Part 12
The prince of the sidhe knew the precise moment he ascended. The moon over his head grew blazing bright imposed upon the blue black sky. The perfect round glow bled at the edges, as if to melt away in the night along with the chill that enveloped him. He ascended in the chill into the most powerful being, and he knew only that the Inviolate was no more, her link with his world growing weaker.
Along the open road he paused on his horse. He did not require to turn around to know that Nathaniel was not far. And so he allowed the night wind to carry his quiet voice, and said, "It is done."
He kneed the beast beneath him so he could face his guardian warrior. Nathaniel bowed his head to his prince. "Our world is yours, sire, and no one else's."
"Not as of yet, but we are closer. She will be weaker, vulnerable, adulterated even more by the essence of these mortals." And then he bid to Nathaniel. "Now we will require the Druid. We cannot be far. It is time to free Bonnie as we align."
"The gold shall be easy to come by," Nathaniel assured Chuck, and the prince needed not to ask how Nathaniel would find gold so far from home. "Now we must part, your grace, as I take on the search for you."
"I've no doubt you shall find me when you are done." The horse whinnied beneath him and moved about restlessly on its legs. "Meanwhile, I shall begin knowing on her door."
At this, Nathaniel climbed off his horse and then knelt before his lord. Chuck Bass turned around and then kicked his horse into a gallop away from the warrior. From his distance, Nathaniel watched as Chuck raced past a couple of dark suited riders on horseback making their way towards London and the Tower. Vaguely Nathaniel noted the coat of arms emblazoned on the arm plate of one of the riders, a quartered symbol depicting a crowned red lion and a castle. He had not seen the coat of arms before in court, in the short time he had been there.
With a curt nod to the riders, Nathaniel then rode past and into the forest, leaving the two on the worn road. He would make it to his destination much faster with the length of that road, and he was fortunate enough not to fear the dangers that hid in the forest. At the very least, the way the two kept safe and stuck to the common road informed him they were not from the tribes or immortal.
In the morning, Rebekah sought an audience with Blair outside of her chambers. Bekah waited past the early morning and awaited the new queen. To her consternation, Blair took her time, and so she turned to one of the ladies. "Caroline?" Bekah prompted. "Who attends to the queen?"
"No one, my lady." And then Caroline rose to her feet belatedly, realizing at that moment that she was supposed to stand and curtsy, or at least look down in respect. Caroline bowed her head then as she felt the flust suffuse her cheeks when she explained, "His Grace the king has asked that we allow the queen to sleep in this morning."
Rebekah's brows arched at the statement, and her lips curved at its implication. "Now it is time for the sleeping beauty to wake. By this time, she would have had more than enough time to rest."
And then to their surprise, as well as the rest of the ladies, the doors to Blair's chambers swung open and out strode Elijah. Seeing her brother so calmly walking out of the Klaus' wife's privy chambers, Rebekah's eyes narrowed. Elijah had not been one to cause rumors, and Elijah certainly was not so idiotic as to not be aware of the implications of his actions.
"Brother," she called to him in an effort to soothe itching tongues, "an early morning visit to our sister, and you have beaten me to be the first to greet her this morn after her coronation."
In response, Elijah gave her a quiet smile and headed past the ladies in waiting, and out the door. Rebekah felt and heard the murmurs that immediately followed. Perhaps the queen had allowed Prince Elijah into her chambers when all the ladies had fallen asleep, she heard one. Perhaps the prince had always been free to walk in and out of the queen's chambers, Rebekah heard the far more dangerous assumption.
She quickly strode into Blair's chambers and shut the door behind her. At the noise, Blair turned towards the doorway in concern, and Rebekah noticed the almost audible relief in the queen at the sight of her. Blair's smile was firm, voluntary, purposeful.
And Rebekah chose not to address the surprising sight of a brother who was not the newly crowned king walking out of the matrimonial chambers. "Sister, are you fully recovered, or shall I expect my brother-" and then she emphasized, "-Klaus, to chastise me for waking you."
At her words, Blair's stance relaxed, and the queen hurried towards her and took her hand. It was not difficult to see-she positively bloomed overnight. "Bekah!"
