♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝
[Rough Draft] Chapter 39: A Letter of Secrets
Serilda’s moss-agate green eyes drifted over the servants hurriedly chipping away at a block of ice on a trolly. The Marchioness quickly refocused her attention to the knights outside the crown prince’s door, one of which, a Lieutenant, stepped forward quickly to block her path.
“The Crown Prince is not receiving any visitors,” the man said abruptly.
“Is his Majesty alright?” Serilda inquired, unphased by his presence as she glanced towards the bedroom door. “I heard the royal physician was sent for.”
“You have excellent ears then, Marchioness,” the knight replied sharply. “Since I was the one who sent to fetch the royal physician and certainly don’t recall mentioning the matter to anyone else.”
Serilda giggled as she turned her gaze to the knight block her path and offered him one of her more dangerous smiles. “What is your name, Lieutenant?”
The knight frowned. “Lieutenant Olund—my Lady.”
Serilda’s smile sharpened as she detected a hint of disgust in his voice. “Well, Lieutenant Olund,” she replied sweetly as she stepped closer. “You should know, given the storm that has driven most of the nobles inside, that far too many eyes saw you escort the royal physician upstairs, hence the rumors that his Majesty might be feeling unwell or have injured himself.”
“Rumors,” Olund scoffed as he took a decisive step back. “The futile distraction of women.”
‘So it’s not my reputation but my sex which bothers you?’ Serilda chuckled in amusement as she toyed with the auburn-chestnut curls draped over her prominent and well-supported bosom. “The Lieutenant seems to underestimate the power of rumors.”
“Power?” Olund snorted. “To destroy the reputation of others with empty and malicious words. Trust me, my Lady, I am well aware of the poison such idle amusements leave in their wake.”
“Has the Lieutenant suffered unjustly from a rumor?” Serilda queried with a tilt of her head. “Certainly, your position would suggest you are above reproach. Perhaps your family—”
“Was there something you needed, Marchioness?” Olund cut in sharply. “A purpose for wasting my time with your invasive prattling?”
‘Well, aren’t you a prickly one? Perhaps I will draw out whatever secret thorn you are hiding another time.’
Serilda shrugged and flicked her long curls over her shoulder. “I have come to visit his Majesty. Would the Lieutenant be so kind as to announce me?”
“His Majesty is unwell—”
“Perhaps,” the Marchioness smiled as she stepped suddenly closer and brushed her fingers along the Lieutenant’s jawline. “You should let his Majesty make that decision for himself, Lieutenant.”
The revulsion in Olund’s eyes as he took two sharp steps back, then turned without comment to enter the crown prince’s room, was enough to draw a laugh of delight from the Marchioness as she turned her attention back to the servants and the growing pile of chipped ice.
***
“Seri!” Nicholas greeted from amongst a pile of pillows on the giant king-size bed. “How—good of you—to visit.”
“Your Majesty!” Serilda said quickly as she moved hesitantly closer. “What has happened—Oh!” She gasped as she caught sight of the growing bruise along Nicholas’s sternum. “Who did this to you?”
Nicholas moved his unbuttoned shirt over the bruise and waved away the physician as the Marchioness approached. “An accident—Marchioness. I irritated—a rather stubborn mule—and got—kicked for my troubles.”
“Oh, please don’t speak if it hurts this much, Nicky!” Serilda clasped her hands anxiously and stepped aside as servants presented the physician a leather bag filled with crushed ice.
“This will help reduce any swelling, allow the blood to flow more freely, which will allow you to heal faster, your Majesty,” the physician explained as he gently opened the crown prince’s shirt and placed the bag over the angry reddened skin.
“Hisk!” Nicholas gritted his teeth as the physician slowly released the bag and allowed the cold weight of the ice to settle.
“Fortunately, the injury is not too serious,” the royal physician explained as he reached down to check Nicholas’s pulse. “Though it would be best if your Majesty were to withdraw from the rest of the Royal Hunt to allow for proper rest.”
“I did not—come to the forest—to lay about in bed!” Nicholas growled through clenched teeth. His light auburn brows furrowed while his pale cheeks quivered with effort as he tried to sit up—then exhaled with sharp reprisal before slumping back gingerly against the pillows with an expression of defeat.
“You should listen to the physician!” Serilda reproached as she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and knelt on the bedside, where she dabbed gently at the sweat along Nicholas’s cheek. “And I hope you broke that donkey’s legs for putting you in such a state.”
Nicholas snorted, then immediately groaned and clenched his eyes shut as he grabbed the bag of ice on his chest.
“Oh, Nicky!” Serilda whispered and shook her head. “Please don’t push yourself. You need to rest. How can you move about at all when you’re in this much pain?”
The crown prince opened his eyes and smiled at her weakly. “Perhaps—you’re right.”
The physician let out a quick sigh of relief and then bowed his head to the crown prince. “Then I will immediately prepare some medicine to assist with the pain and allow your Majesty to sleep.”
Nicholas grimaced but waved his hand permissively at the physician before turning his head slowly to Serilda. “Since you are here, would you—kindly convey my regret to the Duchess. It seems I will not be able to join her—this afternoon—when the hunt resumes.”
