12 Chapter 8: Where a War Begins

ERICIA SITS BETWEEN Prince Rowan and Prince Henry; uncomfortable. The commanders take turns describing the process being made by the trainees of the Vynierian army and all talking, murmuring or chatter in the room ceases.

Princess Ericia sits up in her chair, too shocked and too anxious to budge. She listens to the trainers attentively; learning. She tries her very best not to make eye contact with anyone in the room –none with her Betrothed to her left, none with the Prince of Phillimont to her right, none with the members of the court or the commanders, and especially none with her father.

When the topic of the defensive arts crosses the round table and Ericia begins to listen to the skill sets that the trainers are planning on teaching the soldiers, she lights up. She wishes so deeply that she would be able to further her practice in the arts. She’s been trying hard to improve on her own, but it’s been difficult without a proper guide.

Prince Henry observes her as she watches and listens to the professionals. Even with her expression showing minimal interest, he could feel the difference in her mood towards the subject. Henry shifts in his seat and sits up, placing his hands on the table in front of him. He shakes his study of the princess beside him out of his mind and returns his focus to the topic at hand.

Prince Rowan doesn’t look at Ericia. He stares at the speaker, listening inattentively to what he’s been saying. He can’t seem to focus with Ericia beside him. The issue of her sitting between him and Henry threatens his self control. He can’t believe Prince Henry had done what he did –asking the permission of her father for her to attend such meetings. Princesses and Queens shouldn’t be involved in these kinds of matters, should they? They should be the ones being protected by their husbands –by the King –they should be the ones doing the more graceful things; dwelling in the beauty of other arts and not being bored by the subjects of Politics. He folds his arms, leaning back into his chair.

King Charles, though he’s listening to the speaker, is overwhelmed by a feeling of irritation. Ericia should not be here - but he doesn’t want anything to break this alliance. With a good impression, once the alliance is officialised, Charles could be invincible.

He would find a way to deal with Ericia, however. He’s always found a way.

***

Maybe it was having his daughter present in the meeting. The King has taken hold of a terrible migraine, and he’s coughing like the dehydrated street-poor. His blood is boiling, and he can’t seem to get the image of the outspoken Prince Henry and the silent Prince Rowan out of his head. Ericia’s stiff position as she was sitting in the meeting irks him. He could almost see her shaking breaths. When Charles reaches his bedroom, Olivia isn’t there.

“Call the physician,” says Charles, to a servant.

The servant returns with Seth.

***

Henry roams around the palace, bathing in the moonlight as the world goes to sleep. It’s late, and by this time there are only palace guards standing at the doors and patrolling the blocks.

He stops in that spot in the garden –the same spot where Ericia had walked up to him. The same spot where she first truly spoke.

Am I just a man’s betrothed?

I, too, am an Heir, Your Highness.

He scoffs, shaking his head and looking down at his leather boots. He genuinely laughs to himself as he thinks of how open she is around him.

Looking out at Vynier, Henry feels a calm he hadn’t felt for a long time. On nights like this, back in Phillimont, he would be hunting. He would be hunting or reading or exercising. Here he is, the great Heir of Phillimont, having what he hasn’t really had for a long time – a break.

Henry has been so caught up in the affairs of his nation that the thought of leaving for a while –even to train an army- is like having a vacation and it had not been an opportunity for ages. Not only does he get to be in charge of men who he will train to be responsible, but he has the privilege of righting a wrong he’s aware of –the wrong that is Ericia’s absence from the role she’s supposed to be upholding as the future of Vynier.

“Thank you,” he suddenly hears a soft voice behind him say.

He turns, finding Ericia in her long wool sweater and pajama shorts, standing before him now, sincerity shining from her face.

“For what?” he asks.

She slows her steps to him, chuckling. “For putting that heated tongue of yours to good use and helping me to secure a seat in the King’s Study.”

“I told you,” he says. “This wasn’t a personal favour.”

