7 Chapter Three: The Guest from Phillimont
ERICIA STARES OUT at Aeriston, the largest city of Vynier, from her room’s balcony. It’s late in the evening, and the beautiful popping colours of the sunset are spreading across the sky. Ericia undoes her braid –a long French braid ending with a red cloth tied in a bow to keep it in place. Her curly locks fly freely, catching the wind. She shuts her eyes.
She can still hear birds chirping though they’re making their ways home. She can hear people talking loudly in the distance, some shouting, the sound of horses in the stables, sheep in the nearby pastures, cows, and crickets hiding in the grass of the palace garden below her.
“Ericia,” Avie says, fixing her hair in the mirror of Ericia’s dresser. “How long do you think the messenger will take to return from Phillimont?”
“I don’t know,” Ericia says, absentmindedly, “time is always an inefficiently calculated thing. Perhaps a week. Phillimont is quite a distance, after all.”
“Who do you think they’ll send to stay for the duration of the organisation and training period?”
This has been one of the many things on Ericia’s mind ever since the conditions had been made and the messenger left.
Who will Phillimont’s King send to stay at her home?
“It’s been three days,” Ericia says, “I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see. I doubt very much that they’d send a commander, though that would be great.”
Avie has finished fixing her hair, and now she’s fidgeting with her dangling earrings. She shakes her head, “Ugh, I don’t even want to think about it anymore, but it can’t seem to leave my mind. A change of topic; how are things with Rowan?”
Avie does that a lot. She changes a topic suddenly, and then changes it again. The fact that this alliance between Vynier and Phillimont is beginning and shaking her up inside isn’t something strange for Ericia to understand. It happens a lot –Avie tends to dwell on things.
Ericia is different. She has learnt that she has to be. She can’t afford to dwell on things for too long. She’ll destroy herself, and she knows that she can’t afford to destroy more than her father already has.
It’s a tragedy, Ericia knows. Her father is a great man and king as the rest of Vynier and probably the world sees him, but to Ericia and her mother, he is the epitome of terror.
Ericia releases a weary chuckle. “Every time I bump into Rowan he’s busy doing something. He wakes early in the morning and by the time it’s six and I wake up to take a stroll through the courtyard, he’s sweating like a pig –mind the tone. If he’s not fencing at six in the morning, he’s exercising, but either way he’s sweating.” Ericia’s brows become furrowed in intrigue. “I can’t seem to understand it. How can someone sweat so much and still smell so strongly of cologne? Does Lystotia produce fine fragrances, too? I must not have known. Usually, I’m able to smell the spices of this kingdom strongly enough, but when I’m around him, they all disappear under his smell.”
Avie laughs, and there’s a short, comfortable silence.
“You know, Ericia,” Avie says, though she’s sounding resentful towards beginning her statement, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”
Curious, Ericia turns from her view of the world to look at her friend, attentive. “What is it?”
“Why...” Avie asks, “Why is it that you don’t attend meetings or events as much? You’re the heir to this kingdom, I mean it’s not my position to say something like this, but as your friend, I feel entitled to. It leaves an impression on the people, Ericia. They want to see you. They want to know you. They want to be able to feel your commanding presence. How will this kingdom belong to you if you don’t take authority?”
Ericia knows that her best friend is right. In any other situation, with any other person, what Avie has said would be terribly out of place, but she’s right. Ericia hasn’t been the princess that she should be. She hasn’t been the ruler that she could be. She hasn’t done anything for her people, but in the very least, she has a valid excuse as to why that is so. The reason, as it is for so many other things in her life, is her father.
Ericia steps closer towards her friend. She won’t be able to tell her everything, but she can say enough to imply enough. “My father,” she says. “I’m not doing as much as I can or as much as I should because of him.”
After that, Ericia goes silent, running a petite hand through her hair and flopping unto her bed, face down before rolling onto her back. She stares up at the ceiling again, motionless, until Avie says that she’s leaving to go back to her room.
***
They sting. Ericia wakes up in extreme pain. It’s difficult to move at first, but eventually she pulls herself upward and gets to her feet to go to the bathroom. Once inside, she strips herself of the dress she had fallen asleep in last night. The cloth on the inner back of the dress had stuck to her skin in some places where her cuts had not been properly dressed.
