Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of physical abuse and descriptions of sexual acts. It's nothing graphic, but not everyone is prepared to read it. You've been warned.
"What in the bloody name of Avo was that behavior?" Sparrow demanded. His beautiful face had turned swarthy shade of red. As they strode through the main hall of the Castle, Eleanor felt intimidated by her husband's buff body beside her. Long after the traitors had been declared dead, Sparrow and Eleanor had retreated into the Castle from crowds furious with the slaughter of the Lords from Bloodstone.
The torches in the wall sconces seemed to flare in accord with Sparrow's ill mood. Guards had secured the main doors against the encroachment of the raucous crowd. The real source of the tumult was within the Castle.
"I told the people of Albion the truth of the matter."
"Wasn't it enough that they were traitors?"
"No! Owen Norfolk was a hero to the people of Albion, and his decision to lead a rebellion against you appealed to them. I owed them the truth!"
"You told them what they wanted to hear. Eleanor, you laid out lies and spread a web, is what you've done."
Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Don't talk like that Sparrow. You sound like a provincial."
Sparrow's burly hands embraced Eleanor's throat in a gesture without his usual affection. "You think I'm provincial? You think I'm unintelligent? I think it is wise to act as the provincials and beat my insubordinate wife!"
King Sparrow drew back his other hand in a fist. Eleanor screamed in the shadow of his fist and cowered. "You wouldn't dare!"
With his Heroic strength, Sparrow tightened his grip on Eleanor's neck. She gasped for air and kicked the empty air when her feet left the floor. Her back scraped the length of the wall as Sparrow dragged her higher off the floor. "Why not, I can be a country bumpkin and a king."
"The…baby…." Eleanor gasped desperately.
She tried to scratch at and slap Sparrow's arms, but it had no influence on his grip on Sparrow's arms. Yet, Sparrow gradually lowered his wife until her toes touched the floor, and relaxed his grip. Eleanor collapsed in a heap on the floor. She gasped for air and clutched her throat.
"For the love of you—and our child—I treat you like a proper husband. I pay for all that we own, and I dutifully love you without visiting any mistreatment upon you. But I am provincial enough to reject your proposal to demolish the Gypsy Camp at Bower Lake," Sparrow hissed dangerously. "I know of that you do not wish me to know, and furthermore…"
Sparrow paused when he realized Eleanor lay on her side, clutching her stomach and sobbing at her feet. "Eleanor?"
"The baby…I think…I think…my water…just…broke."
Albion's king knelt down, scooped up his wife in his brawny arms, and cradled her soaked dress around her. "Jasper!" Sparrow bellowed as he sprinted down the main hall of the Castle. "Jasper, please summon the physicians! The Queen is in labor! Someone help!"
Several hours later, Sparrow paced the lavish corridor outside the Queen's chambers. Each of the purple-painted walls leading to the Queen's cream colored doors had no less than four portraits of Queen Eleanor captured during better times. While he paced, Sparrow studied his wife dressed as a milkmaid in one portrait, writing letters in another, and tending to a garden in a third portrait.
During this celebratory moment, Sparrow had chosen to be alone. Three physicians, a midwife, and a nurse were attending to Eleanor's needs during her labor. An emissary from Mistpeak and one of the newly appointed Lords of Bloodstone were present in the Queen's chamber to confirm the birth and gender of the baby. Outside the chambers, Sparrow could hear Eleanor's grunts of pain while he wrung his hands together.
"Your Majesty, did you decline to go into the Queen's chambers for the birthing?"
Sparrow turned and found Jasper at his side, patiently awaiting an answer. "There were already too many people in the room."
"Is this your first childbirth, your Majesty?"
"No; I was there for the birth of my eldest child with Charlotte. If Heroics hadn't kept me preoccupied, I would've been there for all three of my children's births."
"I presumed you refused to enter the room because of the hysterics of the whole business. Personally, I applaud women for undertaking the whole enterprise."
"The miracle of life is beautiful."
Sparrow started to wish his butler and friend good night, but the door of the Queen's chamber opened. The court's physician bowed to Sparrow. "The Queen has been delivered of a healthy son and is resting peacefully."
Four Years Later…
Three days short of the anniversary of the birth of Prince Logan, King Sparrow and Queen Eleanor dined silently in the second floor dining room of the Castle. Cooks had prepared a lavish meal. Each day of week preceding Logan's birthday, the cooks improved upon the previous day's meal with more elaborate dishes. For that evening, cooks had assembled: an appetizer of pate foie de gras and toasted wheat points; a salad of spinach, sprouts, cauliflower, and carrots; and an entrée of lemon-smoked salmon on a bed of asparagus. And there were four additional courses awaiting the royal family's gustatory pleasures.
