6 Chapter Two: Rumours of War
ERICIA SLOWS THE long lacy sleeves of her peachy evening gown over her shoulders and adjusts the bust of the dress over her chest. She isn’t a fan of wearing fitted dresses –especially when she has open wounds that are agitated by the uncomfortable fabric regardless of them being dressed, but her mother insisted that she should make more of an effort for tonight’s dinner than she usually would.
When Ericia is ready, she slips into a pair of low heels. No one would be seeing her feet under the long mermaid tail of the dress anyway. After this, she calls her maids in and they begin the process of applying makeup onto her face and styling her hair into a beautiful up-do.
Ericia strolls through the corridors in silence, her maids trailing loosely behind her. She sighs, clasping her hands together and resting them just under her waistband with graceful dignity as she continues walking. She reaches the grand dining room, hearing the roaring laughter of her father bouncing from wall to wall –Prince Rowan must have said a joke.
Ericia sucks in a breath and pulls herself together, walking into the room. King Charles doesn’t end his fit of laughter when he spots her. Ericia looks among the only people in the room –King Charles, Queen Olivia and Prince Rowan, who were accompanied by one other person –a person Ericia could easily identify as a familiar Lystotian messenger.
Ericia bows. Rowan stands and walks towards her, offering her a bright smile.
“You’re just in time,” he says, extending a hand, the other behind his back. “Your father and I have only begun our discussion. I sense that dinner will be promising.”
Ericia takes Rowan’s hand, being guided to the seat just opposite to him at the long, rectangular dinner table.
Dinner passes slowly –too slowly for Ericia. She doesn’t poke at her food or shift in her seat, nor does she say anything out of the character of a perfect princess. She eats as though she is strong enough to hold her four course meal, but she would only throw it all up before bed later. She smiles as though she has never known sadness, but she would only be left restless and depressed with red, swollen eyes, later.
Later, she would say to herself, over and over again. Later. Later. Later.
“If I may, Your Majesty,” Prince Rowan says to King Charles, suddenly drawing the attention of the Princess who seemed distant-minded for a moment. “Is it too much to request a private stroll after dinner with the lovely Princess?”
King Charles studies Rowan with an indecipherable expression plastered over his face for only moments before he grins. “Oh, Rowan, you didn’t have to ask.” Charles laughs as he turns to Olivia, “I like him, Olivia. He’s quite old-fashioned unlike many of the youth of today.”
“I feel more comfortable having the permission of my elders. I do believe that what elders think should have a tremendous amount of influence on the growing and modernizing society. The once social ‘quacks’ are now geniuses developing technology with electricity or integrating it into our kingdom lives having had the permission of elders blessing them faith and trust –and, on occasion, I dare say some sizeable financial contributions as well. The average person’s life is beginning to seem much easier thanks to the opportunity given to technology advancement. Perhaps one day we will follow the rest of the world, using fewer carriages and more cars. Our elders have established such great kingdoms and societies and what a waste it would be of time and energy to watch it all fall at the fault of youth who strive for nothing or believe they can rely on themselves.”
“We definitely chose the right lad for our daughter,” says King Charles to the Queen.
Queen Olivia smiles at her husband before turning to Rowan. “We certainly have.”
“Is it alright with you, Ericia?” Rowan asks, turning to the Princess.
Ericia, at the mention of her name, stumbles out of her short absence in the conversation. “Huh?” She blinks, staring directly at him. A moment of silence fills the dinner table. Ericia suddenly knows she has made a mistake.
“Is it alright with you if I take you for a walk after dinner?”
“Oh,” she says, chuckling, “Of course, Rowan. I would be honoured.” Ericia knows that if she turns to look at her father now, she would see the look of trouble brewing in his eyes. She avoids looking in his direction for as long as she can. “In fact,” she says, in an attempt to stay clear of her father’s menacing eyes, “If you’d be interested in my suggestion, Your Highness, there is something I have in mind for us to do.”
Rowan raises his brows, intrigued. “Do tell,” he says, urging her on.
“I would love to show you around the palace,” she says, in her warmest tone. “There’s a beautiful garden that you’ve yet to rediscover. I’m sure you may have forgotten all about it –after all, you haven’t been here for ages.”
Rowan sits up straighter and gleams. “Sounds delightful. I’m in.”
With that, the conversation takes a turn into a cycle of subjects Ericia had heard way too many times before. It started with Politics, somehow landed in Finances, and then her father went off into a whole city of recycled jokes to which Prince Rowan responded with his own, leaving King Charles breathless after all the laughter.
After dinner, Ericia takes Rowan by the hand and they walk outside into the cool night together.
