“Forgive me, My Love, for I was blinded by piety. Coerced into darkness by a demon that made me see monsters in angels. When I inevitably leave this world - most likely not by my own choice or through the natural course of nature after the sins I have committed - I hope to see you on the other side. I do not expect you to forgive me. I just wish to see your face again.”
The Uncovered Journal of Duke Hugo Barlet – Dated 1255. Published by the Ravenhelm University Press Association 1412.
The pyres resembled a small forgotten city left behind by time. Each pyre was a towering structure of dark wood that stood taller than the last. This was an intentional stylistic choice and a Greenfire tradition that had been in place for centuries. It was designed to display the position of power and authority each departed soul had possessed whilst in this realm of existence. Atop the highest tower that was stood up to fifteen metres lay the body of Duke Hugo Barlet. He was far too high for Rosamund to see but she had caught a glimpse of him as his body was being carried through the palace gardens by a group of sullen-looking hooded monks in red. Metallic religious symbols were dangling from their rope belts and they chanted something sad in a strange tongue that Rosamund did not understand. The Duke’s body was concealed under a long velvet drape, leaving no flesh to be seen, or at least that was the intention. As the hooded and chanting men and women carried the Duke to his final resting place, the Princess saw a charred and fingerless stump slip out of the litter and swing in the hot sun. Rosamund wanted to shriek. A scream brewed inside her and the choice to flee became alluring. She had composed herself. The Duke was nice to her and deserved her respect. But will I end up like him next? She had wondered as the charred stump was tucked back under the velvet sheet by a nearby Palace Guard.
When the City Watch found the Duke and Duchess’ remains in the Drakelyn crypts, her kingly father had ordered a proper cremation to take place so that they may be sent to the great aether the Greenfire way. Duchess Ada Barlet occupied the second tallest pyre, her burnt remains hidden under a long sheet with the flaming Greenfire bear roaring in the centre. Atop the smallest tower and significantly further away from the other two was Anastasia Aubrey. In death, she had appeared to have been ostracised and shunned from the rest of the city. She should be higher, Rosamund had thought bitterly. She was the only one of the three who wasn’t hidden. Her face was pale, and the veins strewn around her neck and cheeks were still green from the poison. Despite this, Rosamund could still see her beauty. When she wasn’t angry and drunk, Anastasia had been fair of face in her fourth decade. You were mean, Rosamund had whispered to her before being escorted away by the guards to take her seat at the platform. But you still cared for me. She wanted to kiss her on the cheek, but decided that it would not be the safest of choices.
Normally, a visit to the palace gardens was a joyous adventure for Rosamund Greenfire. It was a time for her to escape into the sea of green. To run free under the sunshine’s warming and protective gaze. Sometimes she would run through the garden maze and get lost for hours until she found the beautiful fountain at the centre.
A stone bear would stand on its hind legs, always there to greet her with glistening and sparkling water pouring out of its mouth. She loved the statue and would often sit by the bench to paint it. It was worth the fear of feeling lost amongst the walled hedges, potentially starving out in the green abyss. Today’s stay at the Jade Gardens was of a much bleaker and mournful affair.
The cremations were taking place between the sprawling garden maze and the Jade Palace. The white marble structure loomed over the pyres behind, the jade crystalised dome shining into the cloudless sky, just under the great orb of the sun.
Rosamund was seated beside Dorian, which she had requested since Anastasia’s passing. She felt safer with him than with any of the City Watch guards who were all strangers in dark chain mail and hard faces. A small crowd of nobles from Stone Sparkles and White Raven gathered to observe. Her kingly father arose from his luxurious gilded armchair and took to the centre of the platform, approaching the dais with a long and forlorn face. His jade crown was worn heavy on his head and his golden braided beard was becoming flecked with specks of grey. “I thank all who could attend,” he addressed to the gathering crowd of lords and ladies, all dressed in resplendent funeral finery.
