The motley garden was in summer bloom as it soaked in the golden sunlight, thick rays bathing the splendor in warmth. Gardeners began their work, tanned hands caressing the blossoms as they checked for growth. Their light chatter was enough to arouse her from a wretched sleep. Wrapped in her silk robe, Vivian resumed her daily post at the bay window, allowing her bloodshot eyes to drift from the laborers to the clear path that led to the eastern gate in the city wall. She held vigil there as her maid bustled about, precariously muttering about the state of her mistress's waning health. This morning was the same as any other; Vivian shunned the young woman's concerns.
Limp against the glass, Vivian stared mournfully at the east gate and the uninterrupted road that extended beyond. The noon bell had rung and a morning wasted in isolation had passed in the familiar silence. Christiana had appeared routinely with trays of steaming food and dresses of the latest make, rejected time after time, and then the following visits were in the accompaniment of others. Her longtime friend and personal guard, Revin, had been the latest visitor. His words, addressed to her maid, were spoken with concern. As much as she cared for her childhood companion and wished him no alarm, there was too much excruciating agony in her heart to move past.
The quarter eve bell rang, signaling it was mid-afternoon.
In the sun's daily downfall, Vivian watched the road, riveted to the spot. She yearned for a dust-scattered cloud to storm the air. The dirt path would stir from a long sleep at the approach of company. When the sun finally did set, the eastern horizon remained clear and brisk.
Uncontrollably, she shuddered as the tears began a steady pace from her eyes. She lowered her head to rest in her hands, rocking silently with confined sobs. It was the same day she relived from sunup to sundown, a desolate morning to a disappointing afternoon that retreated to a darkness which wielded fresh sorrow. Eventually the rust on her bones would disintegrate and free her but only after the loathing, rage and loneliness ravaged what was left.
Dawn approached at a maddening rate. Vivian forced herself to her feet and stepped away from the heap of clothes she had drowned herself in. In a dress that had seen repeated bouts of tears, she resumed watch at the window. The moments passed, but the sky was void of dust or clouds.
A cold feeling settled between her shoulders, chilling her down to bone marrow. Painfully clear was the fact that those she loved were not returning from war. Amid that assessment, she knew acting childish and miserable would not help to comfort her either. Many ladies had lost husbands and sons to war, mourned respectfully, then picked themselves up by the straps of their own will and carried on. A frown deepened on her pale face as she considered her wheeling thoughts.
An impolite voice in her head reminded her that those women only lost person, not two. Vivian heatedly cursed at the reminder. Whether one or two persons were lost, the hole in her chest knew no difference. The image of a dark-skinned Bulvan soldier parrying with either her mother or father broke her calm. She pounded the windowsill. A firm order of retribution was in order. They had to know the same hurt she knew.
"My lady, I cannot have you sitting here moping and watching that window like a hawk. I regret this – and I am sorry that there's been no sign – but I must force you out of your chambers. I'm only concerned for your welfare," Christiana said from behind the door. It was the first time in a long while that she respected that it was closed.
Vivian coolly admired herself in her three-mirrored stand as her maid shouldered through the frame. It had been a dreadful while since she had taken care of herself properly. And now that she had, her skin shone like cultured pearls and her hair gleamed like mellow gold dipped in honey. The bags under her eyes diminished somewhat with a proper night's sleep and it brightened her ice-blue eyes. As was custom, a sheer black veil was arranged over the upper half of her long hair and pinned discreetly behind her ears. A black dress with navy lace around the low neckline sheathed her tall and willowy figure.
Christiana gave an audible gasp.
"I fear that your concerns are fruitless, Christiana. I prove to you here and now that my wellbeing is far from a worrisome state. May you agree?"
The young woman could only bob her head.
"In your time this morning, I require the most recent dresses in dark colors only. Do not forget new veils and slippers. Also, dispose of any light garments that may be found in my chambers. I never want to see them again."
"Is that all, my lady?"
Vivian was about to depart when she whipped around, scrutinizing the lavender curtains and bedspread. "Rid this room of color," she ordered flatly.
"As you wish." The dismay in the maid's voice was too clear for her liking.