***
“Ericia,” Rowan says, staring out at the city in the distant lands of Vynier.
“Yes?” she replies.
“Are you alright?”
Ericia is taken aback by this question. “Alright? What do you mean?”
“I know that my coming here may have been a bit sudden,” he says. “Do I make you feel awkward? If so, I’m truly sorry.”
“Oh,” she says, “No, no no. It’s fine, Rowan. I’m alright, yes, I’m... I’m alright.”
Lies, she thinks to herself. Truthfully, I feel stifled. I almost want to die.
“It’s just that you seemed a bit absentminded at dinner. Is something bothering you?” he asks, turning to her.
Ericia looks up at the Prince. He’s tall enough that he can shade her completely from any light behind him. He’s tall enough that she has to tilt her head a bit too high most of the time to look up at him directly unless she stands at a calculated distance. Rowan, she decides, is only almost perfect. Rowan, she decides, is only almost everything. Of course, she shakes this thought aside with the excuse that Rowan has only been with her for the evening. She had no doubts that she would grow to love him by the end of his stay –after which he would probably return to Lystotia to plan the wedding with his parents and then once again return to her.
“Maybe I’m just a bit under the weather,” she says, gathering an excuse for her slight misconduct at dinner. “I’m great. I promise. I don’t feel awkward around you at all. You actually have a comforting presence. It’s something I could get used to.”
Rowan almost blushes. He stares ahead again, unable to look at the beautiful princess.
***
Ericia walks into the open courtyard of the palace to find Rowan practicing his fencing just minutes after six in the morning. He’s covered in sweat, his loose, white, silk shirt is soaked, but it’s not sticking to his body. Ericia can see his muscles –how defined they are, and his chest, bare, shows through the unbuttoned areas at the top of the shirt.
She claps after Rowan has finished practicing his fencing enough to be out of breath. Rowan drops the sword, bending forward and holding his knees for a moment to relax.
“How long have you been standing there?” he asks.
“Long enough to know a hunk of salted meat when I see one,” she says.
He laughs. “I’m a hunk of salted meat?”
“It’s just a joke,” Ericia says, smiling and walking over to him, “I do hope you know that.” She reaches down and picks up the sword, her pair of pajama shorts showing under her oversized wool sweater.
“Were you taught Fencing?” Rowan asks her, surprised.
“Of course,” she says, holding the sword tightly. She stares at the sharp blade, almost shuddering as the sound of metal slicing skin crosses her mind, sending a chill up her spine. “I’m a princess. I must know how to defend myself and protect others.”
“I would have believed that your father would be the protective one,” Rowan says, “You seem like the type to be protected, not the type doing the protecting.”
Ericia forgot in her haste to speak and her love for Fencing that she was supposed to be practicing her perfect princess act. She sighs, deciding that there’s no going back now, but that she would not take the truth too far.
“I was stubborn enough to be able to acquire the education and practice of as many defensive arts as possible, but of course, it’s always nice to feel and be protected by others,” she says.
“I always wanted someone I’d be able to protect –entirely –someone I’d give my life to save, perhaps,” Rowan says, moving up behind her and taking her hand that’s holding the sword. “I suppose even with a Princess who knows the game, I can do the saving.”
His free hand reaches around Ericia’s waist and squeezes gently. She glances behind her to look up at him. This was a gesture that would make Ericia uncomfortable. She did not ask him to touch her. She did not want him to touch her, but he had. She knows that it was done with the familiar intent of someone like her father, but even so, she becomes lost to the situation around her as her mind takes her deep into thoughts of past terrors. Ericia looks up at the Prince standing right behind her, his chest touching her back, both skin and skin only separated by their layers of clothes. She smiles. She will not allow the horrors in her head to interfere with her act.
Rowan will not harm me, she thinks to herself. All I have to do is keep this up. He is not my father. He is not a monster.
***
Ericia soaks in vanilla-scented bath water, peacefully ignorant of the raucous existing outside of her bedroom walls. Maids and nobles of the court hurry about for whatever meeting the King is about to hold. It’s a meeting she wasn’t invited to, which is something that tends to happen half the time, even though she’s fully aware that she should be there to hear the boring politics.
There’s a knock on the door of her bathroom, accompanied by a soft voice. “Your Highness?”
“Yes, Avie,” Ericia replies. “What is it?”
“I’ve got some news. May I come in?”
Ericia suddenly panics. “Give me a few moments, I’ll be right out.”
She grabs her towel from the silver stand nearby and wraps herself inside it, drying her feet on the bathroom mat near the entrance door. She takes a beautiful, knee-length sundress off of a clothes hanger on the stand and slips into it, practically jumping into her underwear and bra before adjusting the thick straps of the dress over her shoulders and slipping her hands through a white, long-sleeved bolero jacket.