“All who were invited,” Dorian mumbled under his breath towards the Princess. It was true enough. Even Rosamund knew it. Only the richest of the richest boroughs were in attendance. The noblemen in vibrant doublets and kaftans of jade, blue, maroon, and violet and plumed berets, and the noblewomen in golden, silver, and black dresses.
“Today, a Duchy mourns,” her kingly father continued. “But let us not dwell on the present, but rather look back at the noble deeds they accomplished in life. They helped shape Stone Sparkles and White Raven into the bountiful havens they are today.”
“Are you nervous?” Dorian whispered to the Princess, much to the visible irritation of Viscount Reynard Woodard, who was sitting behind them. Rosamund shook her head abruptly. It was a lie. Her belly felt strange, like a swarm of bats were flying around within her.
Next it was Lord Julian Reeve who took to the dais to offer his condolences. He stroked his dark forked beard and cleared his throat so that he could be heard over the tweeting sparrows singing from the trees. “Tis’ a shame. Hugo never paid me back after losing to me at cards.” The jest was met with groans and reproach from the crowd. It was clearly not the reaction the Lord had wanted, and her kingly father had not appeared too impressed either. Julian swiftly turned dour as he gave the rest of his eulogy to the fallen. Viscount Reynard Woodard was next to grace the podium. His speech was more of the same. Banal and empty platitudes of how much he cherished and respected Hugo and Ada. Rosamund never recalled the Viscount ever sharing a conversation, let alone any care or admiration, with the Duke and Duchess. As Rosamund thought more on it, she had failed to recall a time when he had smiled at anyone.
Countess Elizabeth Woodard was next. She wore a forest green dress, and her white beehive hair was coifed, with a jade ribbon wrapped around her shiny locks. Her speech had unashamedly been written for her prior, which was apparent as she was reading off a parchment as she spoke. She never turned a gaze away to so much as glance at her audience or the pyres. None of them mentioned Anastasia.
To her surprise, her kingly father then called upon Hideo, the Arkovian Alchemist, to speak his piece. The timid man fidgeted about with the buttons on his green doublet as he prepared himself before the crowd of nobles. He pushed his bifocals further up his nose with a gloved hand. “Many of the honourable Royalists have said such beautiful words about the Duke and Duchess and the good they did for the city.” The Alchemist spoke the words sombrely, steadily resting his hands on the darkened dais as if the mahogany stand were made of hot coals. “But I fear someone has been overlooked. Not many people in attendance today will have heard of her. She hasn’t been written about in the papers or spoken of by the heralds. Anastasia Aubrey was the kingdom’s Arch-Alchemist. She had been working hard to create a cure for the Red Plague and other diseases still present in the city, particularly the Shards. The cost of medicine is so high that many of its residents are resigned to succumbing to sickness. There are good people there whom she was trying to help. Her death is needless and has done more damage to New Jade than many people realise. I hope she finds peace in whatever afterlife she believed in.” His gloved fingers lingered on the dais for a moment before the Alchemist stepped away and returned to his seat in silence. Rosamund loved him for that. Not for the eloquence of the eulogy, but for finally giving Ana the tribute she deserved.
King Sigismund then stood from his green and gold armchair and looked towards her daughter lovingly. He didn’t need to say anything. Rosamund knew it was her cue. The bats were swarming faster in her belly, and her throat felt dry. “Don’t think of it as singing for them,” Dorian whispered as she stood. “You’re singing for Ana.”
As Rosamund timidly stepped across the platform, she felt a thousand eyes watching her from below. Blank and solemn faces that peered into her soul to judge every essence of her being. You’re singing for Ana, she repeated to herself as she approached the looming dais. The sullen monks had begun to light torches and laid them beside each pyre, close enough that the flames started to flirt with the foundations. As Rosamund watched the smoke drift around Anastasia’s body, she began to sing.
