Chapter 32
Cyrus hands fell to his pants to fasten them. “Sameer!” he called in a panic. “This is–!”
“Strange. Very strange,” the Prince said. He canted his neck and then righted it. “You’re?” Then he fled from the barn.
Evergreen followed him. “Sam! Wait!”
He was shaking his head. He said, “I must say, this certainly explains why you have been so distracted as of late. I thought you were concerned over your home. I never thought–”
I caught up to them just as the Prince whipped around to jeer a finger in my swordsman’s face.
“How long has this been going on?” he demanded. “How long have you been screwing my wife?”
“Stop it!” I cried. “Stop it! Do not take it out on Cyrus. He–”
Sameer looked at me. “He what?”
“He’s not…” I didn’t know. “Please. He’s only doing as I asked.”
“As you asked?” Sam flattened his expression. Then he looked between us, shocked. “Why would you ask him to–” He looked back at Mr. Evergreen. “She asked you to… to… fornicate with her? In the stables? My stables?”
Cyrus was panting. He swallowed. “Sam, I’m so sorry you found out like this.”
Sameer frowned before lunging forward, grappling, and tackling him to the ground. I shrieked; the two of them ignored my pleas to stop and fed into each other like provoked boys in the school yard.
“Stop it!” I yelled. “Stop it right now!”
They didn’t. Sameer threw a punch and struck Mr. Evergreen in the face.
I gasped, forcing myself into their roe and ripping the Prince off of my Sword.
I fell back dramatically and into mud. “Ugh!” I whined, shaking it from my hands and arms. “You have no right!” I scolded him.
“You have no right to be angry with me! Or him! Or either of us! Or to ruin my dress!”
Sam stared at me, then after a second, drew his handkerchief and offered it.
“Apologize,” I said.
He nodded. “I’m sorry you had to see that, my love. It was very uncouth of me.”
“What?” I groaned. “Not to me, you imbecile!” I yelled. “To him!” I pointed to Mr. Evergreen.
“I will not,” Sam said, watching him. He glowered.
“Svana, it’s fine,” Cyrus said.
I shook my head. “It isn’t fine, it’s–”
Suddenly, a gardener emerged from behind a hedge and furtively apologized as he ran off. I felt very seen. The Prince watched closer, like he was finally seeing me for the first time in his life.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” Cyrus said.
Sameer didn’t answer him.
I lowered my voice to a venomous hiss. “Mr. Evergreen has apologized, Your Highness. What do you say?”
He clicked his tongue. “Absolutely nothing. He’s fucking my wife!”
I lit in fury. “I am not your wife! And you! You have been fucking another woman since the moment I arrived to marry you! Since before! What audacity you possess to be surprised! I’m not your wife! I’m not your property!”
“How long?” he asked. “How long have you been sleeping with my dearest friend?”
“Oh, how long? You want to know how long? You don’t get to ask me that!” I said. “You don’t get to ask me anything! You’re not exactly Intended of the Year, are you?”
“No,” he said. He leaned smugly. “And any other man, fine. I understand your intention–an eye for an eye, yeah? But my best friend, Svana?” He bristled. “My best friend is an awfully low blow, do you not think?”
“A low blow?” I gathered myself, ignoring the pure anger that boiled itself inside. “You think I am fucking your friend to get back at you? To even the score? Oh, sure! Sure! Because that is the only thing that makes sense, huh? The only reason I could want him over you?”
“Svana,” Cyrus urged. “Leave it alone.”
“I don't want to leave it alone,” I said. “I want him to know.” I addressed the Prince, “Tell me, my love, do you think I’m sleeping with Mr. Evergreen to hurt you?”
“I do,” he replied.
“You’re such an idiot!” I screamed.
“Svana, stop it!” Cyrus said. “Sameer, I’m sorry.”
“I’m the idiot, am I?” Sam asked. “Did he tell you that I paid him to take you on your rides?”
“Yes, he told me!”
“Good.” Sam grinned. “Then I suppose I don’t feel bad seeing as he’s clearly getting his money’s worth!”
Mr. Evergreen struck the Prince in the face, a solid punch. Sam stumbled backward, holding his nose as blood poured from it. It stained the pads of his finger and thumb.
“Willem!” I cried, catching his hand and bringing it to my chest. “Please. Please.”
“Willem?” Sam was confused. “Who in God’s name is Willem?”
“I…” I looked at my swordsman. “I said damn.”
Cyrus patted the air. “I think we’re all just very upset,” he said. “I think we’re all upset and we need to take a second to calm down.”
“You hit me in my face,” Sam moaned, barely touching it. “You know that’s my best quality.”
“Your face is fine,” Cyrus said.
The Prince nodded. “It feels like it might bruise.”
Cyrus bent him at the waste, helping him lean over to drain the blood. Then picked up his handkerchief from the dirt and gave it back.
“Here,” he said.
There was a painful lull. Then someone was behind us with a soft metallic cling–my Lord Commander. There were several suits behind him.
“Elías?” I asked.
He met my eyes. His gaze passed from Sameer to Cyrus, to me again. There was something off about his arrival that made me sick. Something off about Elías’ face.
“Elías?” I asked again.
Sam and Cyrus still took whispered jabs at each other.
“It doesn’t matter,” Cyrus said. “You’ve already won.”
“How have I won?” Sam asked.
