Chapter Five: Idle Thoughts

PRINCE HENRY STANDS at the end of the courtyard, supervising the exercises of the troops. He’s been walking around in circles for hours just looking at them, only stopping to sit and look after he’s corrected some men from doing the things which he knew would inevitably cause them to injure themselves.

There’s sweat trickling down his forehead, but he doesn’t mind. He’s accustomed to the heat and to the sour smell of perspiration in an environment full of trainees. He scratches his nose, studying the men, his eyes falling on a group interaction in the distance. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but he knows what they’re doing.

The men don’t appear to be part of Phillimont’s army that had travelled with him. They certainly could not have been –Montien soldiers are well-disciplined team players. These men are not. They look instead like some of Vynier’s citizens who had been enrolled in the training program. Prince Henry shakes his head in frustration as he sees one of the taller, stronger men, pushing another against a wall. He stands and strolls over to the little gang forming in the corner.

“Quit it, you bastard!” commands the man being attacked.

“Phony. Just who put the thought of it in that no-good head of yours that you’re made for this army?” replies the attacker.

“Were you?”

The trainee then turns to find Prince Henry, his arms folded across his chest, the look of boredom on his face. The Prince waits for a reply. When he gets none, he repeats himself. “Were you made for this army in some greater glory than he was?”

“I- Your Highness,” says the man, laughing nervously, “You must be mistaken, I didn’t mean-”

“-Is life not a war? Are we not all born to fight it differently?” Henry asks him. “Is he less capable of winning a battle because he’s not built like you?”

The attacker takes a step away from the man, and bows lowly. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

“I’m not the one who needs to do the forgiving,” says Henry.

The embarrassed soldier turns slowly towards his victim, clearing his throat and looking around, embarrassed. “Please, forgive me.”

“I forgive you,” replies the soldier.

Prince Henry nods to both the men. “You will both spend an extra hour every evening under the supervision of one of my commanders, working together in training. You will spend this time learning to cooperate.”

Henry turns to his left –Ericia is standing at the entrance of the courtyard with Avie, her expression blank, though it is clear she’s intrigued by the situation. Avie turns to Ericia –who nods once slowly at the Prince- and then Henry turns from her, walking into the opposite direction and returning to his seat.

“That’s it,” Ericia says, softly –and more to herself than to Avie. She sounds defeated.

“What is?” Avie asks.

“That’s the most Prince Henry has ever acknowledged me.”

“Dear me,” Avie mutters, “that man is a mystery.”

***

Queen Olivia loosens the big braid of her hair, sitting and staring at herself in the mirror of her dresser. She moves gracefully, careful not to pull any one strand or agitate her scalp.

“Is he still caught up in the meeting?” she asks the maid behind her.

“Yes, My Queen, His Majesty is still with the officials of Phillimont and I believe a couple of trainees as well.”

Olivia turns to her maid. “Gaya,” she says. “Come closer.” Gaya then steps closer to the Queen, who proceeds to speak in a soft voice only loud enough for the maid to hear. “Has there been any word from the Callie family?”

“They’ve remained out of touch. There hasn’t been a word since the last request to push their event a few months later in the village.”

“Please continue to look after them,” says Queen Olivia. “I am so grateful for all your efforts. You will be greatly rewarded, I promise you.”

“Would you like me to send a message to any one of them? I should be heading over there in a few days when I have my time off.”

Olivia pauses in thought. “Ask them... to forgive me.”

“Forgive you, My Queen?”

Olivia looks into her own eyes through the mirror before her. In it, she can see her sins. “I’ve done them a great wrong. I’ve caused chaos to feast upon the innocent and that I cannot undo.”

When Ericia’s guardian, Marie, had found out about the sexual abuse towards Olivia by Charles, Marie had been a newly wedded bride. Her husband was a member of the Royal army, and Marie was four months pregnant.

With a flash of white lightning in a sky raining bullets, a thick noose and an unsteady wooden floor, Olivia is haunted by the death of Marie. The late servant’s family, the Callies, had then lived in poverty after being stripped of their titles, but Olivia found her means of helping them out in secret. If Charles were to ever find out, however, Olivia knows she would be gone forever.

***

Prince Rowan stands at the entrance of the general lounge, interacting with two court members. They’re all laughing when Ericia and Avie make their way towards them.

“Well, at least one of them is amiable,” Avie whispers to her best friend.

“At least one of them has the courage to entertain and be entertained by others in a foreign land,” Ericia says to her friend, smartly, “Apparently it’s not a trait possessed by most with high positions.”

“Ericia!” Rowan says, waving her over into his little conversation.

“Hello, Rowan, and good day to you, both,” Ericia says, acknowledging the court members.

“We’ve been discussing the upcoming Flower Festival, Your Highness,” says the beaming court lady, Lady Rose.

“I’m sure you know it, Ericia, but the Flower Festival has only been a rare experience for me,” Rowan says. “I’ve only attended one in all of my time here –and it was far too long ago to have been properly appreciated at all.”

“Ah, yes, the Flower Festival,” Ericia smiles. “Are you planning on staying to observe it with us this time?”

