Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 4.5

From the Journal of Lady Vitrula Rhys: The First Death 

The first time that Prince Loren asked for my hand in marriage, I’d felt so ecstatic that I could barely breathe in enough air to utter “yes”. I had fallen desperately in love with the Prince on my fourteenth birthday when he’d politely kissed the back of my hand. The heat of his lips through my glove branded my heart in some indelible way that I had tried to explain to Theo later, but had only resulted in my brother poking fun.

I wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Loren didn’t reciprocate my feelings—in the years following our betrothal, I’d seen the way he looked at Letticia. Still, I wasn’t jealous. Letty was beautiful, and most people gazed at her that way. I was the one Loren would marry. Even if his heart didn’t yet belong to me, my fiancé was kind and patient. Whenever I rambled on about the Council’s newest policies or fretted over the escalating war between Anterdon and Fengal, he would simply smile and squeeze my hand.

“How lucky Verdan is,” he always said, “to have such a dedicated future queen.”

That he never described himself as lucky as well only bothered me a little.

King Eldin himself claimed that Loren would grow to appreciate me, and that his son would rely upon my advice once we were crowned.

“You are more than your family ties,” said my future father-in-law during a dinner that Loren had once again missed. “When my son ascends the throne, he’ll realize that wisdom is a more valuable trait in a partner than beauty. He will need you, Vitrula.”

I’d been both flattered and slightly insulted by the King’s comment, as I considered myself passably pretty even if I was but a stern shadow next to Letty’s summery good looks. Loren himself had once referred to my chin as “elegant.” But King Eldin was, to risk being redundant, the King. He must be right. Loren needed me, and, in time, he would grow to love me as I loved him.

The night before our wedding, I lay in bed too excited to sleep. In the morning, I would turn eighteen, and Loren and I would be declared husband and wife. How could anyone be expected to slumber, when they were about to be eternally joined to the love of their life? Realty was so much more wonderful than any dream. I was pondering how to effectively convince Loren to join me for Council meetings, and whether or not he would mind if I called him “dearest,” when the door to my bedroom opened and five of the palace guards entered.

“Has Fengal invaded?” I asked before mentally dismissing my own question. Emperor Irax had signed the new peace treaty. He wouldn’t risk jeopardizing his alliance with Verdan, not with Anterdon pressing his borders. A fire, then. The extra guards must be a precaution due to the timing—tomorrow, I’d be Crown Princess. I continued to bombard the guards with questions as I got out of bed. “How are we evacuating the servants? Is Loren safe?”

One of the guards stopped me as I headed towards my closet for my cloak and boots. I glared at his hand, which clenched too tightly around my arm for comfort.

“Release me,” I ordered.

His grip tightened further. He led me down the hallway, rendered ominous and shadowy by the glowstone sconces, his companions forming a silent funeral procession behind. All refused to answer my questions, and my mind went through a list of increasingly dark possibilities that all ended with me sobbing over Loren’s casket. Instead of a graveyard, however, they brought me into the throne room still clad in my nightgown.

King Eldin sat on his throne, with Loren beside him on a less ornate version of the same seat. Both were fully dressed and wore formal half-capes despite the late hour, as did the several prominent members of the Royal Council flanking them, two Councilors on either side, standing stiff and tall as if greeting a foreign dignitary for the first time. But I knew these people. They had been my teachers, my mentors, instructing me on everything from Court etiquette to battalion formations.

My indignation over the guard’s mishandling was replaced by equal measures of relief and concern as soon as I laid eyes on my future husband. A bandage, spotted rust with dried blood, wrapped around his left hand.

“You’re safe!” I moved to embrace Loren. Other than his hand, he appeared uninjured. Praise Sen, the Triad, and whatever other kind spirits had watched over him. I even sent a brief thanks to the Silent Fourth, who recorded deaths in their black book and had mercifully left off Loren’s tonight.

The guard held me back. I couldn’t see his face through his lowered helm, but the sudden vise-like squeeze of his hands on my shoulders was more aggressive than any glare. I glared back. Would the Councilors consider it too undignified if I kicked a castle guard in the shins? I glanced between my bare feet and his armored greaves before deciding such a course of action would hurt my toes more than their intended target.

Besides, I needed to remain calm for Loren. Whatever he’d gone through, his night would hardly improve if I started a brawl with one of his soldiers. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves.

“What happened?” I asked. “How were you hurt?”

“Are you surprised to see His Highness relatively unscathed?” said Councilor Wrenly. The old man was the highest-ranking official of those in attendance, and his deep-set eyes usually held the absent expression of a man either lost in thought or hungry. Now he looked neither and glared at me with uncustomary severity.

“Surprised, no,” I replied. “Only relieved. I feared something terrible transpired.”

“Lies!” Councilor Venuda was a retired general and still intimidating despite being half blind from cataracts. Only the week before, she had escorted me on a tour of the palace barracks and introduced me to some of the guards that had served under her command.

“Explain this, traitor,” she hissed. Gone was the maternal woman who’d patiently explained Verdan’s military structure and recounted some of her more famous battles for my education. She opened her hand to reveal a small silver band.