Carry the sick, carry the dead,
Press on forth, so one night we may break bread,
Fear is an alley to combat the evil that bred,
They can take us and break us, for she will never forsake us,
She struggled to continue the song when she saw the flames reach the top of Anastasia’s pyre. The three towers were consumed before she had finished the first verse. She gulped and averted her eyes from the nobles below, who watched her with stone faces.
Crimson covers fields, yet Jade will never yield,
We cry from our chains, endure the hollowed terrain,
Yet Jade will never yield, and Crimson won’t always reign,
She ended the final verse on a note that froze into nothing like winter’s final night. The bodies of the rulers she once knew were just ash dissolved into the kindling, the drapes that covered them shrinking and whitening as they crackled into the morning air.
The applause from the attending nobles felt perfunctory and reluctant. Yet when she returned to the palace council chambers with the rest of the Royalists, she was met with much praise. “That was a most profound song,” the Countess complimented with a wan smile as she settled into her deep and jewel-encrusted chair. The council chamber was circularly designed and housed an expanded oaken round table to seat over a dozen high lords. Stained glass windows of previous monarchs watched from above, one of them being Queen Sona, the monarch who broke from Crimsonarion chains and led the Jaders to freedom. Her crystallised face watched from behind her kingly father’s seat. Her dark hair was netted, and she cradled a spear with one arm that rested against her black and jade armour.
As the Royalists seated themselves, the City Watch Deputy entered, closing the great doors behind her. She stood beside the entrance in silence. Deputy Marion was not of the social standing to be offered a place at the table itself. The Sheriff was also in attendance, yet he was offered a chair by Lord Julian Reeve, who stroked his forked beard and smirked at him. The Sheriff removed his steel galea with green plumes and greeted the King with stiff formality as he took his seat offered by the Lord.
Just as her kingly father was about to address the room, the great doors creaked open once again and the Alchemist appeared, mouthing an apology for his lateness. He stood beside the Deputy and gave her a warm smile that was not reciprocated. Rosamund did not understand why the Deputy disliked Hideo so much. They had commonly crossed paths at the Jade Palace when he first arrived, and every time they passed, the Deputy always gave him a fowl look. He seemed to be of no harm to anyone and even tried to help Anastasia when she was suffering. It was confusing, in the same way, that Countess Woodard harboured such ill will towards Dorian.
“This meeting has been called at the behest of Sheriff Redtower and Deputy Marion,” the King announced.
“Since when did we take orders from the City Watch?” Countess Woodard cut in. “Aren’t you the King?”
“They have been hard at work investigating the tragic murders of the Duke and Duchess,” her kingly father replied. The face under the jade crown was stern and reminded Rosamund of the time she spilt wine over the throne room carpet. She received a most unpleasant thrashing from Anastasia for that.
“If I may address the council,” the Deputy said, visibly uncomfortable. “I regret to inform that you all might be in danger.”
“How dramatic,” Lord Julian Reeve said haughtily. “Are we in one of those interactive plays that they host in some of the local taverns?” He looked over at Viscount Reynard Woodard with a mischievous grin. “I think he did it.”
“Forgive me, My Lord,” Athena said gravely and in no way amused by his jesting. “This is no play or act. Anastasia Aubrey was poisoned. The Duke and Duchess were murdered in the crypts, even with watchmen by their side. I believe their deaths are connected based on the evidence and sources I have gathered. You are all targets of the perpetrators, as well.”
“Well, why aren’t you stopping them?” the Countess asked shrilly.
The Deputy ground her teeth and stretched her neck. It made a sharp cracking sound as she inhaled deeply. “I’ve been trying.”
“We have made progress,” Sheriff Redtower contended. “Athena discovered that the assassin who first tried killing the Duke has since been slain.”
“Slain by who?” Viscount Reynard Woodard enquired. He leaned forward and interlocked his hands on the table with great expectation.