"Logan's tutor said that he's advancing quite well in his studies of Latin and Gallic. The tutor said he's becoming quite adept at languages, and any day now, he'll write a dispatch to us." Queen Eleanor carved off a slice of salmon onto her fork. "Sparrow, isn't that exciting news?"
Her question was met with Sparrow's usual stoic silences. Eleanor took a gulp of wine and studied her husband's impassive face. In fact, Sparrow devoted more attention to the salmon on his plate than to his wife's proclamation. "Isn't that wonderful news, Sparrow? Our son is becoming talented in his letters. Sparrow, my love, did you hear me?"
"Our son is proficient in letters, but he needs to improve in his warcraft if the kingdom is to remain whole."
"Logan is not yet four years old. Can't you appreciate the skills he does possess?"
"If his skills would keep the kingdom whole, then it's something to be respected."
Eleanor set aside her fork and politely dabbed her mouth. "My love, didn't you hear me? Logan is improving in his languages. He'll be apt to parley with any diplomat in the world. His handwriting has improved. Aren't you thrilled for him?"
"Yes, my darling, I heard you: Our son is improving in his letters. Meanwhile, trade between Knothole Island and Albion is without balance. Neither Samarkand nor Aurora is a faithful trading partners. The people of Mistpeak are demanding roads to link them to the rest of Albion, while their own roads are becoming frequented by Bandit clan attacks. And the Temple of Light demands increased soldier presence."
Eleanor fretted. "I just thought that the well-being of our son might improve your disposition. You always seem so aggrieved, Sparrow."
Sparrow returned his attention to his wine glass. 'That's not true,' Eleanor thought. 'I'm the one who is constantly aggrieved. Sparrow looks even more comely than the day we met. He never seems to miss a night of sleep or cry.'
"You should know of being aggrieved, Eleanor." Sparrow had consumed five glasses of wine already that evening, and his speech was slurring as he polished off the sixth. "You're always mourning. It's gotten to the point that I can hardly look at you, Eleanor. Once, you were the blossom admired by all. I was proud to have you on my arm. Now you're one of the dreariest people I've had the displeasure to meet."
"We've been married seven years, Sparrow. We've lost four children. Tragedy has visited us…"
"And you think it is fitting to mourn forever." Sparrow rose from his chair and slammed a beefy fist into the table. The entire room quaked and the table dented under his fist. "You are the Queen of Albion. Do you look at yourself in the mirror anymore? Not even five-and-twenty, you've got the appearance of a woman as old as I am. You rarely smile. You dress in dowdy dresses. And you never carry yourself with any joy."
"What do you want me to be? A blonde concubine?"
"I don't want a chief mourner sharing my bed! I want my wife, the woman I knew when we married!" Sparrow slammed his fist onto the table, and the splintering of the wood spread further under the power of his blow. "Where is my wife, Eleanor? Where is the woman I married? Where is the woman I love?"
"She's been buried, along with four of our children!" Eleanor rose from the table and rested her fine hands on the splintered table.
"Stop talking about them!"
"Someone needs to, Sparrow! I've been bearing the shame of our five beautiful children living inside me. I live with their names written inside me! I felt their heartbeats! You didn't have to feed them. I did."
"I grieve over our children, too!"
"But I suffered the scars of losing them, Sparrow! While you waged war and made peace, I had to lose our children!"
"You didn't care for them, Sparrow. You weren't even here! When we lost Henry, you suppressed the uprising in Bloodstone. When Natalie was born and died with her first breath, you were in Samarkand. I lost our daughter Rose, but Jasper was the only one to comfort me! And where were you when I lost our Hawk? You were in Gaul!"
"I have a kingdom to run, Eleanor. Should I stay here and attend to your every need when I have millions more depending on the consequences of my acitons?"
Eleanor gaped at Sparrow and slowly sat in her chair. "Are the needs of your family always outweighed by the needs of Albion?"
"The needs of the many always outweigh the needs of the few." Cast the flickering flames of the fireplace beside them, Sparrow's shadow stretched over the broken pieces of table. "To that end, I must depart in the morning."
"Where are you going?"