Ericia is lucky enough to have long limbs –she can reach spots on her back that the average person can’t, and that allows her to clean and dress her wounds for herself. Last night, after drifting off and not waking up, she had forgotten all about dressing them, and some of the bandages moved out of place as she tossed and turned, exposing the open wounds to the itchy material of the dress.
She looks at the inside of the dress –almost ruined by the bits of red and yellow that have stained it. She shudders and grits her teeth. She walks over to the standing mirror and turns to look at her back –the cuts have barely healed, but they are healing, nonetheless.
Ericia then looks down at her wrists. She’s wearing thick silver bracelets as she always does, in the places where there were painful shackles. She takes her time pushing the silver over to the untouched skin, studying the scarring wound all the way around her wrist. She shakes her head and grimaces.
When Ericia looks up, she realises it’s still dark out. She wonders what time it must be. Surely she had slept through the night. It must be around three or four in the morning. She shakes the idea out of her head and moves on.
She opens the tap to fill her bathtub with water, pouring in spices that would help to heal the wounds. She undresses completely and gets into it, staying there in silence for a long time, softly scrubbing her skin.
Beside her bathtub, there is a tall shelf filled with spices, fragrances, essences, flower petals, stems and a wide range of bath and body products. On the bottom shelf, there’s a big box with first aid essentials.
She finally gets out of the tub and into a towel. She drags the box out from under the shelf and opens it, pulling out the necessary items she would need to clean her wounds and dress them.
She grabs a hand towel, rolls it, and folds it in half. She bites down on it. She applies the alcohol to her wounds. She almost screams from the burning, though this is much less painful than the cause of the wounds.
It takes her all of ten minutes to finish dressing the ones on her back, after which she returns into her room to put on an oversized sweater –one that wouldn’t agitate her skin as she goes back to sleep- and a pair of short pajama pants.
Ericia jumps back into bed, feeling lighter, cooler, and much more comfortable.
***
The Princess is awakened by the gentle knocking and calling of the maids outside her room.
“Your Highness?” they say, “The sun will rise soon.”
Ericia groans into her pillow but sits up on her bed. She clears her throat. “Come in, come in.”
The door opens and the maids rush in, immediately getting to work at preparing her morning outfit and setting her jewellery and makeup.
“What’s with the rush this morning?” Ericia asks. “You are always all on edge.”
“We’re sorry, Your Highness,” says one of the maids, “We know that it’s a habit of ours to rush, but especially for today, we were asked to have you out by sunrise.”
Ericia looks at her, puzzled. “Why?”
“Prince Rowan, Your Highness. He would like to meet with you in the gardens before the sun is up.”
“Why in the Heavens-” she begins, stopping herself mid-sentence. She stares at the maid, who is giving her a startled look at the outburst. “Oh,” she says, relaxing her shoulders and slouching on her bed. “Right. I forgot.”
The maid prepares her bath for her and steps out, and Ericia is ready in less than an hour.
Ericia strolls out into her room again in a beautiful orange sun dress, her hair up in a bun.
The maids trail behind her as she walks out into the open and heads towards the garden. She spots Rowan, standing at the edge of the garden. From there, he’s able to look down at Aeriston, and the lands of Vynier beyond it. From there, he’s able to see the sun push itself up from the sea and begin its habitual float. Ericia turns to her maids and nods. They bow and head back into the palace.
She walks over to Rowan. “I’m surprised you’re not busy this morning,” she says.
He turns to her, offering a pearly smile again. He laughs lightly. “Yes, well, I wanted to surprise you.”
Ericia stands beside him, looking out at the sleeping world. “Mission accomplished.”
“You must have gotten used to this by now,” Rowan says, not looking at her. “The sunrise, the sunset...”
“On the contrary,” she says, “in all my years of living here, I’ve never waken up and walked outside this early to watch the sunrise. Sometimes, on early mornings, I watch it from my balcony; most times I’m only afforded the sunset.”
“A sunrise is romantic,” Rowan says, scratching the back of his head, nervous, “isn’t it?”
“Is the Prince of Lystotia having doubts about his own ability to woo a woman?” Ericia asks him, smiling smugly.
Rowan laughs. “I just want to be as genuine, charming, honest and sweet as you could possibly find me to be.”
“But the real question is; Are you truly that genuine, charming, honest and sweet?” Ericia asks, only half serious.
“I suppose I try my best,” Rowan says, shrugging. “Look, the sun is rising.”