Athena stepped forward with that sullen expression she always had. “My sources tell me that the rival assassin in blue executed him.” She then turned directly to the Princess. “Looks like you were right about him being real, Your Highness.”
Countess Woodard scoffed. “How come you have not found the body then? What are these ‘sources’ you speak so proudly of? Insane commoners from the street do not count as reputable.”
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“My sources are reliable enough, Countess,” the Deputy said icily. “The Duke’s original would-be killer was not acting alone.” The Deputy visibly gulped, seemingly bracing herself for something. “I would implore you all to remain in the palace under heavy security until we have neutralised the threat.”
“Absolutely not!” the Countess flared. Rosamund covered her ears. “You could be at this investigation for months and I will not be called a coward. We must not show these assassins that we are afraid. Besides, I have a masquerade ball in the next few nights that I will not be missing.”
“I concur with the Countess,” her father, Viscount Reynard, agreed whilst taking a dignified sip from his goblet. “I’m sure we all have commitments that we do not wish to miss. I certainly do. We will not appear dignified to the common folk if they catch wind that we are all hiding in the palace like frightened chickens. It sets a bad precedent.”
“You would put your life before your dignity?” Athena asked him plainly.
“We don’t want the people of the city thinking that just a few murders are all it takes to send the monarchy into a crumbling panic,” Countess Woodard countered. “We don’t want certain people getting any revolutionary ideas.”
“I have to agree with Athena,” Hideo interjected from the corner. “What happened to Anastasia was horrible to witness.” He turned to face the Deputy. “I can only imagine the horror you must have endured discovering the Duke and Duchess’ burnt bodies. I don’t wish to see any of you suffering the same fate.”
Countess Woodard smiled and tilted her head, ostentatiously displaying her slender neck. “Sweet Hideo, we will be well protected wherever we go. I have my own private guards that I can take with me on my ventures. We all do.”
“The Duke and Duchess had an escort with them down in the Drakelyn crypts,” the Deputy pointed out. “They couldn’t protect them.”
“What about that blue ninja?” Julian Reeve suggested in jest. “Although he didn’t exactly excel at protecting the Barlets in the end.”
“I know you jape, My Lord, but that ninja’s allegiances are questionable,” Athena said, “and he is still very much an outlaw.”
Rosamund glanced over at her kingly father. He was sitting back in his jewel-encrusted chair, his jade crown resting at the table’s edge. He swirled his goblet around, looking deep into its waters with troubled eyes. She found his silence unnerving. Does he know something?
“You should listen to my Deputy.” Sheriff Redtower stood from the table and re-donned his steel galea. “We cannot order you to remain in the palace, of course. But we urge you to. Else wise we will provide each of you with additional watchmen to join your escorts.”
The Sheriff and Deputy took their leave of the Royalists. The moment the chamber doors clanked shut behind them the Countess raised her goblet. “To freedom.” Lord Julian and the Viscount clanked their goblets against hers. Viscount Reynard even let out a small chuckle, something that was most incongruous.
“I just can’t bear the thought of being stuck inside the palace with those two rays of sunshine for endless months,” Julian japed. Both the Viscount and Countess laughed merrily.
Her kingly father did not appear so amused. “I take that to mean none of you will be heeding the Sheriff’s wisdom to remain here.”
“I fear not, Your Highness,” Julian Reeve answered for the three of them.
“Well, I shall be heeding them.” Her kingly father spoke in a quiet, yet foreboding voice. The grizzled lines on his forehead only appeared when he was in the darkest of moods. “As will my daughter. You three would be wise to do the same.”
“You’re not going to force us to stay?” the Countess asked wryly as she swirled her wine goblet. “Block our leave by a row of guards?” When the Countess started drinking back at the burning, Rosamund had feared for her, but this was the Countess’ third fill, and she was not coughing nor spewing green veins. The chefs and winemakers had been watched closely by the Palace Guards when preparing food and drink since Ana’s death.