“It was a favour nonetheless,” Ericia says, “and it was something I couldn’t do on my own.”

“It was just a seat in a meeting,” says the Prince, shrugging. “Why make such a big deal out of it?”

Ericia laughs, genuinely, overwhelmed by the humour of his question. “Because, Prince Henry,” she says, “You helped me to do something that I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Which is?”

“Act like an Heir,” she says, smirking.

Henry looks at her, his neutral expression suddenly vanishing as a smile overcomes him and he lets out a low chuckle. He turns away from the Princess to stare out at the city as Ericia’s expression becomes one of amusement and surprise.

“Are you smiling?” she asks, laughing, “Are you laughing?”

“Don’t look at me,” Henry says, immediately forcing his face back into a neutral phase.

“Henry,” Ericia says, “if I may call you that,” she walks around him so that she’s looking up at his face once more. “If I may be so bold as to say this, Your Highness, you’ve a wonderful smile.”

“If you mention this to anyone, I’ll leave Vynier for good,” he says, though he’s fighting a smile.

“Are you threatening our entire alliance over a smile?” Ericia asks, but she’s entertained by his response.

Henry rolls his eyes. “I helped you to secure a seat for the sake of both our kingdoms –I already explained the hassle of having to deal with two armies on my own.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of your reasons for doing what you did,” Ericia says, “But I’m grateful in my own ways, anyway. You don’t know, Prince Henry, how much that little action meant to me. I don’t expect you to understand, but I expect you to accept my gratitude –if for nothing else, for this.”

Henry moves over to the bench and sits, Ericia moving to sit beside him. They look out at the nation together.

“You...” he trails off for a moment, “You like the defensive arts, don’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

“I could see the way you lit up when the commander began talking about it, and I don’t know how, but I felt your mood change, too.” She nods, but then suddenly she’s overwhelmed with sadness. Henry doesn’t have to look at her. Her silence says everything. He frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh?” she utters, turning to him.

“You suddenly became... different,” he says.

“Oh,” she says, laughing nervously. “Well,” she clears her throat... but she doesn’t know what to say next.

“You can say it,” says the Prince, “whatever’s on your mind. I’ll listen. I won’t say anything to anyone. I’m not here to cause any sort of drama anyway.” He turns to the princess, who is staring at him in bewilderment. “You can go ahead and say it.”

“Can I be honest?” she asks him. “Truly,” her eyes well up with tears, “Can I be honest?” He nods at her, shifting his body in her direction and focusing all of himself on her. “I’m overwhelmed. I don’t like it here,” she says. “I... hate who I am. I hate being here.”

“And why is that?” he asks.

“Because,” she says, smiling pitifully, “I’m supposed to be this person, and I’m not –and it’s not because I don’t want to be that person, it’s because I...” she stares at the listening prince, “...I can’t be.”

“What’s holding you back?”

“Someone,” Ericia says, sniffling and wiping her eyes. “Just someone.”

If I say who, she thinks, we’ll both be done for.

Henry nods, looking out at the city again. “I understand,” he says. “It’s alright if you don’t say everything now. I’ll be here a while anyway.”

He stands, and then she does, and then he starts walking away. Then he pauses, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets and looking down. “I’m not in the business of interacting freely with another man’s betrothed,” he says, turning to her, “but to you, Ericia, as your own person... I don’t mind being a friend.”

Ericia’s clear blue eyes catch the light of the moon just as his do, and he smiles at her –a closed-mouth smile, but softer and much more sincere than the ones she’d seen before. His eyes seem to crinkle, too. It makes her heart flutter. He nods at her and turns, leaving.

***

Prince Henry sits in the courtyard –it’s not filled with trainees, but there are enough. The sun is scorching, but he doesn’t care.

A large silhouette covers him, the sun blocking the person’s face from showing clearly. Henry stands to meet face to face with the man; Prince Rowan.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rowan asks him, lowly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Rowan,” replies Henry, though he’s very much aware.

