Chapter 2

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"Why must it be so hot?" Chrissy complained, throwing her head back on the lounger situated near the window.

I fanned myself lazily, the beads of sweat running the back of my neck and soiling my dress. "I haven't the faintest idea, but moaning about it will do no good."

"Perhaps we should take a walk. Surely it will be cooler outside with the breeze," Claudia suggested.

"It's a pity that we have to be followed by guards everywhere," Chrissy moaned, twirling straight strands of chestnut hair around her fingers.

"It is. I have yet to understand why Father and Mother insist on having someone monitor me at all times."

Propping her head on her hand, Chrissy said, "You are the Princess of France and Scotland. Your position is of great value. If something would happen to you, it could cause wars."

I rolled my eyes. "I am not even heir to the throne. I am fourth in line after Francis, James, and Catherine. The only worth I hold is that of alliances. Essentially, my future husband is of more value than I am!"

"You know your father cares more for you than just your political value. He is not like other kings. Henry VIII killed his wives if they could not produce a son, and he cared little for the daughters that his wives did provide him. Did your father treat your mother like that? I am sure it did not even cross his mind," Claudia insisted.

"Well, Mother produced a son with her very first child."

"But that was after the first two miscarriages and years of a barren womb," Chrissy argued.

"Your father was very patient, and you know why?" Claudia asked, smiling.

"Why?"

"Because your father is in love with your mother. Not all kings and queens are so lucky. You are the product of their love. He cares about your well-being and wants to protect you from the English and the Protestants. That is why you are always under guard," she answered.

I sighed. I so badly wanted to reveal to them the events that transpired at dinner last night; how my parents called me a liability and doubted my ability to perform my duties as princess. I clammed up though as embarrassment constricted my throat. I prayed that the heat camouflaged the blush on my face and, much to my pleasure, neither of them noticed.

I simply smiled and nodded, answering, "I suppose you both are right. I am extremely fortunate." Wanting to veer the conversation into another direction, I clasped my hands together and asked, "Now, what are we going to do about this godforsaken heat?"

XXX

The three of us stormed into my chambers, silent and out of breath. I turned the latch of the door and leaned against it, closing my eyes.

What the hell just happened?

"What were you two thinking?" Chrissy shrieked, her eyes darting between her identical twin sister and me.

Pushing myself up from the door, I hissed, "If it isn't too demanding could you please lower your voice to a whisper? These walls are thick, but there are many prying ears at court."

"I ride away to track a deer for five minutes, and I return to find you two doing the most idiotic thing you could possibly manage!" Chrissy growled, throwing her skirts down with such ferocity. "How could you be so reckless?"

"Chrissy, they were hanging by their feet with their throats slit open! Do they not deserve some dignity?" Claudia argued.

Chrissy closed her eyes and clenched her fists. "Yes, but give them dignity by tracking down the source of the brutality. Solve the problem, not the symptoms!"

"And how were we supposed to know it was a Pagan ritual? This savagery has not been an issue in the Blood Wood for decades. For all we knew, it could simply be the work of a brutal murderer," I insisted, just now noticing the blood-soaked tips of my boots.

"It is a radical Pagan ritual. Pagans are typically peaceful, but that exclusive group, the Blood Cult, is not. While Father may have killed the Darkness in the past, it does not guarantee that a new one has not taken his predecessor's place," she answered, hastily pacing around the room.

Claudia's eyebrows furrowed. "How do you know so much about Paganism?"

"Well while you spent all those days at the market with Mother, Father would take me hunting with him and Mathieu. When the prey was scarce, he used to tell me stories of his adventures before he met Mother. He told me about the Darkness and the Blood Cult and warned me that should they ever resurface, it is imperative that we stay away from Blood Wood and the Blood Cult's sacrifices," Chrissy explained.

"Well the good thing is no one saw us. Our anonymity keeps us safe," I said, trying to diffuse the panic of the situation.

"Can that be guaranteed though? Are you absolutely positive no one saw you?" Chrissy asked, a fierceness enveloping her green eyes.

I ignored the doubt nagging at my mind and the sudden quesiness of my stomach. "Yes, I am quite certain."

"We cannot tell anyone though," Claudia said, glancing between us. "This has to be our secret."

"No, Claudia, we should tell Father immediately. What if someone did see you? What if something awful happens to us?" Chrissy argued.

I shook my head. "No she is right. No one must know what happened in the woods today. As far as we know the Blood Cult is unaware who ruined their sacrifices. There is no need to get ourselves in trouble and start a panic."

"That's right, as far as we know no one saw you. Any member of the Blood Cult could have been lurking in the trees or behind the brush!"

"But there was no one there. There is no use being paranoid about a nonexistent threat. Now, we all have to promise that none of us will breathe a word of this to Uncle Bash or anyone else in the castle. Understood?" I stated, staring at the two of them.

Claudia nodded and whispered, "Understood."