“No,” King Sigismund said plaintively. “You are my family, not my prisoners. As Redtower said, you are free to do as you wish. But the Duke and Duchess thought themselves safe with an escort,” the King warned. “Regardless of what you choose, you are all dismissed. Please leave me to ponder and mourn.”
“As you wish, Your Highness,” said Reynard Woodard respectfully. “We all shall.”
The Royalists began to take their leave from the great round table. Countess Woodard gathered the long overflowing ends of her forest green dress and approached the Alchemist. “Hideo, would you care to take a stroll with me around the palace gardens? It will lift our spirits after all these morbid affairs.”
The Alchemist smiled awkwardly and pushed his bifocals further up his nose. “Nothing would please me more, my Lady.” He then turned and caught the Viscount just before he reached the doors. “Viscount Reynard, please forgive me. You mentioned a commitment. Out of the purest of curiosity, what event are you attending?”
The Viscount looked down on Hideo with derision, as if he were a pup that just urinated on his leg. The Countess giggled and took Hideo’s arm. “Give that screwed-up face a rest, Father. Hideo is worth your words.”
The Viscount’s superior gaze subsided as he relented at Elizabeth’s behest. “Tonight, I shall be in attendance at the grand opening of the New Jade City Library. It will harbour an infinite wealth of knowledge on our kingdom’s history and journey as well as some of the greatest works of fiction ever written.” He raised an imperious eyebrow. “Unfortunately, it is an invite-only event.”
“Well, perhaps someday I’ll get to see it,” the Alchemist said politely.
The Viscount nodded without a forced smile and left. “I think he’s starting to like me,” Hideo whispered to the Countess. She giggled and escorted him from the chamber.
When it was just them alone in the chamber, she ran from her seat and hugged her kingly father tightly. “You have been brave today, daughter.” Her kingly father placed a warm arm around her. She felt safe in the embrace. Rosamund glanced up from her father’s arms to see Queen Sona watching them from above. Her crystallised eyes seemed sorrowful.
“Why are the demons attacking us?” Rosamund asked.
“You must not think of them as demons,” her father said with a powerful voice. “They are but men in masks, and those who use masks are merely cowards with something to hide.”
“They killed Ana.” She had tried to be strong, but Rosamund started to feel her eyes welling and her lip quivering. “She did nothing to them. Why would they harm her? Why would they harm Hugo? And Ada?”
“To make a point towards me, Princess.” His words were heavy with an inflexion of remorse.
Rosamund did not understand. “What do they want with you?”
“I don’t know, Princess. Perhaps they have been hired by some rich lord who hates my tax policy. Perhaps Emperor Nerva sent them. You are to rule one day. You must understand that life is not like it is in fairy tales and songs. In our real world, some of our questions will go forever unanswered.”
“But are we safe?” she asked, her voice breaking.
Her kingly father placed his comforting hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. She met his gaze. “As long as you remain within these palace walls, you will always be safe. The Palace Guards will be watching over you.”
She hesitantly nodded.
“Now walk with me, daughter,” her kingly father commanded. “There are some people I would like you to meet.” Rosamund shuddered. She hated meeting new people. She wished to return and hide in her own bedchamber, where she was safe from both the masked demons and social interactions.
Rosamund was sitting beside her father’s throne when they all entered and knelt in unison. Dorian was among them, but the rest were strangers. Her kingly father ordered them to rise and when they did, it felt as if the throne room had turned brighter, lit by all of their fluorescent armour. The Knights Errant of New Jade City were unfamiliar for good reason. Most of them spent their time serving the crown outside of the city, patrolling the roads towards the New Jade Kingdom in the hopes of protecting vulnerable nobles and merchants from the terrors of bandits and cutthroats.