“Ericia is my fiancée,” Rowan says. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Henry says, shrugging and raising his brows, casually. “Is there something that I should be doing?”

“You’re here to build an alliance with Vynier, but so am I, Henry,” says Rowan. “Yours isn’t a marriage, so stay out of our way.”

“Have you been honest with her?” Henry suddenly asks. “Have you told her everything there is to know about someone like you?”

“Someone like me?” Rowan asks, offended. “Excuse me, Prince Henry of Phillimont, but I’m the future King of Lystotia, how dare you speak down to me in that way?”

Henry laughs. “Well, would you look at that,” he says, staring into Rowan’s murky green eyes, “all of a sudden, I’m asking about honesty, and you’ve labelled me with formality –something less than your friend. You’ve been telling her that we’re friends, haven’t you? Where’s your friendship now?”

“Stop acting so self-righteous, Henry,” Rowan says. “It’s not like you’re a saint. So what if I said a harmless little lie to Ericia about us being friends? It’s better to avoid conflict anyway.”

“A harmless... little... lie?” Henry asks, laughing out loudly at the Prince. “Harmless? Really, Rowan? Then let me ask you this, my friend; how harmless was the last one?” His expression becomes stern and genuinely annoyed.

Rowan closes in on Henry, their faces close enough to feel each other’s hot breaths raging out, “Do not ever,” he says, “mention that.”

“Why would I?” Henry asks, amused. “It’s like you said. Your Betrothal with Princess Ericia is none of my business. I’m not trying to impress her in any way, but in the very least, Prince Rowan,” says Henry, glaring at him, “I’m honest with her.”

“Then let me say this,” Rowan says, “if this is the game you’re playing, you better be aware that I’m fighting back.”

“Are you trying to shake me? The Prince of Phillimont? The Devil in the Woods? The Heir to one of the world’s largest armies?” Henry asks, entertained. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Rowan retreats with a glare, leaving the courtyard as Henry wheezes a humourless laugh to himself.

What’s about to come, he thinks, is going to be quite entertaining.

Let’s see where her heart falls, Rowan –because her heart will fall, but will it fall into the right place?

***

The dinner table is set and the Royals are seated around it. There is silence as the first course arrives.

Prince Rowan takes a sip of his wine and speaks. “Ericia,” he says, “Is your ankle better? I’m terribly sorry I forgot to ask.”

Ericia hadn’t said anything about her injured ankle to her father.

“It’s all better,” Ericia says, nodding to him and smiling as she picks up her glass of wine.

“Her ankle?” King Charles asks, suddenly, and Ericia feels her blood pumping at an alarming rate, “What happened?”

“Ericia tripped and fell down a staircase a little more than a week ago,” Rowan says. “She didn’t know she had gotten such a terrible injury, but the next morning when she woke up her ankle was swollen.”

Ericia’s heartbeat has already begun to speed up. Rowan... she begs internally, though she’s not looking at him... please don’t. Don’t say anything more.

There’s a subtle look of worry on Ericia’s face and Prince Henry, sitting beside her, extends his leg so that his knee gathers her attention briefly. She sits up a bit straighter, continuing to sip at her wine. She clears her throat and sets the glass down, looking to her mother and father.

“It’s alright,” she says, “Really. It wasn’t the worse injury in the world, but the physician told me that it would be better in a week’s time and he was right.”

“Be more careful next time, Ericia,” her mother urges. “Please.”

“Watch where you’re walking,” Charles says, and though he’s supposedly concerned, he says it as though he expected differently of her.

Ericia suppresses a gulp, picking up her wine glass again and sipping from it.

There’s a bit of silence as the Royals eat, and then Rowan sets his knife and fork down, suddenly remembering something.

“Oh, Your Majesties, I’ve some wonderful news to share with you,” he says, laughing.

“Do tell, Rowan,” King Charles says, continuing to eat.