She may have been locked away from palace life for a spell, but as faithful as ever, it carried on without her. The lords, on temporary leave from their fiefdoms, explored the castle with their wives daintily laid on their arm and word. Children who knew aught but to be annoyingly underfoot did only that. Servants and maids remained unseen as they continued their day's chores without complaint. Foreign ambassadors demanded flawless hospitality and countless other things, while secretly admiring the palace system. Knights hustled to and fro, broadswords strapped to one hip and determination worn like a breastplate. Sorcerers wandered the long corridors, muttering spells from books they paced with and cursing them to nonexistence when they failed. Guards who monitored particular doors bowed low when they recognized who drifted past. It was as if they were the only ones who knew she still existed.
It's like I don't exist, Vivian thought. And for the past unending month, maybe they were right. As the only heir to the throne, invisibility became an unattainable fantasy. She was always being bowed to, comforted, blessed, pampered, or fretted over, to the point where being alone was a dream she often dreamt of. Her whole life she spent as the princess to the glorious empire Iledora, whose history was wrought solidly in the tilled earth for nearly nine centuries. The throne was once something she never imagined accepting until she was at least twenty. Those four years, and her shield from her duties, seemed futile now. With the Bulvanian warriors virtually halfway through the front door, the plans and preparations that were presently half-done were now being thrust into full effect. She hoped it would be enough.
"Your Highness!" the herald called in blatant alarm.
Vivian froze. Memory had brought her on this route, not her willing conscience. The last thing she wanted was for the herald to pull the curtains back and rap the floor with his staff, announcing her presence to the great hall.
"Greetings, Alleb."
He bowed and paused for a moment in his sweep before he straightened. "Excuse my shock, my lady. Did you wish to be announced?"
She shook her head. "Carry on."
"May grace be with you, Highness."
"And you."
The halls and stairwells were blessedly vacant. It became apparent that no one was going to allow the sunny morning to pass in peace. The solitude was a cool change from the bustling flock of people that passed through the corridors. Though she had taken an absence from palace happenings, it never ceased to be still. It was increasingly quiet, she noticed, since her pair of usual guards was clearly under the impression that she still locked herself away. Christiana, most likely dutifully carrying out her orders, had forgotten to warn them. No smile parted her lips as she considered the irony of the situation. After all, it was her maid who was the most adamant about her mistress, aside from her guards.
Ascending from the shadowy, unused halls of the servants' wing, Revin and Teris skidded to a halt, their breathing coming evenly. Her guards were muscular and lithely built with the power of someone with much more bulk. They wore the matching garments of the royal guard, black trousers tucked into boots and a long navy tunic. A belt around their waist prevented the shirt from falling farther than mid-thigh and held an assortment of knives. A sword hung from the other hip. When they glanced up, their faces were two varied epitomes of furious.
"You avoided informing us that you felt well enough to wander about," stated Revin, accusative eyes flashing.
"Makes us feel real good when our commander comes and tells us he saw you speaking with the herald! Next time you want to throw yourself to the wolves, let's just announce it to the whole city," Teris challenged.
Vivian held up her hand. "Peace. I understand your concern, but it is unjust. I am safe within my own castle, am I not?"
"Assassins, spies, your own people could be against you. I don't know for certain, Revin, but that sounds awfully safe."
There were traces of sympathy in Revin's eyes as he said, "The king and queen have yet to return. If they don't, you know that you're to take the crown by the next harvest. You need to keep yourself in tact for another year before Teris and I will have the aid of many more men to keep you from self-destructing. You're nearly queen, not a child."
It took all of her willpower to keep the tears at bay. When she was sure of her emotions, Vivian asked, "How can you so easily seal my parents' fate? Who are you to curse them to the chokes of the war?" At their downcast expressions, she snapped, "This palace has lost all hope to the walls. I wasn't sure of where you stood until now, but it's good to know you've already condemned them to death."
She hurried down the stairway she had just ascended and allowed the cold darkness to engulf her. Moments before, being by herself wasn't truly so terrible. It was lonely, but Vivian knew she wasn't alone. Now, with Revin and Teris at her back, willing to throw themselves on the line to save her life, she felt more alone than ever.