Chapter 47 Alain #2
I glanced around the room with what I hoped appeared to be genuine confusion rather than the profound relief flooding through me.
The bed was still made, Isabeau’s borrowed gowns still hung in the open wardrobe, the book I’d read to her during her fever still lay on the windowsill.
But the Isabeau-shaped absence in the room was palpable.
“When did this happen?” I asked, buying time to compose my thoughts. “I’ve been at the tournament since dawn.”
“The guards were found drugged not an hour ago,” Theron supplied, clearly enjoying the drama. “Sleeping like babes in the hallway.”
Gaspard limped a step forward, and I fought the urge to put my hand on my sword. Up close, his perfect features seemed more mask than man, a carefully constructed facade hiding something rotten beneath.
“A pity, Your Highness,” he said, his voice a practiced blend of concern and deference. “I had hoped to greet this maiden from my village. To explain the... misunderstanding between us.”
Misunderstanding. Was that what he called rape and torture? The urge to drive my fist into his face, to feel bones crack beneath my knuckles, was nearly overwhelming. I clasped my hands behind my back to keep them from betraying me.
“What misunderstanding?” I kept my tone carefully neutral, even as bile rose in my throat.
“She is a witch,” Gaspard stated, as if discussing the weather.
“Found practicing dark arts in Thorndale. She was sentenced to death according to our customs, but somehow survived. Magic, obviously.” He smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes.
“Such abominations cannot be allowed to live among decent folk.”
My father nodded in agreement, his expression grim. “Lord Coventry has suggested an appropriate solution. Since she’s escaped, we’ll make her capture the final event of the tournament.”
“A hunt,” Theron added, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “The forest witch as prey. Quite fitting, don’t you think?”
The room tilted slightly beneath my feet as understanding dawned. They intended to hunt Isabeau. Like an animal. Chase her through the forest that had already claimed so much from her, with Gaspard leading the charge, no doubt.
“She won’t get far,” Father continued. “Lord Coventry knows her patterns, her likely destinations. We’ll find her. And when we do...” He left the sentence unfinished, but his meaning was clear.
Fire. The traditional end for those accused of witchcraft in Durand. Isabeau bound to a stake, flames licking at her feet while my father and brother watched. Gaspard finally destroying what he couldn’t possess.
“Unless,” Father turned to me, eyes narrowing, “you helped her escape. Did you, Alain? Did you free the witch that’s clearly bewitched you?”
The question hung in the air between us. One wrong word, one flicker of emotion, and I’d condemn myself in his eyes. Worse, I’d confirm his suspicions about Isabeau.
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “You think I helped her? Father, I’ve been on the competition field since before dawn. I’ve barely had time to piss, let alone orchestrate a prison break.”
“And yet you were quite taken with her,” Theron observed. “Reading to her like a nursemaid. Visiting her chambers at all hours.”
I shrugged, affecting indifference I didn’t feel. “She saved Thibaut. I was grateful. Nothing more.”
“Your men guarded her door,” Father pressed.
“Men who take their orders from you as well,” I countered. “I placed them there to keep her safe, not necessarily to keep her in.” A partial truth, at least. After our argument, my intentions had shifted from protection to confinement, something that shamed me now.
“The maid,” Gaspard said suddenly. “That old woman who left for the castle earlier! She served wine at our luncheon today. Seemed... agitated when we discussed the witch.”
Theron snapped his fingers. “Yes! Left in quite a hurry, too.”
Father turned to the guard by the door. “Find Brigida. Bring her to me immediately.”
“Wait,” I said quickly, my mind racing. “Brigida has been with me all day besides bringing you wine. She aids me between events, has done so for years. Fetches water, tends minor injuries. She’s been with me besides when asked to help fill your cups. Ask any of my squires.”
The lie came easily, surprising even me. But I couldn’t let them focus on the old woman. If Brigida had helped Isabeau escape—and given the timing, it seemed likely—then she was as much at risk as Isabeau herself.
Father studied my face, searching for deception. I met his gaze steadily, years of court politics serving me well.
“Very well,” he said finally. “Though I find it convenient that your personal servant was the one attending the witch.”
“Hardly convenient,” I countered. “Simply efficient. Brigida knows my needs and schedule. Made sense for her to tend to my guest as well.”
Gaspard frowned, clearly displeased by this derailment, but said nothing. Theron seemed to lose interest, his attention already drifting to the wine pitcher one of the guards had brought.
“The hunt proceeds regardless,” Father declared. “Tomorrow at dawn for the winners today. We’ll start at the forest’s edge and work inward.”
“I’ll plan my own capture, seeing to it that I’ve already won two events with one left,” I said, seizing the opportunity before me to play it off. If I couldn’t stop this madness, I could at least be part of it. Could perhaps ensure Isabeau’s safety if I found her first.
Father nodded, apparently satisfied with my show of loyalty. “Good. Now return to the tournament. Your absence probably has already been noted.”
I bowed, the gesture hiding the rage contorting my features. “Of course, Father. I wouldn’t want to disappoint our guests.”
I strode from the room, maintaining a measured pace until I was out of sight. Then I moved with purpose, taking the servants’ stairs down to the kitchens. If Brigida had helped Isabeau escape, she would be trying to appear normal, going about her duties while anxiety ate at her insides.
The kitchen was chaos, as always during tournament days. Cooks shouted orders, scullery maids scurried between steaming pots, and the air hung heavy with the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread. I scanned the room, ignoring the startled looks my presence drew.
There. At a table near the back. Brigida stood with her back to me, hands deep in dough, kneading with more force than the bread required. Even from this distance, I could see the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremor in her flour-covered fingers.