"Eleanor, I just explained the financial troubles this kingdom faces. They require a personal touch to be resolved. I'll be going to Samarkand and Aurora to meet with their guildmasters and encourage them to lower their prices."
Sparrow moved aside the ruins of the table and approached Eleanor. His boots ominously crunched on china, silverware, and shards of wood. Eleanor shivered as he came nearer. Sparrow's gloved right hand reached out and played with her blonde locks. It moved from her hair to caress her neck and shoulders. "I have dined, and I am well-fed. Let us adjourn to the Queen's chambers and fulfill our dynastic duty."
Eleanor found Sparrow's touch cold and repugnant. "You've changed."
Sparrow stopped moving. "No, I haven't, my love. I'm just as attractive now—just as beautiful now—as I was when you married me. You've changed. But I still find you as wanton as ever before." Sparrow swept his Queen into her arms and carried her from the dining room.
By the cooling embers of the fireplace in Eleanor's chamber, they coupled. Eleanor lay on her back and watched the shadows lengthen. There was no passion in her eyes; she did not return his kisses; nor did Eleanor respond wantonly to his caresses.
In the growing darkness, she could almost pretend he wasn't on top of her. Eleanor had done it before, and it wasn't difficult. She closed her eyes and remembered the times when his kisses were gentle. Sparrow's touch used to be so passionate that the pressure of his fingers filled the bedchamber with her moans. Each time his hips moved, Sparrow used to elicit breathy repetitions of his name.
That night, only the embers cracked, and the bedsprings creaked.
Sparrow spent his seed seven times inside her. When Eleanor finally climaxed with a shuddering gasp, he withdrew. She cringed from the sweat sticking to her body and pulled the red silk sheet over her. When she turned away, Sparrow climbed off the bed and departed from the room.
Eleanor arose early the next morning. Before she pushed the covers off her nude body, the maids had prepared a warm bath for her. While one maid deliberately scrubbed Eleanor's porcelain white skin, the second selected Eleanor's gown for the day. The third made the Queen's bed. There was a time when Eleanor would have done all those tasks alone, and resented the addition of three useless maids to her household.
Things had changed.
Eleanor's maids dressed her in a plum floor-length dress with a voluminous yet mobile skirt, navy leather boots, and white forearm gloves. She placed a string of pearls around her neck and two teardrop pearls in her ears. The maids opened the door for her and Eleanor descended the stairs to the first floor dining room. Many of the Castle's staff offered her greetings when she passed, enraptured by her unavoidable beauty.
"Alright, your Highness?"
"How's that lovely little boy of yours doing, your Highness?"
She smiled at all of them, spoke briefly to some but touched none. Eleanor was no longer a woman of the people. When Eleanor entered the dining hall, she was surprised to find it nearly empty, except for Jasper. He bowed before the Queen. "Your Majesty, breakfast will be served shortly."
"Sparrow hasn't come for breakfast yet. We must wait until he and Logan come downstairs."
"Your Majesty, King Sparrow departed for Samarkand at first light. His ship left the docks within moments of his boarding."
Eleanor sighed. Before she could utter any unkind words, the doors of the dining hall opened again. A young brunet boy walked stiffly into the room. He had sallow skin, wide dark brown eyes with purple highlights, and a serious mien unfitting to his age. Logan walked into his mother's arms.
"At least he left Logan here with me."
"You are the Queen Regent in Sparrow's absence and Logan's physical presence here lends certain legitimacy to your role—and to your official affairs."
Eleanor sighed resentfully and sat at the head of the table. Logan took the chair to her left. "What sort of affairs would those be? In Sparrow's absence, I thought my only role would be to raise my son and hope for another to grow in my womb."
"Today, your Majesty has a breakfast scheduled with delegates from Rich Aristocrats Stopping Helplessness."
Eleanor lifted Logan into her lap and kissed her forehead. The boy said nothing in response. Eleanor frowned at his lack of response. "What do they want?"
"Royal sanction for their projects, I suppose, your Majesty."
Jasper turned to leave the room, but Eleanor had another question. "When do they arrive? I want to dine alone with my son."
"I arrive now, your Majesty." Jasper's lip curled and Eleanor's stomach lurched when her eyes met Reaver at the dining hall entrance. The Hero of Skill wore a gold double-breasted tuxedo with a resplendent blue vest beneath the coat. His wavy chocolate hair was bared and dark eyes practically shimmered with devious thoughts.
"Lord Reaver." Jasper bowed formally, but his disdain was obvious.