“I’ll be here for quite a while I imagine,” says the Prince, “and of course, it is my intention to form a special relationship with your people. I’d be honoured to attend the grand events of the Flower Festival with you.”

“Well, then it is settled,” Ericia says, amused, “That’s something else to look forward to.”

“Yes,” Rowan says, laughing, “Ah, Henry!” he calls to the Prince walking past them.

Ericia turns to look at the Prince. He’s still as intimidating as ever, not smiling, and walking as though he’s always ready in the event that something off should happen.

Henry stops in his tracks when Rowan calls him and he turns to the Prince, clearing his throat, “Rowan,” he acknowledges. “You seem to be having a lovely day.”

Rowan nods. “We’ve just been discussing the upcoming Flower Festival of Vynier. I must ask you, my friend, if you’ll be accompanying us.”

Us. Prince Henry silently laughs to himself at the gesture of Rowan tilting his head towards the princess to pair them as one.

Henry only glances briefly into the direction of the Princess before returning his focus to the Prince. “It’s difficult to say, truly,” he says. “With the intensity of the training and the crowd of men I have to keep up with, it’s hard to say whether or not I will be able to make it.”

“Unless, of course, His Majesty decides to put off the training for a while so as to give you a bit of a break,” says Rowan, turning to the court members. “Would he do such a thing?”

Sir Victor, the other court member, nods. “King Charles would be generous enough to do such a thing, though I’m sure he’s eager to move along with the alliance. He may put it off for a few days until the festival is over. It is possible that he would allow the trainees to have those days off, but in any case, he would be sure to discuss such details with the Montien Prince.”

“What do you think, Ericia?” Rowan asks.

Ericia suddenly feels small. She’s been put on the spot yet again. “Oh, um...” she glances at Henry and then back to Rowan. “I’m never sure what my father’s plans are, truthfully,” she laughs. “I suppose it is a subject that will be discussed with him by those of the court.”

“But what do you think?” Henry suddenly asks her.

There’s a pause, and suddenly Ericia has become immobile, frozen in her stance. She blinks at the Prince, startled by the idea that his attention is being given to her. “Huh?” She utters, before correcting herself. “Pardon me?”

“What do you think,” he repeats, “about giving the trainees of your own army the days of the festival as time off?”

Ericia wants to swallow whatever discomfort is stuck in her throat, but that would be out of character. She shifts in her spot nervously. She wants to shrug too, but that would also be out of character.

Prince Henry only allows her to feel awkward for a few moments –not long enough for Prince Rowan, Avie, Sir Victor or Lady Rose to notice that she’s feeling insecure.

“Don’t you think,” he asks her, looking directly into her eyes with a stern expression, “that part of that decision is dependent on your point of view?”

Prince Rowan offers a quiet chuckle. “It’s alright. As of now it’s only a bit of banter. Further discussion on this topic will arise the closer we get to the actual festival, I’m sure. Until then,” he says, turning to Ericia, “You can think it all over and give your answer.” He nods, offering a bit of comfort and support.

“I have to get back to the courtyard,” Prince Henry says, “Excuse me.” He nods once at Prince Rowan, glancing at Princess Ericia for a mere moment before turning and walking away.

Ericia’s eyes follow him until he disappears around the bend that would lead him to the courtyard, as Rowan, Sir Victor and Lady Rose excuse themselves and Ericia and Avie take their own route back into the palace.

“He spoke to you,” Avie says, poking Ericia’s arm gently.

“He’s harsh,” Ericia says, “and rather straightforward.”

“He’s responsible,” Avie says, “a bit stern and on the introverted side, but incredibly responsible and wise.”

“I suppose that is the fate that comes with being the future king of a kingdom like Phillimont,” Ericia says, turning into the corridor that would take her to her room. “You don’t even have the time to engage a kingdom’s princess in a reasonably friendly conversation.”

***

Ericia sits out in the open field behind the palace where trainees are gathering firewood and there are three long tables filled with food. The sun is already setting, and Prince Rowan tosses another bit of firewood into the large bonfire before her, causing more smoke to rise and more sparks to fly. He grunts as he sits beside her, cracking his knuckles and stretching out his legs in front of him.

“It’s been a loooong day, Princess,” he complains. “I could do with a good bottle of wine.”

“Which would you prefer?” Ericia asks him.

“Perhaps the red,” Rowan says, “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had red wine.”

Ericia looks around. Her maids are all busy dishing out food for the trainees at the tables in the distance. She would have to walk all the way over there and bother one of the maids to go into the wine cellar to get one of the red wines.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” She stands, heading over to the tables.

When she gets there, all of the maids have already dispersed into the crowd of people hoping to receive their plate of food. Ericia groans lowly. She walks into the palace, deciding that she would go get the wine herself.

In order to reach the cellar, Ericia must pass the large dining room, the Queen’s lounge and the courtroom and then travel down the steps leading to the basement.

On any other ordinary day, Ericia would go with Avie to get a bottle of wine which they would return with to her room to share. Today, she’s going alone, and she’s bringing it back for her Betrothed.

