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Chapter 75: A Play of Humility
Nicholas glanced over the silent, reverent crowds of praying commoners before he entered the great cathedral. The two priests who opened the doors quickly bowed in greeting before the Crown Prince, Captain Beaumont, and the three additional knights dressed in their ceremonial capes.
“Your Majesty is early,” said one of the priests with a benevolent smile. “His Holiness is not yet ready to begin today’s prayers.”
“Yes,” Nicholas replied, feeling somewhat annoyed at having to explain his presence inside the cathedral that all but belonged to him. “A guest is expecting me in the royal resting chambers.”
“Ahh!” The second priest stepped forward with a nod. “Yes, the Cardinal mentioned that a lady was waiting for you. Shall I escort you, your Majesty?”
“Is that necessary?” Nicholas replied with a frown. “I do know my way around.”
“Merely a formality, your Majesty. Either a priest or one of the Witch Hunters will need to escort you.”
The Crown Prince sighed but quickly agreed to the priest’s offer of an escort. ‘Better a man of the cloth than one of the Pope’s hounds.’
More than once along their short journey Nicholas saw clusters of Witch Hunters, who appeared to be patrolling the interior rooms of the cathedral. The scarlet-clad mercenaries barely offered the prince anything beyond a cold disinterested glance as they parted and slid past, forcing the knights to move into a narrow line. Nicholas might have been intimidated by their obvious lack of respect and cold disinterest were it not for the presence of Captain Beaumont. While the Pope’s hounds seemed perfectly content to ignore the young monarch, more than one of them paused to glance back at the giant knight with an expression of uncertainty and edged concern.
A familiar face waited when they finally arrived at the private waiting room reserved for the royal family during each public ceremony. Lieutenant Olund stepped away from the beautifully carved oak door to greet the Crown Prince with a humble bow. “Greetings, your Majesty.”
“The Royal Consort is waiting for you inside, your Majesty,” the priest informed Nicholas before he bowed his head and then returned in the direction they had come.
“Should I announce you?” Olund asked politely as the prince waved for him to rise.
The Crown Prince studied the knight who had once been one of Beaumont’s regular replacements. The lieutenant had since been transferred to serve as Lady Priscilla’s personal bodyguard at Earl Coldwell’s request. The Earl’s request appeared to be motivated by the fact that Lieutenant Olund had pulled Priscilla to safety from the flames of the carriage. It was strange to think that if this knight had not been paying attention, Lady Priscilla might have died because of her father’s rebellion.
“Sir Olund,” Nicholas replied neutrally. “I am told that Lady Priscilla has made great progress in her recovery.”
A displeased expression flickered across the lieutenant’s face as he stepped and waved his hand towards the chamber door. “As you are here, Your Majesty, you may evaluate the lady’s health for yourself.”
Nicholas nodded as he attempted to suppress the uncomfortable feeling of guilt that now pressed against his ribs. When Beaumont had pulled him from the overturned carriage, the Crown Prince had spared no thought for the Royal Consort who lay dazed on the carriage floor beside him.
‘I allowed the nobles to convince me to forgo canceling our engagement because of Priscilla’s injuries. I suppose I felt sorry for her, given all that she’s lost. But now Priscilla wants to be released from the engagement so she can enjoy a happy marriage?’
Nicholas was utterly unconvinced by Earl Coldwell’s claims. Still, he couldn’t deny a certain curiosity as to what game Priscilla was playing, trying to force his hand before his official coronation. The Crown Prince drew in a steady breath as he reached for the door handle which separated from his scared fiancé.
‘If Priscilla thinks she can win further sympathy from me because of her ruined appearance—I’m afraid she’s going to be disappointed.’
Nicholas raised his left hand to knock on the door out of courtesy and then pushed his way inside. He quickly blinked in surprise at the two people seated around a table prepared with herbal tea and honeyed scones.
“Your Majesty!” Priscilla, dressed in a long white veil and simple white gown, quickly left her seat and curtseyed low to the floor. The Cardinal seated across from her slowly rose from his chair and turned to greet them.
“Forgive the intrusion, your Majesty.” The man in gold and white church robes bowed his head with a nod of respect. “I am Cardinal Lysander. I was simply keeping Lady Priscilla company until you arrived.”
Nicholas nodded silently as his gaze returned to Priscilla, whose face remained hidden behind her veil. ‘If she still needs to wear that, her scars must be extensive.’ The Crown Prince stepped forward to offer the Royal Consort his hand, “Rise, Lady Priscilla.”
“Your Majesty.” Priscilla accepted his hand and kissed the ring upon it through her veil before rising to her feet. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
The Crown Prince kept his expression neutral as the Royal Consort released his hand and stepped back. The aggressive Priscilla he had known since childhood was nowhere to be seen.
‘I suppose it’s not surprising given everything she’s been through. Priscilla must have realized how tentative her current position is.’
“Pardon my absence these last few days, Lady Priscilla,” Nicholas murmured apologetically. “I did not wish to upset you unnecessarily during your recovery.”