"Servants are like dogs: When well-trained, they are quite loyal, obedient—and useful for all sorts of sexual gratification."
As Jasper departed from the dining room, Reaver approached Eleanor and reached for her hand. Eleanor continued to glare. "Every time I see you, Lord Reaver, it makes me nauseous."
"Perhaps it is only another child growing in your womb. I hear…"
"Where is the rest of the delegation, Lord Reaver? I would prefer to conduct this meeting as quickly as possible."
Reaver drew out one of the dining hall's high-backed chairs, took off his tuxedo jacket, and draped it on the back of his chair. He sat in the chair with his right leg crossed over the left. "Your Majesty, the rest of the delegation is earnestly preoccupied. Quite fortunate, as it allows you to enjoy my beauty without hindrance."
"There is the pity of the matter. What do you desire of me, Reaver?"
"Your Majesty on the bed at my estate."
Eleanor rolled her eyes. "What does the delegation desire? And if you make remarks like that again, I will have you punished brutally. My regency is only a few hours old."
"While a brutal punishment sounds most satisfying for all parties involved, I must decline. A man such as I am should be able to speak bluntly and take certain liberties from time to time."
"The King has already denied your request to build an estate on the shores of Bower Lake. I don't know what else I am required to do, Lord Reaver."
Jasper returned to the room with a silver platter weighed by bowls and plates full of food in his arms. He distributed the dishes along the length of the table, and set three empty plates on the table before the Queen, the Prince, and Lord Reaver. Jasper started to set food on everyone's plates, but Eleanor declined hers.
"Your Majesty, it would please me if we could promenade around the gardens to discuss these issues. Castles have walls, and walls have ears."
"Logan, Mummy and Lord Reaver are going to discuss political matters in the garden."
"Your son is welcome to come with us, if he desires."
"I would have Jasper watch him instead. You and I can talk alone." The guards stood at attention as Eleanor and Reaver departed the dining room. When the two descended the Castle's front stairs, the Queen and the Aristocrat kept distant from each other.
"The last time you and I soujourned into the Garden, you lost a child," Reaver said callously.
"I remember."
There were two guards on duty at the entrance to the gardens and six others patrolling the grounds in stiff-legged, straight-backed walks. Each was nearly identical to the others in their white coats, crisp black pants, and black leather boots. A few yards from the entrance to the winding passages of the gardens, Queen Eleanor froze in her steps, and a clammy sweat erupted on Eleanor's face and neck.
Reaver rested a hand on Eleanor's shoulder. "I was here to protect you there, and I am here now."
"Considering how perfidious you are, Reaver, please forgive me if I'm rather miserly with trusting you."
"Considering I saved your life once, I thought it was evident I can be trusted. I'm truly hurt by your lack of confidence in me."
Eleanor cut into the Hero of Skill with her emerald eyes. "What do you want, Lord Reaver? Why did you come to the Castle?"
Reaver entwined the Queen's right arm in his and led the way into the garden maze. They had left behind the guards before Reaver spoke again. "The Lords of Albion are most eager to see something done about those who are unwilling to help themselves. Bowerstone is filled with homeless men and women who are without jobs and daily beg for food."
"I never suspected you were capable of such altruism, Reaver."
The Hero of Skill chuckled. "Dear me, I do sound like one of those peace-loving monks from the Temple of Light! But there is certainly something to offer Albion's elite in the form of workers."
"It still seems altruistic to me. After all, where will these people like? How will they eat? You and the other gentry must provide their aid if you are to help them rise to their feet."
Reaver took Eleanor by her free hand and led her into the garden. "And why would the Lords of Albion consent to such actions."
"If the Lords provide bed and board for the helpless people of Albion, then I'm certain the King and I could conceive a system in which the state compensated the Lords."
Reaver stopped, and Eleanor realized how far they had wandered into the garden maze. Yet she did not feel uneasy and smiled easily at Reaver. "You are the most cunning, intelligent, and far-sighted woman I have met in many years, your Highness. It is an honor that I have gotten to know you."
"Perhaps that is why my husband chose to marry me."
"But hasn't he ceased to love you?" Eleanor's face crumpled at his words. Reaver lifted her chin, so her emerald eyes met his coal ones. "Your Majesty believe…"
Reaver's words were cut short as Eleanor impulsively rose to her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. The Hero of Skill smirked at the light graze of the Queen's lips. His lips gained purchase. The Queen yielded.