“If it resumes,” Serilda replied with a rueful smile. “This dismal rain doesn’t appear ready to let up any time soon.”
“It will clear up,” Nicholas replied firmly. “Viscount Rykard has impeccable detection skills when it comes to this sort of thing.”
“Indeed?” Serilda arched an eyebrow. “Is the Viscount not the Duchess’s grandfather?”
“He is—though they don’t seem to have—a good relationship.”
“Well,” Serilda resumed drying the crown prince’s face. “I suppose if I had a grandfather who ignored me while I suffered mistreatment at the hands of a heartless mother and drunken step-father, I might be resentful too.”
Nicholas furrowed his brow as he studied her. “It sounds like you and the Duchess are close?”
“We met through the Earl,” Serilda replied with a shrug of her shoulder. “Though I haven’t seen much of her of late. Being Duchess has kept Lady Kirsi very busy, and I have my own estates to rectify now that they have been returned to me.”
“Yes, of course,” Nicholas murmured thoughtfully.
“Ah,” Serilda pulled back her handkerchief and rose for the bed. “As to your request, your Majesty. Might I write a letter to the Duchess on your behalf instead? I would rather remain at your side to ensure you rest properly—while also providing you some company. If that is acceptable?”
“Well, it’s not as if my wife will come—nurse me back to health,” Nicholas responded with a grimace. “Very well, you will find pen and paper—over there.” He gestured towards the desk across the room then dropped his arm with a tired wince.
Serilda smiled and offered a belated curtsey before she turned, ignoring the knight captain whose violet eyes remained pinned to her distrustfully, and moved to sit behind the desk.
As the Marchioness reached for the neat stack of unused parchment, her gaze was drawn to the barely started letter left carelessly out in the open. Serilda blinked in surprise as she read the recipient’s name at the top of the letter written in Nicholas’s familiar penmanship.
To the Divine Heir, Pope Jericho I
‘Why is Nicholas writing to the Pope? Didn’t he agree to turn his back to Zarus and Jericho as part of his negotiations with the Emperor?’
“It’s almost nostalgic,” Nicholas commented from where he lay on the bed watching her. “I still remember—you sitting at Father’s desk—writing out letters to the heads of noble families on his behalf.”
Serilda smiled as she picked up a blank sheet of parchment and laid it on the desk before her before reaching for the quill waiting beside an inkwell. “Your Father liked my penmanship,” she replied as she dipped the quill in ink. “Henri thought that every monarch should be as skilled with a pen as they were with a sword.”
Nicholas repressed a laugh and smiled. “I think Father was referring to—diplomacy and warfare. But I did appreciate the lessons you gave on elegant handwriting.”
“Yes,” Serilda murmured with a glance at the unfinished letter. “I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten those lessons.” She guided the quill to the letter, allow its tip to gently scratch the surface as the ink trailed behind, forming lines, loops, and dashes with skill. “Diplomacy and warfare are certainly essential skills to master whether you are king, nobleman, or simply a husband.”
“Ha—” Nicholas grimaced. “I can’t say that I’ve been lucky—on either front—in my marriage.”
Serilda smiled sympathetically as she glanced up from her writing. “I’m sure Eleanora can be—challenging, but your marriage is still new—”
“We’ve been married for over a month, Seri,” Nicholas interjected grimly. “And we have yet to establish common ground or even have a natural, normal conversation—despite sharing a bed—rather frequently these days.”
The pen in Serilda’s hand scratched rather heavily across the page. She frowned at the blemish but continued. “Frequently, you say? Well—” she paused and glanced coyly at the crown prince, “—that is progress at least.”
“Of a kind, I suppose.” Nicholas turned his head from her to gaze at the ceiling above his bed. “Eleanora just wants a child from me. Once she has a son and heir, neither she nor the Emperor will have much use for me anymore.”
“Well,” Serilda finished up her letter then searched for a box of matches which she found in a desk drawer. “Regardless of what they want, you will be Lafeara’s king long before Eleanora has a child.” The Marchioness struck a match across the base of a wax melter then lit the candle at its center. “In any case, just because Eleanora has a child doesn’t mean your Majesty must make that child—even if they are a boy—your heir.”
“If Eleanora has a son, I would hardly be justified in denying them that title,” Nicholas replied grimly.
The Marchioness laughed as she dropped a small mound of purple wax into the metal bowl and watched it quickly melt from the heat. “Nicky, you are young. You can take in other wives. Having more than one consort and potential heir is beneficial for the future of the kingdom—as you have already proven to be.”
Serilda glanced towards the crown prince, expecting a response, but found his expression distant and withdraw—perhaps due to the pain. She shook her head and tapped the hot metal bowl with her fingernail as the last clump of wax slipped beneath the bubbling purple surface.
“I heard a rumor recently among the nobles of my estate,” she explained casually. “They mentioned that Lady Isabella suffered from infertility for years before she was able to conceive Eleanora, and that Lord Alistair Kensington was lucky to have a child from his marriage at all.”
“Seri,” Nicholas admonished with a shake of his head. “There’s no need to be cruel to your cousin.”