"Fine," Chrissy muttered, approaching me. By the time she stopped, she was only a few inches from my face, and I could feel her hot breath on my cheeks. "But when our silence backfires and someone gets hurt, the blood will be on both of your hands."

XXX

I padded into a windowless room, only illuminated by candlelight. My nervous heart quickened at the thought of being enclosed in such a small and dank room. Hushed cries resonated outside the room, and I could feel the drag of an invisible force depressing the atmosphere.

The air was stale and thick, causing me to cough as I approached the highly adorned table. White silk lined the inside of the coffin and precious jewels embellished the garments he was wearing. It is only that I noticed his familiar blonde curls…

I screamed.

My father lay in the casket before me as pale as the silk beneath him. His lips were a sickly gray color, and his eternal sleep hid his loving blue eyes.

I sobbed noisily as I begged him to reawaken; to feel his embrace one more time. I placed my hand on his chest, feeling the jewels and his already decaying flesh underneath.

It was at that moment I realized something odd. He was wearing a high-collared black shirt, the ruffles reaching just below his chin. Curious, I peeled back one of the ruffles to see a large gaping gash across his throat.

My breath accelerated as I recognized the wound. I gripped my neck and the table, forcing down the vomit rising in my throat.

It was the Blood Cult. God, it was the Blood Cult. They killed my father. Oh my poor father...

XXXXX

I shot up from my bed, my breathing labored. I blinked away the sleep from my eyes and tried to calm my racing heart. I ran my fingers through the light blue silk of my bedspread, relieved to feel something tangible.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to wake you," a familiar voice said from the doorway. Mother lingered at the foot of my room, her hands clasped together in front of her. Her lips pressed together with concern as she continued, "Are you not feeling well, darling?"

Wiping the cold sweat from my brow, I whispered, "No, I am fine. Just fell asleep is all."

Seeing that I was going to put up no resistance, Mother entered into my chambers and stood in front of the unlit fireplace. "I just came to see if you have chosen a gown to wear to the ball tomorrow evening."

I shook my head.

"Well let us see what you have," she replied, moving over to the numerous armoires sitting against the far wall of my room.

"I assumed the servants were going to assist me in choosing a dress," I said, rubbing my eyes.

Mother pulled open the doors of the first wardrobe. "Well, it is your first ball, and I helped Catherine choose a gown for her first social event. Tomorrow is an important day for you, and I want you to look absolutely beautiful."

Unsure how to respond to her answer, I asked, "Where is Father?"

"He is discussing recent Protestant attacks with a few noblemen in the realm. Why?"

I shrugged. "I was just curious."

I could see the hurt clouding over my mother's eyes. "How do you like this one?"

She pulled out a gorgeous red silk gown with a full skirt and black jewels and beading around the sweetheart neckline. It had off the shoulder sleeves that looped tightly around the edge of my shoulders. It was a present from my Father and Mother for my 15th birthday, but I never had the opportunity to wear it.

"It is beautiful," I replied. "I would love to wear it tomorrow evening."

Satisfied with her choice, Mother smiled and laid it out on the lounger at the foot of my bed. "Well it is settled then. Just make sure the servants are careful lacing it up in the back. The ribbon is fragile."

"I will have them take the utmost precaution."

Mother approached me, her eyebrows furrowed. "Are you sure you are alright, darling? You look rather pale."

Visions of Father's lifeless body and grim face lingered in my mind. The events of today and the Blood Cult's response loomed in my mind, but I was sworn to secrecy. I could not tell Mother what transpired today even if I wanted to; which I didn't. I was still terribly upset with what she suggested last night at dinner. Besides, I was always much closer to Father. If I would confess my guilt to anyone, it would be him. But I wouldn't.

I couldn't.

I nodded weakly. "Yes, I am alright."

"Very well then," Mother murmured, smiling. She reached out to caress my face, but on instinct, I instantly shied away from her touch. Unable to suppress her pain any longer, she questioned, "Mary-Elizabeth, why are you so distant with me? Have I offended you in some way?"

I stared at her, ordering my tongue to subdue the biting words that threatened to come out. "Well it is difficult to be loving toward a person that has little faith in your abilities," I said with a slight edge to my tone.

"I am sincerely sorry you took my advice that way, but I have already apologized profusely for my misspeak. You no longer harbor any ill feelings toward your father; why do you still insist on driving me away?" She asked, sincerity in her voice and ache in her eyes.

My past agitations with Mother resurfaced and threatened to come spilling out in tears and screaming, but I refrained from revealing my true discontent with Mother. It was far too soon, and I was not ready to feel that kind of pain. Right now, she did not deserve the truth, nor was I prepared to deal with its consequences.

Closing my eyes, I whispered, "I think you should leave."

I heard her footsteps cross the room, and I opened my eyes to see her stopped at the door, staring down at the knob. Once she looked up at me again, her soft brown eyes were filled with tears. "I just wish you knew how much I love you," she said, choking on the words, "and how much you continue to hurt me."

With that, she quietly left me with an empty room filled with my thoughts. A notion that I could not bear with consciousness.