I approached quietly, speaking only when I was directly behind her. “Walk with me, Brigida.”
She started, flour puffing up in a small cloud as her hands froze mid-knead. When she turned, her face was carefully composed, but fear lurked in the depths of her eyes. “Your Highness. I cannot leave the bread—”
“Now,” I said softly, making it clear this wasn’t a request.
She wiped her hands on her apron and followed me to a small storage pantry off the main kitchen. I closed the door behind us, plunging the space into relative quiet, the kitchen’s chaos muffled by thick wood.
“I told them you were with me all day,” I said without preamble. “That you’ve been aiding me between events, as you have in previous tournaments.”
Confusion flashed across her weathered features. “Your Highness?”
“They know Isabeau is gone,” I continued, watching her face carefully. “They suspect someone helped her. You were mentioned specifically.”
Her eyes widened, but she said nothing, her hands clutching at her apron.
“I gave you cover,” I explained. “But I need to know where she went. They plan to hunt her, Brigida. Like an animal. And when they catch her—” I couldn’t finish the sentence, the horror of it choking me.
“Hunt her outside of the tournament?” Brigida whispered, her face paling. “The poor child. I didn’t think they’d bother once she was away—”
“Where did she go?” I pressed. “Please. I need to find her before they do.”
Brigida studied my face, searching for something. Whatever she found seemed to reassure her, because her shoulders sagged slightly. “I don’t know exactly,” she admitted quietly. “I suggested Eldagh. It’s a place where women can make their own way, where men don’t ask too many questions.”
“But she didn’t go there?” I prompted, sensing there was more.
“She refused my coin,” Brigida continued. “Said her path was less than two days’ ride from here. That she had to go where she was needed.”
The Forbidden Forest. Of course. Not Thorndale, which was farther, but directly back to whatever waited for her in those accursed woods. Back to the beasts that had left their mark on her flesh. Back to the dungeon where I’d found her.
“Did she say anything else? Anything that might help me find her?”
Brigida hesitated, then shook her head. “Only that she was needed elsewhere. That without her, something would suffer. She seemed... determined. As if returning to that forest was worth any risk.”
I closed my eyes briefly, trying to make sense of it all.
Isabeau had been desperate to leave the castle from the moment she arrived, despite her injuries, despite the danger.
She’d spoken of beasts and curses, of responsibilities I couldn’t begin to understand.
I’d dismissed it as delirium, as trauma-induced fantasy. But what if it wasn’t?
“Your Highness,” Brigida’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper, “she’s not what they say. Not a witch like in the old stories. She saved Thibaut when she could have let him die. Whatever power she has, she uses it to heal, not harm.”
“I know,” I said simply, because I did. Whatever Isabeau was, whatever abilities she possessed, she wasn’t evil. Wasn’t the monster Gaspard and my father wanted to destroy.
“Will you tell them?” Brigida asked, fear creeping back into her voice. “That I helped her?”
“Never,” I promised. “As far as anyone knows, you’ve been with me all day. But stay out of sight as much as possible for now.”
Relief washed over her face. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
I nodded, my mind already racing ahead. “I need to return to the tournament. Suspicion would arise if I’m gone too long.”
“And afterward?” she asked, surprising me. “What will you do?”
What would I do? The question echoed in my head as I considered my options. Return to the tournament, pretend nothing was wrong, prepare for tomorrow’s hunt with the rest of them? Or follow the pull in my chest that had been there since the moment I’d seen that hooded figure ride past my tent?
“I’m going after her,” I said, the decision crystallizing even as the words left my mouth. “Tonight when darkness rests the day. Before they can organize their hunt.”
“They’ll call it treason,” Brigida warned. “Aiding a witch.”
“They can call it what they like,” I replied, a strange calm settling over me. “I won’t let them hunt her down like an animal. Won’t let Coventry anywhere near her again.”
Brigida nodded, a small smile touching her lips. “You’ll need supplies. Food, water, weapons.” She thought for a moment. “I can gather what you need without raising suspicion. Meet me at the west stables at midnight.”
I studied the old woman, seeing strength and determination where before I’d noticed only servile efficiency. “Why are you helping us? Helping her?”
“Because in sixty years of service to this castle, I’ve seen what power does to men,” she said simply.
“How it twists them. Makes them believe they’re above the gods’ judgment.
But I’ve also seen goodness. In you. In her.
” She straightened, squaring her shoulders.
“And I’m too old to fear much anymore against those who seek to repress us. ”
I reached out, clasping her work-roughened hand briefly. “Thank you. I won’t forget this.”
“See that you don’t,” she replied, her tone suddenly brisk. “Now go, before they send someone looking for you. Win your tournament, play the dutiful son. Tonight, you become something else entirely.”
I slipped from the pantry and through the kitchen, my mind racing faster than my stallion ever could.
The joust awaited, followed by the sword competition.
I would excel at both, would give my father and brother and Gaspard no reason to suspect my intentions.
I would smile and bow and accept accolades as the dutiful second son.
And then, under cover of darkness, I would become what I’d always truly been beneath the trappings of royalty. A man who did what was right, regardless of consequence. A man who protected those who couldn’t protect themselves.
I would find Isabeau before the hunters did. Before the beasts of the forest reclaimed her. Before whatever curse or magic bound her to that place could sink its teeth into her flesh once more.
I would find her, and this time, I would listen. Really listen to what she’d been trying to tell me all along.
Even if it meant I could never return to the life I’d known. Even if it meant forsaking my birthright, my family, my kingdom.
Some prices were worth paying. Some people worth saving. And Isabeau, with her amber eyes and resilient spirit, was worth everything.