Ericia’s mind is far off in thought as she walks –thoughts of Prince Rowan, thoughts of Prince Henry, thoughts of her mother, thoughts of the festiv- then before the trail of thoughts ends, she’s slipping and tumbling down the stairs to the basement.

She lands on her back, crying out in pain, but she covers her mouth to suppress screaming. The wounds on her back are throbbing, her arms are slightly grazed, and she thinks she’s possibly strained a muscle. Her vision is blurry as she stares up at the ceiling above her, and then a tall, dark, blurry silhouette appears.

She stares at it, lying in her struggle on the floor. She blinks a few times until she’s able to see clearly. She turns on her side, deciding that lying on her back isn’t a good idea, and her eyes fall on the shoes of the person standing just beside her.

The shoes are leather boots –brown, worn out leather boots, but the pants and the leather coat are familiar, as well as the long, black cotton cape. Looking up at the face of the person, Ericia suddenly realises who she’s looking pathetic beside.

“Oh dear,” she whispers, sitting up. With every move she makes, every part of her body aches. She sits there in front of him, disoriented.

Prince Henry extends a hand towards her. She looks at it, and then looks up at him. He’s staring down at her with an expression of concern and hope. “Are you alright?” he asks, genuinely worried.

Ericia is dumbfounded. She grabs his hand and stands, dusting off her dress and searching her skin. She takes one step to the side in an attempt to balance herself and almost falls over again, Henry’s hand reaching under her to hold her up by her waist. He places his other hand gently on her back and straightens her up. He walks her over to the staircase.

“Sit,” he says.

“I’m fine,” she replies, “really.”

“I wasn’t asking. Sit.”

Ericia feels a cold chill run up her spine and into the back of her neck.

I wasn’t asking.

Sit.

Responding to him is a reflex she is shocked by as she finds herself sitting on the third step and staring blankly ahead, her breathing heavy. Her head begins to pound. Her heartbeat becomes too quick to control.

Henry sits beside her. “Stretch out your legs,” he says.

Ericia slowly stretches out her legs, her left ankle paining at the motion. She groans and hisses.

Henry lifts the hem of her dress slightly and assesses the problem. “You sprained your ankle. You’ll need to get some ice on this as soon as possible.”

“It’s alright,” Ericia protests, “It’ll stop hurting soon enough.”

There is dead silence and tension as Henry pauses. “Believe what you want to, then” he says, his tone changing as he stands and takes one step up the staircase. “Next time,” he adds, not turning to look back at her, “Watch where you’re walking.”

With that, the echo of his steps fades into nothing, and she’s left, sitting there with a throbbing body once more.

***

“What took you so long?” Rowan asks, spotting Ericia behind a few roaming trainees.

Ericia’s clenched teeth form a closed-mouth smile towards the Prince as she takes the bottle of red wine to him and slowly takes her seat beside him on the thick log. The sun has set, and there are village musicians here, entertaining some dancing trainees with folk songs of Vynier.

“I couldn’t find an idle servant,” Ericia explains to Rowan, “and I don’t have the heart to give any one of them a task right now. I ended up fetching this bottle myself.”

Rowan stretches, Ericia listening to his combined groan with the crackles of the fireplace and the strums of the guitars and the beating of the drums.

“Henry must be halfway into the woods by now,” Rowan says, though he says it more to himself.

“The woods?” Ericia asks, surprised, “at this hour?”

“He prefers to hunt in darkness –says it’s much easier to catch the best wild meat.”

Ericia is suddenly reminded of the worn-out boots, the old leather jacket and the black cape Henry was wearing when she had stumbled into him at the staircase. He did seem to be going somewhere. He seemed to be going somewhere that wasn’t such an easy journey –or didn’t require the polished look of any Royal Prince in the very least.

“Ah,” Ericia says, understanding, “I see.”

***

Ericia sits in the comfort of her bathtub, staring down at her swollen ankle under the translucent blue bath water. She’ll need to find a way to take care of the ankle herself –and she’ll need to do something about it before her father finds out.

Ericia sits in the bath for so long that she becomes unaware of the time. When she gets out of the tub and gets dressed, heading back into her bedroom, all the maids are gone. She limps towards her bed, sitting and rubbing her ankle, frustrated. Tears escape her eyes –though she didn’t plan on crying- but she’s in so much pain that she can’t help it.

She stands, dragging her foot over to the balcony doors and opening it to walk outside.

It’s late, and there are no people out there. The palace bonfire lasted a few hours, but everyone had left before midnight.

Ericia basks in the glory of the night, hoping to calm herself under the cool temperature accompanying the gentle winds.

She reflects on the hand extended to her by the mysterious Prince Henry. She reflects on the words he had said –on his commanding voice.

I wasn’t asking. Sit.

Why do I pretend so much around Rowan? Ericia wonders. Why do I keep things from him? Is he not the very person I’m to marry one day –and one day soon, perhaps? Why does this feel...

And worse yet...

Why does your heart race at the thought of Prince Henry?

Who is he to you?

How could you fall idly into thoughts of someone like him?