“During my weeks here I’ve written multiple letters to my parents and a couple to my sister as well. My sister only recently wrote back saying she’d like to join us here for a little while. Of course, I had written her a letter in reply stating that it would be a decision that isn’t up to me, but she insists on coming.”

“Ah,” Queen Olivia says, beaming, “Yes, Princess May. It’s been so long since we’ve seen your sister. Surely she’s grown into a radiant young woman.”

“She’s still one who’s always up for an adventure, I suppose,” Rowan says, his dimples popping out as he smiles.

“We’d love to have her with us,” King Charles says, his mouth full. “As you’ve realised, there is a lot of room in this palace for guests as such. Your sister is no exception. She’s welcomed to join at any time to stay.”

“Perhaps my sister is bored,” Rowan says, picking at a chunk of meat, “with me gone, she’s got nothing to do and no one at home to associate herself with. I’m always the one keeping her busy.”

“I’m sure she’ll find lots to do here,” Olivia says. “She will have not only you to interact with but our lovely Ericia and Prince Henry as well. Ericia, my dear, wouldn’t it be lovely to be in her company?”

Ericia forks a piece of meat as her mother calls on her. “Indeed, it would be an honour having her here.”

“Have you met the Princess, Henry?” King Charles asks him, who was sitting in silence all this time.

Not only has Henry met her, he knows her in manners he regrets. He turns to the Prince of Lystotia. “Yes, Your Majesties, I believe I am well enough acquainted with her,” he says.

“Wonderful,” Charles says, delighted. “You may invite your sister. We will await her arrival.”

Little do these Royals know, however, that earlier, Rowan had already sent word to his sister via a messenger to come to Vynier. He had made her aware in his notice that Prince Henry is here. May would be a great distraction to the Prince of Phillimont and certainly an outpour of entertainment added to his stay at Vynier. She ought to fix things right into place when she arrives.

Rowan, smirking into his wine glass, decides that Henry will have a hard time finding a move to play after this one, in this war between them.

***

Within three days, Princess May Wright arrives at the palace of Vynier. She looks nothing like her brother. Her hair is –in contrast to Rowan’s- a light brown colour that sometimes appears wine red in the light. Her eyes are a dark brown colour and she is the stark reminder of her mother, Queen Carol. She strides in a flowing cream gown, a beautiful red rose flower crown adorning her head. She is firstly greeted by her brother, then by Princess Ericia Charlotte Avington, and then by the Majesties of Vynier.

She is lastly reunited with Prince Henry, who she walks towards and bows before, lowly.

“Prince Henry,” she says, gracing him with a smile.

Henry nods at her with a neutral expression, taking her hand. “Princess May,” he says, kissing it briefly.

He lets go almost immediately afterwards, Queen Olivia and Princess Ericia taking the new guest inside.

Rowan says something that makes all the Royals laugh, but then as they all head inside, Rowan falls behind everyone else and turns to Henry, shrugging and pouting.

“Your move,” Rowan says.

Henry doesn’t even glare at him –he’s not low enough to.

As Rowan walks away, Henry departs into his own direction –towards the field of Montien men, resting and awaiting the continuation of training.

Princess May has grown up into a fine young woman, he’s decided. She’s still beautiful, she still has that old habit of making a good impression on people, she still has the ability to woo others with simply her presence or just by the mention of her name, but she’s still the one ingredient to a disaster that Henry doesn’t want to get cooked up in again. She’s toxic.

***

Seth feels the pulse of the King, lying in bed, his temperature increasing.

“It looks like your fever is getting worse by the day,” Seth says to the King. “You’ll have to continue taking the medicine. Once you stick to it, which you should take three times a day, the fever along with the migraines will be completely gone within a week to a week and a half. If the fever persists into two weeks and more, then we will try another solution. This is, however, the most effectively working remedy, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Seth,” says the King. “I’ll have the servants add it to my routine.”