“Of course, your Majesty. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and honesty,” Priscilla replied softly without a note of reproach. “Has your Majesty had breakfast yet?”
Nicholas glanced towards the plate of sticky scones beside a tray of tea and grimaced. “I have not had the chance, but since today is a day of fasting, I had planned to skip it entirely.”
“Nonsense,” Priscilla replied with a note of amusement as she gestured to the empty chair which Cardinal Lysander hastily moved further back from. “The fasting period has not yet started. You must eat to retain your strength and focus, your Majesty. Please join me.”
“Very well,” Nicholas relented as he moved towards the offered seat. “Will you be staying with us—Cardinal?”
“Ah! No, your Majesty.” Lysander replied with another humble head bow. “I shall take my leave now. Please, enjoy your breakfast.”
The Crown Prince watched the Cardinal’s departure and motioned his hand towards Beaumont. The Knight Captain dismissed the other three knights to wait in the hall before taking his usual position by the now-closed door.
“Cardinal Lysander was just telling me that honey is a traditional part of the royal family fasting diet,” Priscilla explained as she filled the first teacup with a warm, honey brown tea. “It promotes stamina and endurance throughout a day of prayer.”
Nicholas grunted noncommittally as he accepted the teacup she offered him. “I wouldn’t know. King Henri never brought me with him for such celebrations.” That honor had been reserved for Tristan. Nicholas could still recall the First Prince’s constant grumbles and complaints about fasting for a full day. Tristan had always been more active than Nicholas and seemed to have an appetite to match. The large feast which followed the day of prayer was certainly a testament to the Frist Prince’s insatiable appetite. Nicholas shook the memory from his head as he focused on the veiled woman across from him. “I seem to recall my mother telling me that honey was good for burns as well.”
Priscilla’s hands froze with a honeyed scone balanced between a fork and spoon. She quickly placed the sticky bit of bread on the plate before Nicholas and set then set the utensils aside. “That must be true, given it was a steady part of my diet and treatment these last two weeks.”
The Crown Prince grimaced as he raised his gaze from the glazed scone. “I must apologize. That was insensitive of me, Lady Priscilla.”
The Royal Consort waved her hand dismissively and gestured towards his meal. “Please don’t concern yourself, your Majesty. I have been fortunate enough to recover from the worst of my injuries—”
“Is that why you suddenly requested to be freed from our engagement?”
Priscilla shook her head quickly. “Your Majesty has misunderstood my intent. I only made the offer because your Majesty seems reluctant to follow through on your proposal for marriage.”
‘She’s not entirely wrong there.’ The Crown Prince picked up his teacup and glanced towards Beaumont before sipping the delicately sweet liquid. ‘With Borghese gone, the Royal Faction is split between their support for Duke Hargreve and Earl Coldwell. While they appear determined to back Lady Priscilla as Royal Consort, unless she can conceive an heir, she will have nothing to offer them in return.’
“I am certainly in no hurry to make a decision,” Nicholas replied calmly. “An official marriage would have to wait until after my coronation—and the Queen’s coronation.”
Priscilla nodded wordlessly. Her expression was impossible to make out from behind her veil. Nicholas would have asked her to remove it if it were not for her condition. Instead, the prince focused on the deliciously warm tea and then set the cup aside to enjoy one of the sticky scones.
“Are you not going to join me, Lady Priscilla?”
There was a moment of silence before the Royal Consort lifted the porcelain teapot to fill her own cup slowly. “Has your Majesty come to a decision regarding my request?”
“I have had little time to consider it, Lady Priscilla,” Nicholas replied around a bite of honeyed bread.
“Of course. Forgive me.”
“But I understand and am sympathetic to your reasoning.” The prince sighed as he set down the remainder of the scone then picked up one of the white napkins to wipe his fingers. “If I release you now, then you would be free to choose any marriage partner you desired regardless of status and wealth.” Nicholas set the napkin down and studied the Royal Consort as he leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps you already have a potential husband picked out?”
Priscilla lowered the teapot and looked away. “It is not as if I have a line of suitors waiting for me, your Majesty. When my father lost everything, so did I. I may have retained my life, but—” The veil trembled as she drew in a slow breath before continuing, “—I am not the lady I once was.”
A flicker of something that might have been sympathy burned through Nicholas’s chest as he also looked away and sighed. “You are not to blame for your father’s choices, Lady Priscilla. If—there is someone you wish to marry, then I will release you. I will also ensure that you lack for nothing—”
“There is no one, your Majesty.”
The Crown Prince blinked and then turned back to study her, perplexed. “Then—why?” Nicholas continued to stare at her blankly as Priscilla lifted her veil and draped it over her strawberry-blonde hair. The young woman’s unblemished skin, pink cheeks, and chartreuse-green eyes met his confused gaze.
“I do not wish to trap your Majesty in another political marriage you do not desire,” Priscilla explained softly. “Given the crimes of which my father was accused, my presence does you more harm than good.”
