NORTH OF THE STARS (In Love and War #1)

Two-1

Princess EmelineLiterature is usually my favorite subject, but I can’t concentrate. Being locked away in my chambers for a week is the cause. I know it.

“Princess, do you wish to break?” asks Hilda, my tutor.

Sighing, I continue to peer out the window, looking out into a world I cannot be a part of because I don’t belong.

My brother is in the gardens, once again failing terribly at his swordsmanship. My father needs to realize that no matter who trains my brother, he will never be the warrior my father wants him to be.

“Princess?”

“What will happen to the Northman who Father captured?” I ask Hilda, turning over my shoulder to look at her.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our encounter. What was the name he called me in an accent that intrigued me as much as the foreign language he spoke?

“I do not know, Princess, but I assume he’ll be sold into s*****y or executed,” Hilda replies softly as she doesn’t want the guards to overhear. “Because he is a pagan, it’s likely he’ll be executed. If he hasn’t been already.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. Why must Father base the actions of Skarth the Godless’s people on how he treats the Northman? If I was to be judged by my father’s actions, then Lord have mercy on my soul.”

Hilda stands up quickly, nervously straightening out her skirts. “You will not speak that way,” she frantically whispers. “To speak that way about the Lord King is treason. Do you want to end up in the dungeons alongside the Northman?”

I don’t reply because at least I’d have someone to talk to.

I’m just as much a prisoner as he is. However, our conditions cannot be compared, as I doubt the Northman would be given food or any warmth from the cold.

I’m ashamed I would even compare our situations.

“Princess, your food is prepared,” my personal attendant, Lella, says, knocking on the door.

“I’m not hungry,” I call out, not that it makes a difference. If the king wants me to eat, then eat I shall.

“Time has escaped me. I’ll return later,” Hilda says with a smile.

Gathering her things, she knocks on the door, alerting the guard she’s ready to leave. He opens the door and grants her permission, snickering when I sit taller from the window ledge, hoping he’ll grant me the same luxury.

He doesn’t.

Once Lella places my meal on the table, the guard slams my door shut. I can see his loathsome head through the bars of the small window on my door. The guards may change, but one always stands outside my door, ensuring I’m behaving, but more importantly, ensuring I’m obeying the king.

Jumping down from the ledge, I see food is once again a watery vegetable broth. Our food is scarce because the Northmen have pillaged the lands, and the other kingdoms won’t help us. This is why my union with Aethelwulf is so important to my father. It will not only save his reputation but it will also save the good people of Northumbria.

My appetite is also prisoner, so I walk to the end of my bed, where I drop to my knees, interlace my hands, and look at the wooden crucifix nailed above my bed.

“Please Lord, give me a sign to guide me on my quest. I know it’s my duty to serve my king, but how can I marry a man I’ve never met? I know nothing of being a wife.”

I’ve been briefed on what’s expected, but the concept is so foreign to me that, regardless of my being schooled on it, it’ll always be a topic I will fail.

Interlocking my hands tighter, I beg He shows mercy. I beg He shows me the light because I’m drowning in the darkness.

If only I could get out of this room…

The guard—who has relieved the other—outside my door coughs hoarsely, and just like that, an idea strikes. Looking at the crucifix, I don’t know if this is a sign from the Lord, but I don’t question it as I slowly rise to my feet and tiptoe toward my lunch.

Gripping the bowl, I draw it to my nose and don’t need to pretend that it makes me nauseous because the smell turns my stomach. With bile in my throat, I retch loudly and toss the contents of the bowl onto the floor.

“Princess?” the guard asks through the bars on my door. “Are you all right?”

I don’t reply and instead pretend to heave, coughing loudly. “Help me, Lord.”

Once the key turns in the door, I smile, unbelieving this has actually worked. “Princess, what’s the matter?”

Hunched over the spilled soup, I peer over my shoulder at the young guard, dribble spilling from my mouth. “I’m unwell. Perhaps it may be…the sickness?”

Instantly, he takes a step back, crossing himself as he turns a ghastly shade of white when he mistakes the spilled broth for vomit.

“Prithee, fetch my lady. I must see a doctor. You must be discreet, however. We do not want to alert the palace.”

When he hesitates, I place a hand to my brow and fake fainting. “Oh, woe me.”

He catches me, just as I knew he would, which allows me to undertake my plans. He doesn’t question me because he would rather be anywhere else. The sickness is known to infect those by breathing in the same air as the diseased.

He quickly places me onto the bed, then runs out the door like the devil himself is at his heels. The moment the lock clicks into place and I hear his frantic footsteps echo down the hall, I open an eye to ensure I’m alone.

I am, which means it’s time to leave this prison once and for all.

With the key I stole from the oblivious guard in hand, I push a chair against the door and stand on it. I peer out the barred window with caution and almost cry out in relief when I see no guard outside.

Jumping off the chair, I push it aside and pocket a piece of bread in case I get hungry during the night, then I place the key into the lock. As it clicks over, I look at the crucifix above my bed and make the sign of the cross. “Thank you, Lord.”