There was a excitement that thrummed from the queen, one she had not seen since the day they met as small children. Rebekah was awed by the sheer joy on the queen's face, wished she could have some of it. Truly, her heart had not truly raced until she had met Matthew Donovan, and Rebekah embarked on a truly shameless and unrestrained affair with a stable boy and kitchen help. Over time the thrill waned, and her impending marriage hung over her head as an unwelcome yet completely expected change in her life.
"Last night-it was wonderful. Klaus-" Blair lowered her lashes, hiding her glassy eyes. And then her gaze flickered back to Rebekah, and Blair claimed, "When your husband makes time to love you, the whole world changes." Rebekah could not wrap her head around what had changed beyond the coronation, because truly Klaus had ever respected his bride and the highly profitable lands in France that came along with her. And Blair-she had ever been lonely. "Something is different," Rebekah stated, but with a lilt of uncertainty.
Blair's lips parted, and she started to speak but held herself at the last moment. Instead, the new queen threw her arms around Rebekah and gave her a tight embrace. "Wed for so long, but I married truly only last night, Bekah." Blair whispered into her ear as they pressed against each other. "Sister, you shall soon be wed and running your own household in Castile. If ever there was a chance for you to love the man who will lie beside you til your death, take it." And then Blair leaned back to meet her eyes. "I did, and I am all the better for it."
"I need no love," Bekah assured Blair with a small smile. "I have my lustful stable boy."
There was a brief flicker of uncertainty in the queen's features, but it was passing and soon gone. "Temptations will arise, sister, and doubts about what else there is. Quash them," was the queen's advise.
"How?"
"You are the Black Prince's sister, daughter of a legend in war. Destroy them like your brother used to raze cities and felled walls to claim back your ancestral lands."
Rebekah's lips curved into a grin at Blair's words. "And here I thought you were the reason that Niklaus has softened on France."
"Your brother sailed to Calais at word that an army gathered, and he had just come home from destroying hundreds of men who would have dared take back the port city," Blair pointed out to her. "He has not changed. Not yet."
The way that the queen moved, spoke, even breathed-they were different and interesting and brazen. Overnight she was happier and more confident, and Rebekah had a passing suspicion that it was more than just the weight of the crown. Perhaps she was telling the truth, and loving one's husband was a decision she had to take to have a happy life. Certainly she was dreading her marriage to a stranger.
When Niklaus returned to his wife's chambers, Rebekah observed in quiet fascination as her brother strode directly to the queen with barely a glance at her. He could not know she was in the chambers, because she knew Niklaus would not have been so free if he had been aware. The new king, fresh from hunting and still wearing the bloodied riding attire, pulled his bride flush against him, soiling her own shift with the grime of the hunt. Blair raised her lips to meet his eagerly, and when the kiss ended and they parted, Klaus lifted his free hand and opened his fist, revealing in his grasp some berries he had brought home from the trip. "They are sweet as your mouth," he told her, resting his forehead on hers.
At this, Rebekah made an audible sound of protest. Niklaus turned to face his sister. "Will you vacate our room, Bekah, or shall you watch as I show my wife how much she has been missed?"
Rebekah gasped and stomped out of the chambers in mock displeasure, yet out in the corridors and the halls she wandered thinking back to Blair's words, and the one encounter she had observed. Though Klaus had teased her, her brother was not a man to mock or pretend.
She could have that.
Could she?
Could a girl born to be wedded off to a stranger from a distant kingdom every truly live a happy, married life? Her mother certainly had not done so, and even the few ladies she saw in court were in varying degrees of misery or grudging acceptance of their fate. Rebekah thought back to the people she knew, and realized the only content woman she had encountered in court was Katerina on the arm of Elijah. And she had been a courtesan, and would never be married to her brother.
And so Rebekah found herself outside the stables, watching Donovan as he scrubbed down a strong mare. As he did so, Donovan had half a smile and spoke low, soothing the animal with a quiet, senseless story, asking questions about the hunt, keeping the beast's agitation low.
That young man would be a wonderful father to his future children. She could see it in the way he took care of her brother's steed, so patient and caring he was. It was a pity she would be ensconced in a lavish palace in Castile when Donovan would be raising his spawn.
