Disclaimer: I got the name Zachary Princeton from a fanfic I read once on this site, I believe it was "The Last Laugh" by The Cleric.
Also, the beginning plot to this story is based off a book I read called "Hawk and Jewel", but the whole story will not be a retelling of that book.
Please Review and I hope you Enjoy.
Prologue
London England, 1830
Zachary Princeton, Duke of Hever, slowly walked down the gangplank behind the six sailors who balanced his wife's coffin precariously on their shoulders. One of the sailors slipped on the slick boards. Zachary's heart lurched as he watched the coffin sway, before steadying once more.
Foolish reaction. He thought.
It wasn't as if Hippolyta could feel anything…or ever would again.
For a moment he paused in the middle of the plank, hesitant to leave. Turning halfway he observed the ship, The Amazon Queen. It had been a gift for his wife. He had had it made especially for Hippolyta to celebrate their voyage. A sort of peace offering. This vessel had filled him with so much hope, but now, he never wished to see it again.
Turning back around he finished the descent to the dock, staring at his shoes the whole way. Once on more stable boards, he looked up, and if possible, his heart sank even further.
He recognized the carriage before he saw the lady who owned it. She waited patiently under its cover. Safe from the rain she watched tired men load the coffin into a waiting hearse.
Zachary knew there was no sense in putting off the unpleasant task. She had never liked him, but he hoped that in their shared grief they might bury the hatchet.
As he approached the older woman opened the door and motioned him in out of the rain. He obliged, sitting gingerly on the velvet interior.
"Is it true? Your message, is it true? Is my daughter dead?"
He hung his head and nodded.
"I am so sorry, Hippolyta is dead."
She had never been one to show much emotion, an unfortunate trait inherited by her daughter. But her steely resolve slipped and gave a glimpse of her true sadness. He saw a tear in her grey eyes. She blinked it away and stared straight ahead, her back as upright and stiff as a beam. She refused to make eye contact with him, the son-in-law she never wanted. Instead, she asked a question. His answer would haunt them both forever.
"And what of little Diana?"
Again, the Duke shook his head, but this time he shed the tears he had not felt for his wife. In a torrent, they ran down his nose and dripped onto the expensive carpets.
In a rare moment of sympathy, she handed the distraught man a handkerchief. He dried his eyes and shook his head once more.
"There was no trace of her. She drowned in the sea."
Her face betrayed nothing. Her voice was commanding and dared any to contradict her.
"I don't believe it. I would know if she were dead too…..I would know."
Zachary looked at those aristocratic features only beginning to show age. Glorious dark hair shinning with streaks of grey and unyielding eyes refusing to see facts. He found he felt sorry for her.
Poor woman. He thought.
Diana Lennox had survived two husbands and now a daughter. Though she was a strong woman, her heart had faced all the loss it could take. She couldn't accept the death of another loved one. Especially not the death of her favorite grandchild, her namesake. That bright, little, raven-haired enchantress, who hadn't made it to her second birthday. But was lost at sea a mere two weeks before it.
Poor woman. Poor Hippolyta. Poor dear sweet child.
Kingdom of Dagra off the Arabian Sea, 1830
Nura hurried through the marbled corridors. Servants, slaves, and concubines cleared a path, bowing to the Sultan's first wife. Brushing past them she rushed into the room. There, cocooned in silken sheets and pillows lay the child. Sound asleep.
Smiling the woman knelt and tenderly brushed a raven curl from the toddler's face. Pressing a kiss to the little girl's forehead she listened to the soft, steady, sound of her breathing and sent up a silent prayer of thanks.
She had wanted this child, wanted her more than anything else in the world. A little girl all her own to love. It had taken time, but the Sultan had finally agreed to her pleas and now she had her heart's desire.
Nura guessed her to be about three, given her height and predicted she would be quite the beauty one day.
A small lump formed in her throat as she thought of how the little girl had screamed and cried for her mother. Calling over and over again for the woman in that odd tongue.
The babe had clung to Nura and had not let anyone else near her for weeks. She fantasized that the child had chosen her to be her new mother. After the foreign woman had died, Nura knew God had granted this precious little girl to be hers.
She had felt a twinge of guilt when the woman's husband arrived. He was looking for her and his child. She pushed the thought from her mind. After all, men so rarely took to female children, she was sure he would waste no time forgetting about this one.
Pulling her daughter close Nura held her whilst she slept.
"Rest little one, you are a princess now, and I will love you as no mother has ever loved a child before."