She looks. He’s right. The sun only peeks out at first, and it is rich –golden. It begins to spread, further and further, much like Ericia’s favourite golden teas brewing in hot water. The colour spreads until everywhere is royally magnificent –and then until it is not possible to imagine that there was once gold spreading across the sky. The sky is entirely blue, and fluffy white clouds are floating in it.
Ericia stands here, basking in the glory of the morning. She hasn’t realised how much time has gone as she was witnessing the awakening of the day, but Rowan has been watching –studying –observing her.
He’s looking at the strands of her golden blonde hair as the wind passes through it. He’s staring at the blue in her eyes –staring so deeply that, if possible, he could swear he’s spotting the city that she’s looking out at in the distance. There’s an expression of peace and tranquillity on her face, and it is a feeling flowing through her and radiating from her.
Prince Rowan sighs, shaking his head and turning to look at the same place she’s looking. “I didn’t realise the sunrise amused you so,” he says. “Or is it that I’ve done something honourable by having you out here with me to see it?”
“It’s enjoyable having the pleasure of seeing it out here in the sweet smelling garden next to a dashing, charming Prince, if I may say so myself. I really should make more of an effort to do this on my own, but I’m not entirely a morning person.”
“Understandable,” Rowan says, nodding his head. A moment of silence crosses them –a comfortable one –and then suddenly, Rowan says, “Thank you.”
“Huh?” Ericia utters, confused.
He turns to her and takes a step forward, so that he’s so close to her that they’re breathing the same air. He can look down at her, staring right into her clear blue eyes. She can look up and see nothing but his. His arm slows its way around her body and he pulls her into a hug. “Thank you for joining me this morning. Forgive the gesture,” he says, referring to the hug, “I don’t usually approach physical contact in such an open and random manner, but in you, there is an inviting warmth.”
Ericia is too startled by the embrace to say anything at first, but then she lifts her arms and hugs him back. “It’s alright. You give great hugs. I’m not used to them.”
“You can tell me if I’m overstepping my boundaries,” Rowan says. “Never fear the outcome. I’ll listen to you. I’ll always listen to you.”
“You promise?” Ericia asks, before she could stop herself.
Rowan laughs, hugging her tighter, which only agitates her wounds a bit and causes them to ache. She grits her teeth but doesn’t make a sound, “I promise,” he says.
***
When the evening comes, Rowan and Ericia are strolling, hand in hand, through the palace grounds. The nobles of the court bow as they pass by, offering greetings and compliments.
Ericia is living for the moment, not having felt this comfortable with someone in a very, very long time.
Then, the Princess looks up to find her maids walking in a hurried pace towards her.
“Your Highness, Your Highness, Your Highness,” the first maid is calling, softly and in a panic. When she reaches the Princess she bows, “Your Highness, and Prince Rowan, you’re both needed by the King in the Throne Room immediately.”
“What’s going on?” Ericia asks, though she’s begun to move with the maids.
“What’s the matter?” asks Rowan. He hasn’t let go of Ericia’s hand as they begin to hurry.
“Why are we in such a rush?” Ericia asks, again.
“A messenger has arrived,” the maid says. “From Phillimont.”
***
King Charles sits on his throne, listening to the messenger whisper something in his ear. There are court members here, and though Charles was eager to listen to the news that had arrived, he was too impatient to make everyone leave before he could let the messenger speak.
Ericia and Rowan arrive, the King standing to his feet and looking at the messenger, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder. He smiles, pleased, and utters a closed mouth laugh.
When Charles spots his daughter and the Lystotian Prince, he opens his arms in greeting. “Ah, you’ve come. Just in time.”
Charles sits again, observing the people in the room. He raises a hand, commanding order. The room goes silent. Queen Olivia hurries through the door at the back of the room and makes her way to the front. She bows. “My sincerest apologies for the tardiness,” she says, taking her seat.
Ericia bites down on her lip as she and Rowan take their seats together.
“News has arrived from Phillimont,” Charles says gleaming. “And I’m rather pleased to announce that the guest who will be staying with us for the period to come will be none other than Prince Henry Darwin himself.”
The room is raging with uproar as court members begin to discuss this. King Charles turns to his wife –and then to Prince Rowan –and then to Princess Ericia.
He raises his hand again, and the room takes a while to settle in silence. “I will allow the Montien messenger of King Edward Darwin himself to read a portion of the letter we have received.” He nods to the messenger.
The messenger stands and walks over to the King, taking the letter from him just as King Charles points to the paragraph which he wants him to read.