Perhaps she would then have already done her duty over and over, and several heirs would be lined up to ensure Castile would never have to have the same violent issues with succession claims that her family and the French were going through.
Donovan noticed her then, and he broke into a smile and ushered Niklaus' horse into its stall. He made his way over to her, and Rebekah was assailed by the scent of sweat and horse's flesh. He opened his mouth to greet her, but she cut him, "I must wed the son of Castile so we can flank France in three directions."
Donovan frowned in confusion, but as she spoke slowly his forehead cleared in realization of what was occuring.
"England from above, and the queen brings Anjou. Niklaus had long claimed Aquitaine." Rebekah's hand fisted at her side. "Castile will give us the advantage of caging France from the south. Do you understand that, Matt?" It was the first time she had ever allowed his given name to leave her lips. This felt like a moment to use his given name, a moment to show him affection in her farewell.
"I understand war. My father was killed in battle, serving with the old king," said Donovan. "But I do not understand why you are telling me all this. You know I am aware that you will ba married off to some faceless Castilian." And then he reached towards her and grasped her arm. Rebekah did not pull away. "You told me you will still need me, especially on those seasons you are in England with your husband."
That was when her tears spilled, and she shook her head. "You need to forget I said that. We need this to be the end, Matt. I think-" she whispered, "-maybe I have to give myself a chance to live my life, this new life, this life I have been handed. And I cannot keep telling myself that there is another part of me back home."
Donovan's jaw tightened, and he stepped forward and leaned towards Rebekah. Bekah sniffed, and he rested his chin on the top of her head. He mumbled, "I thought you loved me."
At the words, those threatening words-because they could break her, they could make her unravel. "Maybe I do," Rebekah choked out, "but it matters not. You and I will never work. Do you imagine me rocking by the hearth of a stone hut, out in the fields, waiting until you've earned a shilling? Truly, Matt, do you see that in the future?"
"And if I said yes?"
She pulled away, and rested on him cold, expressionless eyes. "Then I say you are a fool and a liar," she told him. "We made a dream event, and you lulled yourself into believing when all along we both knew I would be far away. And you would be married in the chapel with some maid you meet in the tavern, or out here in the castle."
"So what will do, Rebekah?" he asked her. "Marry this man and then what-spend all your days insisting you do not think of me at night?"
Rebekah shook her head. She cupped his face, beautiful as it was, in her hands and told him, "I plan to marry and I plan to love him. If I am fortunate, he will love me like I plan. And then, Matt, I plan to decide that I will be happy."
He took a deep, tremulous breath. "Now who is a fool and an idiot?"
~o~o~
Her words stung, so he stung her in return. Matt Donovan strode towards the castle through the servant's hallway, hurt and humiliated, but too proud to beg. He never trusted these nobles, not since his mother abandoned her family for some forgettable baron before entered service in the castle. His mother had been the epitome of the stupidity of the common folk. A great beauty, his mother thought-or fervently wished until she convinced herself-that the baron would marry her and turn her into a landed lady.
She was ending her poverty, she told him as she packed up her few belongings. His sister Vicky had been young and clung to her mother's dress, pitifully crying, begging not be left behind.
And still that woman left, ending up a mistress and a whore, set aside the moment the king gave a wealthy ward to the baron, and the baron wed his own ward.
It was the day that his mother walked away from himself and his sister that Matt Donovan swore he would never beg again. His mother turned her back on them notwithstanding the pleas of her two young children. It was that same day that marked the moment that Vicky decided she would never be left behind again, the reason that early in her life, the time when his sister's menses first visited, Vicky found a man to cling to the way she clung to her mother's dress. And she never released him. It was the way Vicky lived, from man after man after man. She clung. She clung until she could cling no more.
It was the way Vicky died. She clung to a man who abused her and beat her, and she did not let go because she would die before she would be left again. And she did. One fatal night when the man turned to go and she screamed and grabbed onto him, pleading and kissing and clinging, he forced her away with so much force that Vicky had stumbled out a tavern window down to her death on the cobblestone streets.