“I will give the specific instructions to the servants, then. Have the medicine before meals, and remember, three times a day.” Seth stands, bowing to the King. “Get some well deserved rest, Your Majesty. It’s been a long day.”

***

When Seth leaves the room, he heads right down into the Queen’s lounge. The Queen, sitting with her eyes glued to the pages of a good book, looks up when he enters. He walks over to her and bows.

“King Charles will need lots of rest aside from his medication in order to recover fully. He is in the process of getting better, though his fever seems to be getting worse. Not to worry, Your Majesty, your husband will be fine once he sticks to the medicine.”

“Thank you, Seth. Keep up the good work,” Olivia says, offering him a warm smile.

“Your Majesty, if I may,” Seth speaks again, turning to Gaya who is standing beside the Queen. “I’d like to speak with Mrs Archer for a moment.”

“Oh,” Queen Olivia says, turning to her. “By all means, go on.”

Gaya bows to the Queen, exiting her post and leaving the room with Seth.

“How is the King?” Gaya whispers.

“His fever is terrible –and it’s getting worse. Stress isn’t helping. Nothing about being the King is helping, I’m sure. He needs rest –he needs time away from the royal mess,” Seth says. “I’m doing what I can, Gaya. Not to worry.”

“I won’t,” she says, smiling. “We know you’re doing your best, Seth. Is that all you wanted to see me to say?”

“The King,” he hesitates, “He found out about Ericia’s injury at dinner.”

“Yes,” Gaya says, frowning. “He did. Prince Rowan mentioned it. His Majesty hasn’t said or done anything since, but perhaps that is also taking a toll on him.”

“What if it’s the mess of not acting out that’s causing him to fall so ill?” Seth asks. “Allowing anger and frustration to build up can cause such omens.”

“Let us pray he doesn’t lash out,” Gaya says, grimacing. “Anyway, this isn’t the type of talk that should be heard from the servants of the palace. I must return to my post. We’ll speak again, Seth,” Gaya says, heading back into the Queen’s Study.

***

There is a knock on the door as King Charles awakens from his rest. “Come in,” he says. “And be quick.”

A servant runs in. “Your Majesty,” he says, bowing lowly. “I bring a message from Marshal Lancelot of the Royal Court.”

“Carry on,” Charles says, waving him off.

“He wishes to inform you that he has located the Callie family in the Hyre Village, Your Majesty.”

“What?” Charles blinks, turning to the servant. “The Callie family?”

“He suggested that you should both discuss the details of the matter privately. He would like to meet with you when you are available to do so, Your Majesty.”

“The Callie family is in the Hyre Village?” Charles repeats again. “The Hyre Village? What are they doing there?” He asks, standing in rage and immediately collapsing unto his bed again as the migraine returns. He’s unable to open his eyes as the lightning shock of pain returns and the flashes of white scramble behind his shut eyelids.

“Your Majesty, are you alright?” worries the servant.

“Did he...” the King asks, “Did he say anything else?”

“No, Your Majesty. All he said was that he would speak on this matter with you in private.”

“Tell him I will meet with him immediately,” King Charles says. “I will be in my study in half an hour. Call my servants and get me prepared.”

In Vynier, only the richest can afford to live in the Hyre Village. After King Charles had practically destroyed the Callie name, they were living in the lowest of the low.

Vynier is split into three cities. Aeriston, Ballier and Merrington. Aeriston was Vynier’s biggest city; home to the nobles, the rich and the otherwise highly positioned individuals. In Aeriston, the Hyre Village was the biggest and closest village to the palace. Ballier was for the middle caste and Merrington for the lower.

The Callies had been stripped so badly of everything that they had no choice but to live in one of the villages of Merrington. They were living in the Juncrast Village –where the poorest live. To be able to reach Hyre, they must have had the support of someone willing to help them to succeed. Determined to snuff this light out as soon as possible, Charles drags himself, along with his migraine, into his bath to ready himself quickly, his servants following behind to continue the work he’s already started.

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