It was her kingly father’s insistence that she choose a knight to stay by her side and protect her at all times, even within the safety of the palace. She already hated the whole ordeal before it had even started. She would have to choose one above the others and most likely cause offence to some of them. The first knight to step forward was young enough to appear youthful and full of radiant optimism with long blonde locks of hair, but also old enough to appear mature and experienced in battle with a rugged and much darker beard. He unsheathed his luminous sword and lightly placed its pointed end onto the marble floor as he knelt. “My Illustrious and Enchanting Highness, I implore you to choose me to defend your honour. I am Sir Daven Bosworth. I have struck down many a footpad and vanquished entire camps of bandits and marauders with just my single sword alone.”
“Bandits are hardly that much of an accomplishment,” Sir Dorian muttered loudly enough from his knelt position that his voice carried across the throne room. Everyone ignored it, including her kingly father.
The King nodded approvingly at the first knight and motioned for the next candidate to step forth with a mere wave of his ringed hand. The next knight appeared much older than the last, with ginger hair and a thick beard that had started to turn the lightest shade of grey. His face appeared haggard, yet when he spoke, his voice sounded both mighty and gallant. “My Gracious Princess, I am Sir Rodney Corbat of Ravenhelm.” He boomed his introduction as if he were performing a bard’s tale. “I am now a loyal Knight Errant to your illustrious father in this far superior city. I may lack the youth of my fellow candidates, but I assure you I make up for it in experience. I have ventured into the southern jungles and seen Tyrant Lizards with my own eyes and lived to tell the tale. I have uncovered treasures that have been hidden for centuries and immersed myself in cultures from across the supercontinent. I have been to Arkovia, Crimsonaria, Sunderran, and countless other lands many men of the city only see in their dreams.”
Dorian interrupted again from the row of kneeling knights. “Are you here to offer your sword, Sir Rodney, or are you here just to tell everyone about your sightseeing?”
Sir Rodney turned and gave a dark look. “Unlike others, Princess, I have learned the importance of humility and the dangers of arrogance.” The Knight Errant did not take his dagger'd eyes off Dorian.
“Forgive me, Sir Rodney,” Dorian once again interjected, “but I just don’t believe that running away from a Tyrant Lizard is a noteworthy achievement for a knight to possess.”
“Sir Dorian,” her father cautioned, “you will get your turn. Be silent until then.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.”
Sir Rodney continued to list his accomplishments. They were certainly impressive, yet Rosamund was put off by the idea of him protecting her. Despite his detailed adventures around the world, he had also reluctantly admitted that he had recently returned from retirement to answer this knightly call. For the past decade, he had spent his time writing about his journeys across the supercontinent and hadn’t seen combat in many a year. “One does not forget these sorts of skills, Your Highness,” he had tried to reassure her. “I have practiced my swordplay under every rising moon to keep my edges sharp.”
The next knight to proclaim his superiority claimed to have lived in Arkovia for some years. He told Rosamund and her father a grisly tale of how he had clashed steel with a group of Stone Ronin. She remembered them from the bedtime stories her father had told her, but they were never the heroes. They were rogue marauders who pillaged and burnt their way to fortune. The knight described surviving one of their violent ambushes out in the mountains whilst protecting a travelling highborn lord. When pressed by her father on whether the highborn lord survived the ordeal, the knight had admitted that he did not survive. “I appreciate your tale to prove your tenacity and resilience,” the King had told him sorrowfully, “but if you cannot protect a highborn lord, how can I entrust you to defend the Princess of an entire kingdom?” The knight was promptly dismissed.
After boundless tales and platitudes of chivalry from a dozen knights, Dorian finally had his chance to voice his reasons for being selected. The New Jade Knight bore no armour but his tawny jerkin and gloves. A sheathed short sword dangled from his black belt and every step of his russet boots echoed across the throne room. He bowed before the King and Princess and then stood tall and attentive.
“Sir Dorian,” her father prompted when the auburn-haired knight said nothing, “say your piece.”