“Because it’s over,” he replied. “You marry her in a matter of days. And I, no matter the circumstance, no matter my feelings, can never have her like that. And it’s not enough. So I concede, you win.”
“Svana,” Elías spoke. His voice was low and cordial.
“Your feelings?” Sameer asked. “Are you… Do you mean to say that you, what? That you love her?”
Evergreen nodded, but despite the confirmation of everything I had longed to hear, my attention went back to my knights.
“Svana,” Eli said again.
Then it dawned on me, and I felt a deep unsettling in my soul.
“I…” I searched the yard. “That’s the… the King’s personal guard?”
Elías nodded. He drew his sword and swung it out in decorative rotation, just as I had seen him practice a hundred times before.
In a mirror of the motion, all of the men behind him did it, too.
Then they brought their points down to stab the dirt and the hilts of each blade pinned in front of their faces.
I shook my head. “No,” I said. I inhaled sharply. “No, where is my father? Is he here?”
Each knight took a knee–even the commander. In unison, they said, “On my faith, it is my vow–”
I shuttered, trying to force Ser Elías back to his feet but he would not budge.
“Stop it,” I said. “Stop it!”
“My sword is yours to wield. I observe no other fealty, than that of the Lord’s and yours.”
“Elías,” I begged him. “Stop. Stop it, please. No. No. What’s happening? Where is my father?”
“This is my oath, my honor, my duty, on pain of death.”
The knights went silent. They waited.
“Elías,” I tried. “Is he, is he dead?” I asked.
“Oh, God,” Sam muttered. He took a step closer then paused. “Svana…”
“No,” I told him. “No, there’s been a mistake. It’s fine. Everything is fine.”
Elías lifted his gaze. He waited for my response. I was flailing internally; I tried to recall the words I was taught to say but every attempt was a failure. All I could hear was Father’s voice.
Iron does not shatter. Iron does not shatter. Iron does not shatter.
“I, uh,” I couldn't think.
“Humbled,” Elías whispered. “You are humbled.”
I nodded, but my voice was shaky. “I-I am humbled and accept, I accept your fealty. Rise.”
They did, noisily, and then Ser Elías released an anxious sigh. There was a solemn truth behind his eyes and even though I knew, I said, “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“Svana,” I heard someone behind me, but there was a swooshing in my ears and all I could see was my knight.
Someone said, “This conversation should be private,” and I, possessed by my father’s ghost, felt his temper spew out of me like vomit.
“Then stop talking!” I yelled, quickly inhaling deep. I cooled and said, “Stop it. Please.” Then I met Elías, focused. “Lord Commander, do not make me repeat myself. Tell me. Tell me now. Is His Majesty dead?”
“Yes,” he said.
The word hit harder than any had blown I had ever known, and in its aftermath, there was a distinct and hollow pain. I remembered that I loved my father, even in his worst, and I felt guilty for not writing to him when I had the chance.
“Are you… Are you sure?” I asked.
“Your Majesty,” he said, allowing me the dignity.
I folded in half; my hands dug into the weaves of my braid. A pair of arms tried to capture me but I fought them off, instead trembling and falling and crouching, until finally I sat myself into the dust.
“Svana, my love,” Sameer said, still insistent that he comfort me. He placed a hand on my shoulder.
Behind him, Cyrus simply watched. Frozen in time, like me. I could not escape the words that resurfaced as his… It’s over. I concede. You’ve won.
It’s over, he’d said. Cyrus had left me.
“My love. It’s… It’s alright,” Sam said.
I wanted to argue, to tell him to eat a rock, or leap from one much larger, but I just sat there lifeless–a hunk of rotting meat.
“Your Majesty,” Elías said. “I am very sorry for the crassness of this arrival; it was not my wish to do things this way. For that, I apologize, as you seem preoccupied with... other things, but there are matters that we must attend to. One of which is your Coronation. By law it must occur within the week.”
“What?” I asked, bemused. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we have to go,” he said. “Now. Oreia is far away.”
“Alright,” I said. I stood, settling my skirt again, despite its ruin.
“That’s it?” Sam argued. “Congratulations, you’re Queen? With zero explanation on who or what happened?”
“Sam,” Cyrus said.
“Was it bandits?” he asked.
Elías shook his head. “No, Your Highness.” He exhaled, pausing. “The doctor said it was his heart.”
“His heart… Did he suffer?” I asked. “Were you there? With him, I mean? Did he…?”
He said, “Yes. I was there. No. He did not suffer. He didn’t die alone.”
Did not, I repeated to myself. Did not. Not ‘didn’t.’ I wept and Sam moved closer, cautious.
“It’s alright,” he said.
“No, it is not alright,” I replied. I glared at him. “My father dies and it’s alright?”
Elías cut in, carefully knifing the space between us with his bladed hand. “Your Majesty, we need to leave.”
“Of course,” I said.
I prayed to turn to stone. Oreia was so far away. Everything, everything was so far away. I nodded, then stood, discarding the Prince and Mr. Evergreen, to fall into line with Ser Elías.
“Your Highness, Mr. Evergreen,” he said on my behalf. “You’ll forgive Her Majesty for her swift departure. We’ll be in touch.”
“Nothing to forgive,” Sam said. He offered me a bow. “Whatever you need, Your Majesty, we’ll see it done.”
I hated the title worse from his mouth, but I hated myself more for expecting Willem to say anything at all. He didn’t. He just stood there and breathed and we looked at each other in silence, until it became too empty and too long, and I left.