“You—you’re—” Nicholas ran a hand down his tired face and stared at her in silence.
‘How was this possible? Had the royal doctors and Earl Coldwell exaggerated the extent of her burns?’
“I realized you may have held back on canceling the engagement due to my injuries. Thus, I thought it my duty to inform you of my miraculous recovery.”
Nicholas raised his brows slowly as her meaning sank in. “A—miracle?”
The Royal Consort nodded. “Yes. His Holiness the Pope bestowed his blessing upon me. In his words, my faith has restored me in the eyes of the Saints.” She clasped her trembling hands together, then closed her eyes, and bowed her head in prayer. “I know that I am undeserving of this blessing, which is why I wish to repay your Majesty’s kindness and generosity by disappearing if that is what your Majesty desires.” There were tears in Priscilla’s chartreuse-green eyes when she opened them to gaze at him. “However much I still care for you, Nicholas—I will let your Majesty choose what is to become us.”
Nicholas resisted the urge to shake his head and laugh at her obvious play-acting. He did not know what to believe. If he had visited Priscilla before this miracle, he might feel more at ease.
‘No. Regardless of what I believe, the whole Capital has been flooded with rumors of Priscilla’s burns and scars. If word gets out that the Pope healed her and then I break our engagement—’ The Crown Prince watched wordlessly as Priscilla unfolded her hands, lifted her teacup silently, and took a slow sip. ‘If the Pope has the power to reverse her injuries, then he may truly have the power to undo this plague.’ Nicholas lowered his hands to his laps and clasped his left knee tightly. ‘But Jericho seems entirely too focused on pinning this plague on Duchess Kirsi.’
“Your Majesty looks troubled,” Priscilla murmured as she set down her cup. “I do hope that it is not on my account.”
The Crown Prince offered a muted laugh in reply before narrowing his eyes on her. “I wonder, Lady Priscilla, what did the Pope request in exchange for this miracle?”
The Royal Consort merely shook her head with a bemused smile. “His Eminence asked for nothing. However—”
Nicholas arched his brow cynically as he waited for her to continue.
“—I believe the Pope and his Cardinals are hopeful that your Majesty may yet choose a Queen without a drop of witch blood in her veins.”
“Ahh. Of course.” Nicholas nodded slowly, not at all surprised by the idea or Priscilla’s honesty. It was no secret that the Pope and his Cardinals disliked Crown Princess Eleanora. Part of the reason Nicholas had made Priscilla his Royal Consort had been to appeal to the nobles who still harbored distrust and disgust for the witch community.
‘Priscilla will still serve that purpose if she remains a Royal Consort. If the Pope and his Cardinals continue to support her, then she will be of more use to me in the future. I gave Jericho his lost little sister to ensure my coronation and the removal of the plague, but after the ceremony is over—if the Duchess tries to get Lady Hana back, my hands will be tied. If I back a known witch over the Pope who removed the plague, half the nobles and most of the population will turn against me.’
“Your Majesty still appears troubled,” Priscilla observed quietly. “Might I offer a suggestion?”
Nicholas slowly rolled his neck from side to side and then raised a brow towards her. “Go ahead.”
“Ask the Saints for guidance, your Majesty. With their support, no one can stand in your way.”
In reply, Nicholas offered her a half-hearted smile and then focused on finishing his tea.
‘One way or another, I am always reliant upon someone else for power. Even after I am King, I will still be a servant to either Pope Jericho or Emperor Arius.’
The Crown Prince quickly downed his drink and set the cup down before focusing on the Royal Consort across from him. “Lady Priscilla, if you are feeling up to it. Will you join me for a day of prayer?”
Priscilla blinked and quickly hid a smile. “You mean—inside the inner sanctum, your Majesty?”
“Yes.”
“But—isn’t that the responsibility of the Crown Princess.”
“Her Highness is unwell and unable to attend today’s events.”
The Royal Consort attempted to look surprised and then worried as she folded her hands against her lap. “I see. I am humbled by your request, your Majesty.”
‘However innocent you may claim to be of your father’s treason—you are Borghese’s daughter. You know the implications of my offer full well, don’t you, Priscilla? But—just to be sure.’
“You need not push yourself, Lady Priscilla,” Nicholas replied with a neutral smile. “If you still wish to be freed from your engagement, then you need not come at all.”
The Crown Prince rose from his chair and moved to the door, which Captain Beaumont opened ahead of him. Nicholas paused at the threshold and glanced back towards the Royal Consort. He was struck once more by the warm glow of her skin, the softness of her smile, and the rich green color of her eyes which were a lighter shade than Marchioness Serilda’s.
‘Is it because I expected her to look like a monster that she suddenly seems so—pretty?’
Lady Priscilla, who rose slowly on her feet, curtsied to him. “I would be delighted to pray to the Saints for the future of our Kingdom and your Majesty’s reign.”
Nicholas smiled and nodded as he extended his hand towards her.
He had expected no less.