Carefully opening the door, I make certain the hall is empty, and when I see that it is, I quietly close the door and lock it. I place my cloak over my head to shield my appearance and take off down the dark hallway like a thief in the night.

With adrenaline coursing through me, I head for the kitchen as no one would dare tell the king they saw his daughter escaping out the back door. As I turn the corner, I see two guards outside the chapel where my mother says her daily prayers.

They’re too busy chatting to notice me, so I press my back against the stone wall and keep to the shadows as I overhear them talking.

“The Northman is strong,” one of the men says, shaking his head. “He’s as tough as an army of men. Selwyn has tortured him day and night, yet he won’t speak. He won’t reveal where the other Northmen are.

“The king has finally given orders for his execution. He will not die an honorable death as he will be weaponless. No Valhalla for him.”

“Valhalla?” the other guard asks, as confused as I am.

“Aye, that’s where they believe their dead warriors go.”

“Good. Let’s send them all to hell.”

Such hatred is a sin, but so is believing one isn’t to go to heaven or hell once they leave this earth.

The candlelight is dim, so I’m able to slip past the men undetected. As I race for the kitchen, their words play over and over in my mind.

“No Valhalla for him.”

The thought of him being condemned to an existence of peril has me stopping abruptly. I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone. Clasping the crucifix against my throat, I hope He guides me this one final time as I change course and head for the dungeon.

With my head down, no one seems to notice me creeping through the castle, which is exactly what I hoped for. However, when I reach the dungeon and find it manned by two guards, I wonder if my luck has run out.

But I haven’t come this far to give up.

“I’m going to take a piss,” one of them says while the other chuckles.

“Be sure not to get lost in Lady Beatrice’s chambers on the way.”

I cover my mouth, muting my gasp as the lady he speaks of is one of my mother’s ladies.

Straining my eyes to see in the candlelight, the guards are men I do not know. There is a chance they don’t know me either, and it’s a risk I decide to take when one man leaves, leaving only one guard behind. I step out from the shadows and approach him.

He reaches for his sword, but when I remove my cloak, and he sees I’m a girl, he smirks. “You lost, little one?”

Good, he does not know me as he would not dare address a princess in this way.

“I’m here to offer prayer for the prisoners.”

He is clearly confused as no one but a priest would usually undertake such a task.

When he continues to stand unmoved, I pull back my shoulders, hinting I’m not going anywhere. “Please open the door.”

The bars on the metal door allow me to see inside the dark, dank vault behind the guard. The smell of death is unmistakable. And the anguished groans echoing off the stone walls hint that in a place such as this, death is a mercy.

Being alive down here in these horrific conditions is the worst form of any torture.

“Hurry prithee, it’s been rumored the sickness may have slipped past the palace walls. I must do my charitable duty and then return to the nunnery for prayer.”

The moment I mention the sickness, the guard blanches and nods quickly. With one hand over his nose and mouth, he unlocks the large metal door with a brass key. It swings open, and he gestures with his head that it’s now or never.

Stepping past him, I walk into the dungeon, giving my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. The metal door slams shut behind me, frightening me as I am once again a prisoner—but by choice, this time. But as I take a look around, I see that the real horror has only just begun.

Metal cages hang from the ceiling packed full of emaciated men. Most aren’t moving. The stench is unbearable, and I reach into my tunic for a cotton handkerchief. Pressing it over my nose, I commence my journey along the uneven stone floor as I search for the Northman.

I’m surrounded by death.

Corpses of men hang limply from the wall where they remained shackled, even in death. Rats feast on their flesh, and they’ll be indulging for a long while because I appear to be one of the only living souls down here.

As I continue walking, using the occasional wall sconce for light, I scour the prison cells for the Northman. I know he’s down here as the guard said he will be executed soon. I just need to find him.

“Northman?” I whisper, my voice echoing off the walls.

The anguished groans of men echo all the way to my very soul, and I remember the man who begged for clemency as he was captured for merely trying to feed his family. What sort of king is my father for allowing such atrocities to happen within his kingdom walls?

The farther I venture, the colder and darker it becomes. When will this hellish nightmare end?

“Northman?” I announce again.

The men in their cells who are unfortunate enough to still be alive look at me with hollowed eyes. Their spirit has withered and died as they await their painfully slow death.

“I’m here,” a man suddenly says.

I freeze, attempting to gauge where the voice is coming from.

“Come to me,” the voice sounds again. “Please help me.”

It’s coming from down the path where the darkness is so thick, it robs me of breath. But I force myself to continue because the Northman won’t hurt me. I don’t know how I can be so certain of this, but I just know he won’t.

As the path becomes a steep incline, I brace the wall for support, which is my error as I’ve strayed too far off course. I am suddenly knocked to the ground, where a putrid, sweaty mass pins me under him. He has one arm shackled to the wall but has somehow been able to free the other, and he uses that arm to his advantage by crudely attempting to lift my tunic.