She walks out of the bathroom, barefooted, and finds Avie pacing the floor.
“Ericia, there’s a rumour going around but it’s highly likely to be truth,” she says, impatiently.
Avie has the pleasure of speaking so casually with the Princess. She has always been Ericia’s closest and dearest friend.
“If this is about the dashing prince and me, I sort of don’t want to hear it,” Ericia says. “I’m not in love with him yet. I’m working on it. Promise.”
“It’s about a war,” Avie says, fear covering the depths of her deep brown eyes.
Ericia stares at her, startled by the idea. “What? War? Involving who? Against who? For what?”
“The reason for the hurry among the palace folk isn’t just for a mere meeting with the king –there’s another messenger here.”
“From Lystotia?” Ericia asks, feeling a headache coming on.
“From Phillimont,” Avie says.
Ericia becomes still. “Phil-Phillimont? Avie...” she almost trails off, “Avie, Why?”
Phillimont is that kingdom –sure, Vynier is rich in spices, Lystotia is abundant in textiles, precious metals and minerals, but Phillimont has the largest armed force among the three kingdoms. Though there hasn’t been a war for a very, very long time –so long ago that Ericia wasn’t even born when it happened- Phillimont’s pride has always been its army.
“If Phillimont is sending word of a war... then... we’re in trouble,” Ericia says, about to bite her nails before Avie slaps her hand away from her mouth gently.
“Don’t bite your nails, your mother would throw a fit and you know it,” Avie says. “Anyway, I don’t know any more of the details. That’s as much as I could get out of my mother. She’s with your mother right now, preparing her for the meeting. You’ll have to attend too. I’m sure someone is going to send word for you soon. Come, sit. I’ll help you get the makeup and hair done.”
***
The Throne Room is quiet. Princess Ericia quickly realises that many of the members of the court are still unaware of the subject of this meeting –much less are they aware of how important it is. Prince Rowan sits at the front, beside Ericia, and Queen Olivia and King Charles sit beside them.
When Charles feels as though he is ready for the meeting to begin, he speaks. “We have received news from Phillimont.” With this, the members of the court begin to babble in low chatters. Yes, they all know how important a message from Phillimont is. “A messenger of the King has come. I will allow him to explain everything.” He nods towards the messenger of Phillimont, who stands, bows, and walks to the front of the room.
“Plans of attack have been formed in the Middle East against not only Phillimont, but against Vynier and, by extention, Lystotia. The Royals of Lystotia have been informed of this already, but seeing as His Highness, Prince Rowan, is with you, His Majesty King Edward, has requested that the news be brought here directly to both the rulers of Vynier and to Prince Rowan Wright III of Lystotia, himself. His Majesty has stated that he would like to acknowledge that there is no alliance among our three kingdoms, though we trade with each other and live in peaceful coexistence. He has suggested that we share our forces in order to become stronger so that we will be able to fight off this threat together and be of benefit to each other.”
“King Edward Darwin of Phillimont is offering us the service of his army in exchange for the service of ours,” King Charles says. “I think it’s quite an offer. It’s true. Phillimont, Lystotia and Vynier have been traders of the necessities for decades, but with Phillimont more than Lystotia, it is clear that we have not acknowledged each other as allies. With Phillimont as an ally, our troops will be stronger, and our kingdom will be safer. I speak for Lystotia as well, knowing King Stephen and Queen Carol. They would not pass up such an offer.”
“They would not,” Prince Rowan says, “Surely not. I have met with the Prince of Phillimont many times. We are well enough acquaintances to call each other friends.”
“I’m pleased to know that you’re so familiar with the heir of Phillimont,” King Charles says to Rowan, proudly. He turns to the messenger. “There will be much paperwork; signing, sealing, signifying, the lot of it. I know that it will take quite a while before our alliance is finalized. If we do take up this offer, will an official be sent here for those purposes or will we have to send someone over to Phillimont for a while?”
“It can be either,” says the messenger, “Surely I will bring you the right news when I return with the direct words of His Majesty.”
“Tonight, there will be a short meeting with the members of the court,” says King Charles, after nodding. “We will decide at this meeting whether or not we will take up the offer and what we may add to the offer as conditions. I will see you all here tonight at seven. By then, court members, you should all have made a decision. This meeting is adjourned.”
***
Rowan is in the garden, doing push-ups against a concrete bench as Ericia strolls towards him.
“Why is it that every time I bump into you by coincidence, you’re always exercising or practicing something?” She asks, but she’s smiling.
“Hey,” he says, pushing himself up one more time and sitting on the bench. “At least you know I’m not lazy.”
