, he’s close to the standing Royals. He looks ahead, seeing that Olivia has already been executed, and then King Charles, standing closely by, shifts on his feet and falls, landing at the startled Prince’s feet.

  The Prince extends his hand. “Are you alright, Your Majesty?” he asks, pulling King Charles to his feet.

  King Charles, upon regaining his stance, dusts off his clothes and walks down from the platform on which all of the Royals were standing. Prince Henry then finds himself standing beside a frozen Ericia, staring at the body of her mother being carried away.

  Henry then turns to Prince Rowan and Princess May, their faces neutral, not appearing broken or disturbed by the ceremony in any way. He turns to Charles again.

  King Charles clears his throat and raises his hand, silencing the crowd. “Today, we have not witnessed an end. Today, we have witnessed the birth of a new era.” He turns to his daughter. “Long Live the Queen!” he shouts, staring directly up at Ericia before bowing lowly.

  Ericia looks directly at her father. Father... he shouts again... Your Majesty... she pleads internally... but he keeps shouting... I’m not ready...

  I’m not ready...

  I’m not ready to be Queen...

    “Long Live the Queen!” yell a mass of voices around her, all appearing as one muffled chant to her weary ears.

    “Long Live the Queen!” yell the Lystotian Prince Rowan and Princess May.

  Everyone bows and silence falls. Ericia’s eyes are dark, red, her vision blurry. She gazes hopelessly around the room, disoriented, before turning to Henry, standing beside her in just about the same amount of shock –though his is far more recognisable. Ericia keeps her eyes on him, feeling –in his eyes- that he can share her pain.

  Ericia, already too numb to react, hopes that Henry would say or do something to help her.

  Instead, what happens next only worsens it all.

  Prince Henry moves slowly, worried, carefully in all attempts not to alarm her, bowing lowly to the new Vynierian Queen.

  And even though Ericia was already holding on desperately for dear life –this...

  This...

  ...is what vigorously pushes her off the edge.