Rebekah had been different. When all the women in his life had been dark and depressed, vulnerable and uncertain, the princess was strong and powerful, vibrant and most of all, she had seemed to want him. She had laughed and told him stories, and one rainy day when he found her stranded on her horse, out on the path, she had pulled him behind a tree and then kissed him.
A princess. The king's own daughter had kissed him, and wanted this boy who was so undesirable that his own mother had left him.
He had thought himself walking all alone in the servant's hallway-everyone was busy preparing for the arrival of some important unplanned visitor-until he heard the sniffling from a few steps away. Matt walked over towards a column and heard the noise coming from behind an old worn tapestry that had been relegated to the servants' corridor. He reached forward and then pulled the dusty tapestry to reveal a blonde young woman sitting on the floor.
At being found, the woman shot up to her feet and hurriedly used her bare hands to wipe the tears from her face. "I am sorry. I will leave."
"No!" Matt objected. And then the young woman turned gleaming, liquid, tearful eyes towards him. He shrugged. "You look and sound the way I feel," he explained.
The woman took a deep breath, and then said in a rush, "Well help yourself. Moments such as this are few and far between. Truly, my father used to call me a ray of sunshine and my friends looked at me as a hopeless idealist."
Matt grinned. "You do look bright and cheerful like the sun," he said with a touch of irony.
She shook her head. "This... is not who I am. This is what I have become in England."
The young woman could talk, and she talked so quickly as if someone was running after her, and she talked so much as if she had held her tongue for too long. His guess was that she worked closely with the nobles and was expected to be silent. "I think, truly, it is because I have been vanishing behind ladies richer and handsomer than me. I mean, it does not matter that I am often with the queen-"
Matt blinked at the girl. She was one of the queen's ladies. His eyes narrowed and he stepped back. He had no intention of being involved with another noblewoman, no matter how pathetic she looked at that moment.
Before he could walk away, she continued, "It really does not matter. I mean, to everyone I am a mere hostage that the Black Prince took a passing liking to."
The situation righted itself, and he did not even need to speak. He found the blabbermouth oddly charming. "You are one of the hostages from Calais," he surmised.
She nodded, and then extended a hand. When he looked at it, she let it fall to her side. "Caroline," she offered. "My name. My name is Caroline, and every second I spend in this court is a second less that I could be with my family."
Her concern was so reasonable, and it reminded him of his early, innocent purpose when he was not half cynical. She wanted to be back with her family.
"And this is why I find you crying here alone? Because you miss your family?"
She shook her head, and then looked down in what appeared to be embarrassment. "I had a good standing with the Black Prince, and I was counting down the days that I could ask him again to allow me to return home. It seemed like it was possible," she confessed. "He was friendly, and he seemed to like me enough. And then these past days he would barely look at me."
"This is what you can expect from these nobles," Matt told her. "Those in power would do nothing but ruin lives and break hearts. Never put your faith in any one of them."
Caroline frowned. And then she grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly. "My parents are ill, and I need to go home. Will you help me-"
"Donovan," he offered.
"Will you help me, Donovan?"
Matt glanced towards the servants' exit, used for the help to get in and out on their daily tasks. "I can get you out and onto the city streets. The rest of the way you will need to figure out on your own," he told her. "Can you handle that?"
Caroline nodded eagerly.
As the afternoon wore off, Caroline made her way out of London huddled under the thick brown robe that smelled distinctly of piss of the horses. Beggars, she knew, could not choose and be preferential. But she had also been raised by the English Channel, with the fresh sea breeze coming into her room every night. The moment she stepped out of the city gates Caroline shucked the robe and trudged down the path to the country road.
It was nightfall, and Caroline realized the folly of her plan. She had no beast, no money, no food, no companion, an she was a woman walking down the dirt road infamous for thieves and burglars, even murderers. She was grateful she had no wealth to her name, but terrified that the very fact would make thieves angry enough to kill her.
Caroline stopped in her tracks when she heard the scuffle up ahead. She ambled to hide behind one of the large trees and peered towards the fight barring the road. Two noblemen were engaged in a fight with about half a dozen bandits on the road. She half squealed when she saw one of the two fall, leaving the lone traveler fighting off six opponents. That man was sure to die. It was a pity. He had an uncommon, yet attractive face. The set of his jaw and the strength of his chin were fine.
