The Beauty of Darkness - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,103

the princess out. Appeal to her sentimental side. If that was the case, they had played the wrong card. I couldn’t afford a sentimental side anymore.

When I turned the corner and saw the citadelle, my throat tightened. I stared at the steps, where I had stood countless times with my family, impatiently waiting for a procession, ceremony, or important announcement—always tucked safely between my brothers. My father’s hand would rest on my shoulder, my mother’s hand on Bryn, usually to keep us still. I fought the urge to run up the steps, call for Bryn and Regan, to run through the hall and greet my aunts, find my mother, to race into the kitchen for something fresh from the oven.

Now citadelle guards were posted on the perimeter. Though they were trained at the soldiers’ camp, their uniforms were a stark contrast from soldiers. Guards wore highly polished black boots, long red capes, and helmets of pounded metal. More stood back in the shadows of the portico, their halberds crossed at the front entrance I’d been instructed to use on my wedding day. My stomach rolled over as I remembered my frantic last minutes stealing out the servants’ door instead—the moment the sun flashed in my eyes and the day split in two creating the before and the after of my life.

I was cautious in my approach, slowing my steps and hunching my shoulders like a true grieving widow. I had bought a posy on my way.

I walked up the center of the steps, and a guard came forward to meet me. I lowered my voice, adding a slight northern accent. “For the king,” I said, holding out the posy to him, “along with my prayers for his recovery.”

He took the small bouquet of primroses from me. “I’ll see that he gets them.”

“And Prince Regan?” I added. “My prayers for him too. Is he preparing to take the throne?”

The guard cast an annoyed frown at me but quickly corrected himself. I was a widow, after all, and perhaps the widow of a soldier. “Prince Regan is away attending his duties—as is Prince Bryn. The king isn’t so ill that anyone has to worry about succession.”

A ploy, just as I thought. There was no vigil. But my brothers away from Civica?

“Both princes are traveling?” I asked.

“Attending kingdom business, like I said.” His patience was spent. “Ma’am, I need to return to my post.”

I nodded. “Bless you, son.”

On my way back to the abbey, I used a little more digging to find out where Bryn and Regan had gone. More citadelle guards, easily spotted by their long red capes, were positioned on street corners and were happy to accept gifts of sweet frosted buns from a bent widow. Both princes, along with their squads, had gone to the City of Sacraments. It wasn’t far, only a few days’ ride, but still my spirits sank. I needed them, not just as my brothers who would back me, but as soldiers I could trust. As I walked away, I thought it odd. Cabinet members—not soldiers—were usually sent on kingdom business.

When I approached a group of soldiers, I recognized one of them. I had played cards with him in one of my late-night escapes—we had jested and laughed together. My confidence rose, and I boldly teased out more details of Bryn and Regan’s purpose in going to the City of Sacraments. I learned they were to dedicate a memorial stone for the crown prince and his fallen comrades. The soldier said their presence was necessary to soothe doubts about family allegiance that the betrayal by Princess Arabella had sown.

Another of the soldiers said, “She killed her own brother, you know? Plunged the sword into his Prince Walther’s chest herself.”

I stared at him, unable to stay hunched over my cane. “No, I didn’t know.”

His utter contempt rang in my ears. Her own brother. His comrades echoed his hatred. Princess Arabella was a traitor of the worst kind. I walked away, dazed, trying to understand how the Komizar’s terrible lie about my decision to marry him could transform into something even uglier. How could anyone believe I would kill Walther? But they did, and they harbored a seething revulsion toward me.

I felt the Komizar’s hands creeping down my arms, owning me, knowing me, still playing the game from far away—there’s always more to take—knowing how best to undo me.

My stomach rose into my throat, and I ducked behind a stall. I tore my scarf away and doubled over,

readonlinefreenovel.com Copyright 2016 - 2024