King Eldin leaned forwards. “Does this belong to you? Examine it closely.”

I took the ring from Venuda. Her hand twitched as my fingers brushed against her palm, as if aching to reach for her sword.

“This was my mother’s,” I said. She’d been gifted the ring by the Anterdonian queen; the delicately laced silver leaves forming the band were too intricate to be duplicated by most Verdan artisans. “I didn’t think I had lost it. Loren, what’s going on?”

Loren’s lips pressed together in a white line.

“I have misjudged you.” King Eldin slumped back into his throne with a sigh. His posture made him appear tired and defeated, and his blond hair gleamed gray in the pale light cast by the glowstone chandelier above.

I studied the scene around me. Wrenly, Venuda, Timons, and Hargraves. All held seats at The Table of Law, the Council’s judicial branch.

"Am I on trial?” It should have been a ridiculous question.

Timons bared his teeth in a humorless grin. “We always said you were clever, Lady Rhys.”

“Not clever enough,” said Venuda. “Did you really believe you could get away with killing the heir to the throne?”

“What?” My mouth may have fallen open in shock. Her question struck me numb, inside and out. Someone had tried to kill Loren? But why? My fingers curled into a fist around my mother’s ring, until the pain of nails biting into my palm was the only sensation I could feel through shock. I would kill them myself before I allowed them to harm my beloved.

Loren stood up from his seat. He walked towards me but before descending the dais steps. “Why, Tru?” He reached out his hands beseechingly. Blood seeped through his bandage and stained his cuff crimson. I started towards him, but the guard once again held me back.

“I thought you were fond of me,” he continued. “How could you try to kill me?”

“I didn’t!” I cried. “I would never hurt you!”

My eyes begin to water. Don’t you dare, I chastised myself. Remember what Father says: tears are for infants and idiots. You are neither, and this is all a dreadful misunderstanding.

“Then from whose finger did the Prince seize the ring?” demanded Hargraves. “Whose hand wielded the knife that almost pierced his heart? Had His Highness not woken and knocked aside the blade, he would be dead.”

“I would never hurt Loren.” Could never hurt him. Did the Councilors know me at all? At yesterday’s Council meeting, they had praised my astuteness and complimented my dedication. Anger, fear, and hurt battled each other for dominance until I could no longer differentiate between emotions. I locked my knees to keep from crumpling onto the ground. “Someone must have stolen my ring. Is it so implausible that a murderer might also be a thief?”

The Councilors fell silent, but doubt remained etched upon their faces. On Loren’s face.

“Wrenly, you said there was further evidence?” said King Eldin.

The old man nodded. “A witness, Your Majesty, identified Lady Vitrula’s face in the moonlight during the attack.”

“Where is this witness?”

“Father, the lady in question was in my bedchamber during the attempt.” Loren grimaced. From the pain of his wound? Or shame from confessing that he’d been with another the eve before our wedding? I hoped for the latter explanation but suspected the first.

“Her reputation should not be tarnished by this affair,” he continued. “I know her to be all that is honest and good—her word can be trusted.”

His father sighed. “Lady Vitrula, I do not believe that your attack was premeditated. But your reaction to witnessing my son with another woman goes beyond what may be forgiven.”

“I was asleep,” I insisted. “Loren, how could you?” I had accepted that Loren didn’t love me. I now realized that he didn’t trust me either, not in the way he blindly believed his mysterious witness.

“The evidence is clear,” said Wrenly, “as is the law. The Council will meet to discuss Lady Vitrula’s fate in the morning. I doubt deliberations will take long.”

“Such a precedent cannot go unpunished,” added Timons, “lest other Northerners take her behavior as cue.”

“Whatever the Table’s decision, I shall abide by it.” King Eldin’s voice was grim. Final. “Nor shall I recommend leniency. I will not allow there to be a second Northern Uprising during my reign—my responsibility is to my son and my people.”

Loren said nothing and steadfastly evaded my attempts to make eye contact, as if he were the one whose heart had just been shattered. Only Venuda met my gaze as the guards dragged me from the throne room. From that lone cold look, I realized why the soldiers called her “Lady Mercy.”

It had been in irony.

I didn’t protest as the guard led me down the stairs to the dungeon. I wanted to scream, to defend myself. But what could I say? This entire scene was a nightmare. A joke, but I’d forgotten how to laugh.

The guard threw me into the cell. No one had ever shoved me before, not even Theo when our playtime had grown overly rowdy as children. Father, as loud as he roared, had never raised a hand against either of his children. But now, someone, who was supposed to provide my protection, shoved me into the dark cell as if I were a criminal. My knees cracked as they hit the stone floor.

Bruises would mark my arms as well, come morning. I curled upon the straw pallet, tucking my bare legs beneath my nightgown in a futile attempt to ward off the damp chill. Surely, the Council would see reason by then. Surely, Loren would realize that no dalliance was worth trusting over his own bride-to-be. He would embrace me and apologize. Perhaps even shed a remorseful tear or two. I would be icy in return and let him suffer a bit, I decided, before magnanimously agreeing to take him back. Surely, in the morning, things would revert to normal.

Surely, everyone would realize that I was innocent.

Surely.