Caroline made her way towards the horses hidden in the woods. There was no better time to do this than while they were engaged in a fight, and no better people to rob than robbers. Quickly Caroline took a large satchel from one of the horses and gasped to see jewelry inside. She was merely looking for food, but she would not say no to treasure that she culd use to buy her way back to Calais. Caroline started searching the other beasts for food and other gems worth stealing, then spotted a knife in one of the sheaths. She collected it, and then turned back to the fight.
To her surprise, only four of the bandits remained. The handsome man seemed to waver on his feet, and Caroline spotted the deep crimson gash on his stomach. Fortunately, the man's companion was gaining back his feet. The other man raised his own sword and downed another of their attackers before falling to his knees once again.
They were not going to survive, and Caroline would steal but she could not be part of a murder just because she stayed away from sight. Hurriedly, Caroline untied the horses from the tree trunks, and then raised a trembling hand holding the knife. She only needed to do this to one, and the noise and surprise would impact the rest.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," she muttered repeatedly as the knife came closer and closer to the horse's rump. It was tricky to keep away enough distance that she could not be kicked. Finally, Caroline cut the side of one of the horses and she dropped immediately to her side. The violent jump and whinny of one of the horses caused the rest to gallop away.
The three thieves left standing then ran towards the horses and what they thought were the treasures being carried away by the beasts. The two noblemen staggered towards each other, then grabbed at the other's shoulder and ensured the other was safe.
Caroline slowly gathered herself, then started to pull herself to her feet. When she looked up, the man she had been watching was standing over her, offering his hand. Caroline glanced at him wound, but took his hand all the same. He closed his hand around hers and she felt the large stone of his ring solid against her fingers. He grabbed his stomach, and Caroline suddenly reached forward in concern.
Realized she was touching a stranger so intimately. "If I will look at your bare wound, sir, I should let you know to call me Caroline."
And the nobleman gave a pained smile. "My name is Stefan, and that behind me is my brother Damon." He glanced at his brother before he told Caroline, "It seems our savior is a young woman. Two able bodied men, saved by a golden-haired maid."
Caroline checked the wound on his stomach and sighed in relief to realize it was a shallow cut.
"How is a young woman such as you here all alone in the road?"
She looked at him uncertainly. Caroline realized that if she was not found out, she would die on these roads anyway. Sometimes, she thought, she did not think her plans though. "I am one of the king's hostages from Calais, and I've escaped."
The man looked at her sadly. From behind him, his brother Damon leaned against his horse and stated, "You do know that we need to take you back?"
"What my brother needs to add there is that you will not survive out there all on your own, so this is the safest option for you. But I will ensure you are well treated, and will request that you be released."
"My ransom was paid, but the Black prince will not allow me free."
He gave her a smile. "Allow me to try. I believe I may have some influence on the king."
Caroline looked at him doubtfully. She had not known that many people had influence on Klaus, except for the time that the then Princess Blair convinced him to let the burghers of Calais live. And so this man's claim was intriguing. "Who are you to be so confident?"
Now Damon was astride his horse, and Stefan climbed up his own, then extended an arm so that Caroline may ride with him. When Caroline was seated in front of him, he told her, "The king shall be my brother."
Her head whipped back and around that she feared she may have hurt her neck. "What?"
"Our fathers negotiated my marriage to his sister," Stefan explained. "As my bride missed her journey, I am come to accompany her home. I brought with me a humble company of six knights along with my brother. Brigands happened upon us early on our trip, and one by one they have fallen while a handful we left behind to tend to their wounds along the way."
Caroline said in realization, "You are the prince of Castile, betrothed to the Lady Rebekah."
"There is no prince of Castile," Damon commented as he rode alongside his brother. "I am the prince of Asturias, but we are both heirs to the Crown of Castile. I shall inherit Leon. My brother is the son who will inherit Castile."
He had a charming smile. Stefan took her hand and kissed the back of it in his gratitude. She who was nothing in this land. "You saved our lives. I hope we shall be friends, Caroline."
So she answered, "Perhaps the very best."
tbc
