Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 8.5

From the Journal of Lady Vitrula Rhys: The Third Death

I sat in the east parlor of Rhys Manor with my hands folded primly atop my lap. My father had not responded well to my announcement that I planned on dissolving my engagement to Loren. His jaw clenched as he glared down his nose at me, a vein on his temple visibly throbbing.

“Do you mean to tell me,” he hissed, “that you intend to call off your betrothal due to some . . . ludicrous fantasy?”

I’d presented him with the truth in full: my last two deaths, Loren’s relationship with Letty, and my suspicions that my stepsister had been the one behind both my execution and my exile. She’d most likely hired the highwaymen in order to further guarantee I never returned to Bellcrest.

Admittedly, perhaps the day after Father’s wedding to Catherine had not been the best timing to reveal everything. Father clearly didn’t believe my story: he said as much. Repeatedly.

“She’s mad,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve raised a madwoman.”

I bristled at his words. “I’m not insane, I assure you. Being engaged to Prince Loren has resulted in my death twice over. It would be best for all involved if I were to step aside and allow him to be with Letticia.”

“He hasn’t met your stepsister!” Drops of his spittle landed on my cheek; I used my sleeve to wipe it away.

“But they will meet. Whether it’s a year from now or only a month, they’ll fall in love. Letty is a Rhys through adoption now—he’ll still be marrying into the family.”

My father dropped to the chair besides me and buried his face in hands. “Not only crazed but a nitwit as well. Of course, it’s not the same, Vitrula. Your bloodline represents all of northern nobility. Letticia is the birth daughter of a merchant.”

“But with your approval—” I began.

“Even with my blessing, the other northern lords won’t be satisfied. You’ll marry the Prince, and I’ll not listen to another word of farfetched nonsense about reliving the past. I applaud your creativity, but next time make your excuse more believable.”

My refusal to concede that I’d been lying vexed my father to no end. When I broached ending the betrothal again a year later, upon Letty’s debut at Court, he called a doctor. When the first doctor failed to find anything ailing me, he summoned a second. Then a third and fourth. All the while, I insisted that my story was true.

Father made excuses to King Eldin and summoned me back home. If I were kept away from Court, he judged, then perhaps Loren wouldn’t realize that I was insane until after the wedding. A nurse shadowed my every movement to ensure I didn’t decide to jump off a cliff or terrorize the villagers in a fit of madness.

What Father didn’t account for, despite my foresight, was that my absence and Letty’s presence only served to hasten the development of her relationship with Loren. Less than six months after I departed Bellcrest, Father received a letter bearing the seal of the royal household. In it, King Eldin expressed his son’s wish to transfer his engagement from me to Letty. Since this was precisely what I had suggested, I thoroughly endorsed the idea. Not that I felt delighted by the prospect of Letty winning, but I valued my continued existence over a need for retribution.

Father was not as receptive. He began divorce proceedings with Catherine immediately in order to once again render Letty a commoner and strongarm Loren into abiding by their original agreement. Long story short, the Duchess fled to Bellcrest where she pled her case to the royal Court. King Eldin issued a decree forbidding any priest from annulling her marriage to my father.

His Majesty’s interference, complained lords across Verdan, was dictatorial and infringed upon their rights. If the King could not be trusted to refrain from meddling in their marriages, what faith could they have that he would allow them to continue governing their own territories? Their resulting coup lasted for a long and bloody year. I lost friends and long-time family retainers.

I lost Theo.

All the while, I remained imprisoned under a nurse. The Mad Princess’s War, commoners called it when rumor of my unsound state of mind inevitably leaked. That I hadn’t been a princess, and had desired fervently not to become one, was irrelevant when measured against the catchy bard songs composed at the time.

When Father’s forces were finally defeated, both he and I were put on trial and declared traitors to the Crown. Our execution was scheduled for the week after Loren’s marriage to Letty, who ironically stood to inherit all of Father’s holdings as his sole surviving legal heir. After so much bloodshed, execution was almost a relief.

I fully expected being able to start over, younger and wiser, in order to try again. I needed to start over. For Theo. My unnatural calmness in the face of death convinced my father more than anything that I was indeed a lunatic. I’d embraced death with a smile; he’d gone cursing the Triad for giving him a demented daughter.

Regardless, I’d learned an important lesson: no good came of telling others the truth. If I wished to end my engagement with Loren, I’d have to do so while managing to appease the Kothen nobility—and not get my family killed in the process.