“If stating facts that relate to the wellbeing of Lafeara’s future is cruelty, then we are all in need of some soul searching,” Serilda replied with a cynical smile. She then lifted the handle of the small wax bowel and poured a few drops onto the folded letter. “I only mention it because your Majesty should be aware. Following your coronation, there are sure to be many noble families who will offer up their daughters as consorts—especially if you leave the position of queen open.”
“You know I can’t do that,” Nicholas replied with a sigh. “I have no justifiable reason to deny Eleanora the crown.”
Serilda nodded as she pulled off her family’s signet ring and pressed it against the cooling wax. “Well, if nothing else, a few consorts will provide you with comfort and other heirs once you and the queen stop sharing a bed.”
Nicholas rubbed his brow and sighed. “Truth be told—I have given the topic of my future successor a lot of thought recently. I’ve even considered asking the Pope for permission to coronate two queens.”
The Marchioness raised her brows in surprise as she slid the still warm ring back onto her finger. “Two queens, your Majesty?”
“The right Lafearian bride would satisfy the noble factions. Those split between supporting the Emperor’s favored heir and a true Lafearian heir would become preoccupied in the princes’ future—and less likely to revolt over our withdraw from Zarus’s alliance.”
Serilda picked up her letter and stood slowly as she pondered this idea. “It has been done before in the past—but would his Holiness even agree to such an idea?”
“If it means Lafeara having a queen who was not a half-witch?” Nicholas replied with an arched brow. “Nor related to the Holy City’s sworn enemy?”
“While that would give him motive,” Serilda replied calmly. “I doubt he would grant such a blessing—especially as your Majesty withdraws trade to Zarus.”
“Ahh, but—” Nicholas hesitated as Serilda returned to sit at his side. “It just so happens that I have something Pope Jericho is quite desperate to get a hold of.”
“Something, the Divine Heir, wants?” Serilda’s moss-agate eyes sparkled with interest. “Here in Lafeara?”
“I believe it will be enough to convince the Pope to agree to my request,” Nicholas replied confidently.
Serilda chuckled as she bounced up from the bed and fanned her curls with the letter. “Your Majesty isn’t going to tell me what that something is, are you?”
“As much as I cherish and adore you, Marchioness,” Nicholas replied with a rueful smile. “Such a secret is best kept to those who need to know.”
“Of course,” Serilda smiled and lowered her eyes with a sigh. “Then may I make use of Captain Beaumont to deliver my letter to the Duchess?”
“Pardon, Marchioness,” Beaumont cut in promptly. “But my place is at his Majesty’s side.”
“No,” Nicholas murmured with a thoughtful smile. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”
“Your Majesty,” Beaumont protested.
“Don’t be such a stiff,” Nicholas growled. “It won’t take long. Have Lieutenant Olund take over for you while you’re gone.”
“I could just as easily have the Lieutenant deliver the letter.”
“My!” Serilda interjected with a note of surprise. “Quite the rebellious and vocal bodyguard you’ve obtained, your Majesty.”
Beaumont’s expression soured as he glared at the Marchioness.
“One would expect your gentle giant to be more obedient and loyal after serving you for all these years,” Serilda finished as she faced the knight captain’s gaze defiantly.
“Captain Beaumont’s loyalty is beyond questioning,” Nicholas replied, his crisp and impatient tone lacked much of the warmth it had held moments ago. “That is why I keep him at my side and allow him to speak freely.”
“Of course,” Serilda responded as she lowered her head and tone apologetically. “I should not have spoken so recklessly. If anything, I am relieved that you have someone so loyal at your side, your Majesty. Loyalty—true loyalty—is hard to find inside the palace walls.”
The Marchioness’s fingers tightened around the letter even as she reached for her neck, as the memory of poison burning down her throat, killing her unborn child, flickered beneath her fingertips.
“Seri,” Nicholas said gently and raised his hand towards her invitingly. “What happened to you before—” his hand wrapped around hers as Serilda moved closer, “—it won’t happen again. You have the Earl and a crown prince to protect you.”
Serilda offered a tired smile as she folded her free hand and the letter in it around his, then laughed as she looked down at the wrinkled paper. “I still need to send this—”
“Here.” Nicholas plucked the letter from her hand and waved it at Beaumont. “Captain, consider this an order. Deliver this letter to the Duchess and ensure that she has weathered this storm safely.”
Beaumont sighed and bowed his head, then stepped forward to take the letter. “I’ll have Lieutenant Olund step in while I’m gone.”
“Olund?” Serilda echoed. “That man outside who called me a rude, gossiping, useless woman!”
Nicholas coughed and choked painfully as his brows rose in alarm.
“Your Majesty!” Serilda protested anxiously. “I should not have mentioned it. Please don’t be angry with him.”
“No-no, I—” Nicholas paused as he grimaced and clutched the ice bag against his chest. “Have the Lieutenant—keep watch outside, Captain.”
“But—” Beaumont protested.
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Serilda interjected as she turned to face the giant. “If there is even the slightest hint of danger to his Majesty, I’ll be sure to scream.”