The messenger clears his throat and turns to the audience.
“I will be more than happy to send my dearest son, Prince Henry, to stay with you for the period during which our alliance will be made official. It is at your home that I expect him to grow in Wisdom and Trust. He will also lead the troops in their training –which will be done at your home seeing as you cannot have your troops away from the Kingdom –which is a reasonable case. I will send enough men from the army to help with the training. Furthermore, my son will not only train the troops but he will be the witness at the official signing of the alliance papers. He is, after all, Phillimont’s future king. For such an heir, I believe participation is crucial, and it is beneficial for him to gather the firsthand experience.”
“As you can see,” King Charles says, gesturing towards the messenger before him, “It is clear to me that this alliance will only improve things. There is however, a downside.”
“A downside?” Prince Rowan asks, puzzled.
“Prince Henry will be arriving sooner than we have anticipated. Preparations are to be completed for not only His Highness’ stay here, but the troops as well –all by tomorrow morning.”
The court goes into uproar once more.
Prince Henry and his troops will be here by tomorrow? Ericia wonders. How will the palace workers survive until then? The staff will be working without rest.
***
Princess Ericia is dressed in a golden gown, her high up-do adorned with gleaming silver clips and a silver crown. She’s wearing her seal in the form of the royal ring. Her wrists are bright with thick, silver bracelets.
Beside her, Prince Rowan is sporting a pair of black trousers and a navy blue dress coat with a white shirt underneath. His hair is styled upward, parted to the side, neatly. He still smells of cologne. He’s still smiling brightly.
King Charles and Queen Olivia compliment each other’s outfits, wearing black and gold.
They’re standing at the entrance of the castle. It’s not long before they hear the strange thunder of horses and carriages rolling along its way towards them. There are endless men riding the beasts –beautiful black, white, and brown stallions. Behind the massive army of men, there are four carriages. When all the carriages have stopped close enough to the entrance of the palace, the crowd of Vynierian palace workers besides the court members and the Royals stand and speak in soft mutters as they wait.
Everyone is eager to see what the Prince of Phillimont looks like –the truth is that he’s been a faceless name from the beginning. He never really left Phillimont to visit the other kingdoms, with the exception that he’s acquainted with Prince Rowan. He keeps to himself, just as his kingdom keeps to itself, and Ericia supposes that it’s because they’re just a quiet kingdom, trying to refrain from the use of violence and the drama acquainted with having allies.
Prince Henry steps out of the third carriage. Ericia immediately notices just about everything about him –his mess of chocolate brown hair that compliments his features, his unbelievably deep but bright blue eyes that glow from a distance. He’s not as tall as Rowan, but he comes quite close. He’s sporting leather wear –the kind of clothes a prince going on a hunt would wear. He’s got the leather boots, the long sleeved brown leather jacket, his sword attached to his waist.
Ericia doesn’t realise it, but she’s been staring at him for far too long.
“Have you never seen Prince Henry?” Rowan asks her, snapping her out of her daze.
She blinks a couple of times and turns to him. “No, actually. I haven’t. This is the first time I’m meeting the once faceless name that is Prince Henry Darwin.”
“He looks quite intimidating, doesn’t he?” Rowan says, smirking.
“He doesn’t look like the type to smile very much,” Ericia says.
“Oh he smiles,” Rowan says, nodding, “But you’re right –not very much. Perhaps he will, seeing as he knows me in the very least. He’ll smile once he’s comfortable. I’m sure of it.” There is a hint of something sour in Rowan’s tone as though he himself is not convinced of what he has said.
“So how long do you think he’ll be staying here?” Ericia asks, turning to look at Prince Henry once more.
Rowan bites his lip as he thinks. “Well, I don’t think the process of officialising the alliance will take too long –not more than a day perhaps to get all of the paperwork done, but the training could go on for weeks... even months.”
“I see,” Ericia says, a bit oblivious to Rowan’s words as she studies Phillimont’s handsome but intimidating Prince. “I see.”
Prince Henry is greeted firstly by the King of Vynier. King Charles greets him with a handshake, and Prince Henry only gives him the bare closed-mouth smile in politeness.
“It’s an honour to be here,” is all Ericia could hear him say to King Charles as they keep their conversation under a tone, but just from the sound of his low voice saying those few words, Ericia knows it. Ericia feels it. She could feel her heart collapsing. She can sense a new fear within. Inside, she crumbles.
