King Edmund had few heirs, and the only surviving son–Prince Julian–was a frail boy, quieti fostered at Ducal Estate, far from the Royal Keep. He was forbidden to return without royal
summons.
The day my mother and I returned to House Hawthorne, I spotted a boy darting between the hedgerows of the west garden, chasing after a paper hawk caught in the branches of a yew tree.
Back in the Gilded Swan, I had grown nimble and quick. So I scaled the tree with ease, plucked down the little contraption, and tossed it to him.
We were close in age, and from then on, we often met at the mossy corner of the boundary wall- where time–worn stones had loosened enough to let whispers pass between us.
“I’m not sick,” he’d say. “Someone just wants me to be.”
He once told me that his father, the King, had seized the throne by force–rivers of blood, civil war,
and betrayal. Yet not all of the old royal bloodline had been wiped out. Some still lived in exile, bitter and patient, waiting for a chance to reclaim the crown. That was why the young prince had
been hidden away–to protect him from poison goblets and daggered hands disguised in silk.
He once told me, “Even a beggar woman or a pregnant maid might be one of them.”
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At the time, I thought it mere fancy–until I laid a simple trap, and Isolde lost her composure
entirely.
I had followed her more than once to her manor, seen hooded men in worn black cloaks slipping through her door under cover of night. They never stayed long, and never came openly.
It wasn’t just scandal my father was shielding. It wasn’t even love.
Isolde his so–called lover–was likely a daughter of the deposed royal line. And the child in her
womb? A potential claimant to the throne..
So of course my father clung to her. Not out of passion, but ambition. A match like that could make
him a prince consort. Or a king.
When Grandfather heard what had happened to Mother and me at the Gilded Swan, he stormed into the Royal Keep–wounded and limping–and demanded an audience.
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“A landless knight, born of no name and raised by charity–who does he think he is, to lay hands on a daughter of House Hawthorne?”
Chapter 7
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The King didn’t punish Sit Alaric. The matter, for the time being, was brushed aside
Mother fell ill with a fever. When the physician examined her, he sighed and reminded her that th
was with child.
Mother nodded and requested a packet of tincture of rue. She didn’t drink it- only tucked it away saying it might be useful later.
News of her true identity as Lady Marianneof House Hawthorne spread quickly, and gossip
followed.
But she didn’t waste time arguing with tongues that would never be silenced. Instead, she buried herself in her studies, returning to the medical knowledge she’d once used in the Gilded Swan. With her title restored, she could now consult healers freely and read the texts kept in noble libraries.
One night, I heard tapping on my window.
Sir Alaric had climbed the twisted old yew outside my chamber and was now perched outside,
smiling faintly.
“Elinor,” he whispered, “are you well?”
The moment I shut my eyes, all I could see were his hands striking me, his boots driving into my
ribs. My voice came out sharp.
“Leave. Or I’ll scream.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “I had no choice. But once this is over, I’ll come for you and
your mother.”
He’d said the same before riding off to war once.
But I wasn’t the gullible child I had once been.
Soon after, I heard that Isolde had given birth to a healthy boy. The Queen Dowager was overjoyed and summoned the family to court for the child’s first–month celebration.
Prince Julian visited the palace once every month to pay respects to the King and Queen Dowager.
This time, I begged to accompany him.
“You’re that eager?” he asked, flustered for some reason. His ears turned red.
All I wanted was a glimpse of my so–called baby brother.
Chapter 7
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The King was well acquainted with House Hawthorne. My uncle, Cedric, had once served as his page during council sessions. When the King saw me, he beckoned me forward.
“No doubt about it,” he said with a sigh. “You’re the very image of your mother. Had your mother not been taken all those years ago, it would be she wearing the crown as Queen today.”
The room grew heavy with silence.
The Queen Dowager gave the King a sharp look, displeased by the mention. Then, forcing a smile,
she turned to Sir Alaric.
“Come, show me your son.”
The King knew of Alaric’s disgraceful conduct, but with the Dowager Queen present, he held back his ire, merely nodding coolly.
I tugged Prince Julian toward the cradle. But as we neared, I saw Isolde clench her sleeves tight, her eyes fixed on the floor.
“So adorable,” I said with feigned innocence.
The King chuckled at my words and reached forward to gently pull back the swaddle.
And then, he froze.