“I didn’t expect you to be, Your Highness,” she says, smirking.
Rowan opens a bottle of water and downs half of it, pouring the other half over his head. Ericia feels a few drops splash against her skin, but she doesn’t mind it as she watches the water droplets trickle down his hair, his face, his cheeks, his chin, his neck, and down his shirt. She swallows hard. He smells like sweat and cologne; it tickles her nose.
“I tend to exercise when I’m tense or deep in thought or frustrated or worried,” Rowan rambles.
“So are you tense, deep in thought, frustrated, or worried? I can’t quite tell,” Ericia says, laughing.
Rowan laughs along. “I suppose I’m a bit of each. I’m away from my home –so I’m only slightly tense and reserved because of that. I’m in an unfamiliar environment. It’s not so much the people –because everyone here has been so friendly and kind to me- but it’s just the environment. It’s not what I’m used to, which is... seeing gold and silver practically dangling from every corner. I look at the curtains hanging over the windows of this palace and remember my home. It’s just homesickness, probably.”
“Do you... want to go back?” Ericia asks, almost disappointed. “If you do, I won’t blame you. If you don’t feel comfortable here... then maybe...” she trails off, thinking of the idea she was about to say but won’t.
“Maybe?” he asks.
“Maybe if you go back, I can be the one to stay with you for a while,” Ericia says. “Although I’m not sure what my father will think of such an idea.” She offers a nervous laugh, hoping it wouldn’t sound too anxious.
“That’s actually a brilliant idea,” Rowan says, grinning. “I’ll see what I can do about it.”
There is silence as the royals soak up the peace around them. There’s a gentle breeze passing through the trees from time to time, they can hear birds chirping above them. Water is trickling and splashing from a fountain at the centre of the garden.
Ericia frowns. “Does... this tension also have something to do with the meeting earlier today?”
Rowan turns to her. “The meeting? Oh, about Phillimont and the rumours of war?” Ericia nods. Rowan scoffs and shakes his head. “Well, we’re Royals. We have to worry about our kingdoms when we hear these kinds of things. On the bright side, I’m technically friends with Phillimont’s future king, so... I think that ought to be a good thing.”
“I hope this can all be resolved. Phillimont is quite gracious, offering us the service of their armed forces in exchange for an alliance to strengthen our three kingdoms. It seems they have good intentions. I hope the court agrees on the offer. I hope they take it willingly. Our troops could use the extra help.”
“Ours as well,” Rowan says. “It’s quite funny, thinking about it,” he shifts in his seat, “We’ve always sort of underestimated Phillimont, because they’ve kept to themselves and there hasn’t really been a use for their large army. They’re quiet, trading with us just for the sake of getting through each day with enough. I suppose we all should have seen it coming. Every kingdom at some point has its time to shine.”
“Yes, and perhaps now is Phillimont’s time. I’m sure that if the friendship among our three kingdoms grows our world would seem much larger, much brighter, much more beautiful.”
Rowan stretches his arms way above his head. “We’ll see what happens tonight at the meeting,” he says, his voice strained with the action. “Fingers crossed for the best.”
“Fingers crossed for the best,” Ericia copies, showing him her crossed fingers.
***
King Charles’ perspective of the situation during the early meeting seemed to have had a great influence on the members of the court –as it usually does. In the end, it was decided that Vynier would take up the offer of Phillimont’s alliance.
The messenger is sent back to Phillimont with the wonderful news, along with the conditions set by the court:
Someone from Phillimont should be sent to stay at Vynier for a while in order to form a personal trust between the Royals –so even if King Edward could not make it, someone of a high position in the palace should be able to stay there for a while. That was the first condition.
Along with that, King Charles decides that it would be of no use having them there just for the purpose of trust. It would make it seem as though Vynier truly is fearful of Phillimont and so the condition attached to this visitor is that they would be the one to witness the official signing of the alliance papers. This would be the person to make things official for the Montien King.
The third condition was simple; the Vynierian army would be properly trained by troops from Phillimont. King Charles finds it useless to fight the case of whether this meant he would have to send troops to Phillimont to train or whether troops from Phillimont would come to Vynier to train troops instead. He states that he would prefer to have his troops remain in Vynier for the training, of course, since having them away from the palace would be a bit troubling, and he believes that Phillimont has more than enough armed men to spare sending a few across to Vynier for a while. This is the general message he sends with the Montien messenger.
Ericia and Rowan exhale their own sighs of relief, feeling much more secure than they had ever felt before.
There is a matter, however, troubling to Ericia about this whole alliance. Her father is a monster. With this sort of power, there is so much evil he could plan to do if he really wanted to.