Dorian Ambrose shrugged. “I won’t embellish my tales of valour like the others have. I came from humble beginnings in a small village called Halon. I travelled to New Jade, where I became a squire and rose through the ranks before becoming a palace guard here five years to this day. Within two years, you knighted me, and I have served you aptly since. I know Rosamund quite well. I will be able to provide appropriate protection but also understand her dislikes and privacy needs. You’ve seen me fight often enough to know how skilled I am.” He bowed and returned to the row of kneeling knights without awaiting the King’s permission to do so.
King Sigismund turned to his daughter and raised his thick eyebrows under his jade crown. All the knights gazed up at her from their knelt positions in unison. She shivered as she felt a thousand eyes fall upon her. Sir Rodney Corbat studied her with a grandfatherly smile on his bearded face. Sir Daven Bosworth appeared wide-eyed and hopeful. Each of the Palace Guards that stood by the white walls awaiting her response with mild interest and each of the knight’s younger squires watched her from the corner, whispering unheard words to one another. “It is time for your decision, Princess.” The King spoke with finality.
Rosamund pushed herself from her smaller throne and interlocked her fingers, twitching and fiddling with them. She took a resounding gulp. “I thank each of you for taking your time and efforts to travel here to declare your eagerness to protect me,” she began to say. She was surprised by the confidence in her own words, yet her demeanour betrayed her. She was fumbling with the embroidered buttons on her dress, and she said most of her words whilst looking down at the polished marble floor. Rosamund did not wish to look any of them in the eyes, as she rejected so many. “You have all proven to me your worth and captivated me with your valiant tales. However, I may only choose one of you as we require the Knights Errant to guard New Jade’s surroundings.” She coughed and cleared her throat awkwardly for what became an uncomfortable amount of time. “There is one knight who stands out to me. His speech was not the most eloquent, but it made a valid point. I have known Sir Dorian long enough to trust him with my life. I hope none of you believe it to be nepotism.” Ana had taught her that word. “Sir Dorian has already proven himself to me.” She walked backwards and sat on her throne without looking at any of the knights that she was certain appeared forlorn and dejected.
As she sat, King Sigismund arose. His voice boomed commandingly down the throne room. “I thank you all for your attendance. You are all dismissed.”
The disfavoured knights murmured to one another and flooded out of the throne room with their obsequious squires. As they all left one by one, Dorian triumphantly sauntered to the King and Princess and delivered a respectful bow. “I am honoured, Your Highness,” he said to Rosamund.
Rosamund awkwardly curtsied in the manner that Ana had taught her, yet she appeared visibly stiff and uncomfortable as she performed the movement. She was relieved. She was eternally grateful that the whole ordeal was over. To no longer have a thousand eyes beaming at her. She looked at her kingly father. “I didn’t like doing this,” she told him frankly.
“And what was it about the experience that you disliked?” he asked, already anticipating her answer.
She averted her gaze and scratched her arm. “I didn’t like having to make the decision in front of them all like that.”
“That is something you will have to become accustomed to,” her kingly father said understandingly. “When you are queen, you will have to make decisions that will make a lot of people very unhappy and perhaps those decisions will not even be the right ones, but you must learn by ruling.”
Rosamund felt the air escape and her chest tighten at the thought of all the responsibility. I don’t want any of this; she thought forlornly. I want to hide away forever.
“It’s a worry for another time, Princess,” Dorian reassured, offering his arm to escort her. “I imagine you will want to retreat to your chambers after all this excitement.”
Rosamund and her newly chosen Knight made their way down the long maze of palace corridors. They passed Sir Rodney Corbat, making idle conversation with one of the other spurned knights. He turned and gave Dorian a long and lingering glare as they walked past. His eyes were sharp and scathing. When they arrived at her chambers, Dorian stood guard outside and Rosamund was finally granted the solitude she so desperately craved. New Jade’s finest were always there to protect her, and the palace walls stood tall and heavily guarded. Yet she had never felt so frightened and alone.