Chapter One #2
By the middle of the day, I have everything prepared for the market.
I walk in the house to check on Papa, only to find him still sleeping.
I take off out the door and towards town.
My mind swims with fear for my papa, thoughts of Oliver and his travels, and the herbs I’d need for the healer tomorrow.
I never saw the man in front of me until it was too late.
“Oof,” I grunt. The man rushes past me. He barks at me to watch where I’m going.
Standing up, I bite back a retort and brush off the skirts of my dress. The dirt will have to stay– there’s no time to turn around and change. Annoyance floods my veins.
I move to pick up the spilled tea tins and tinctures from my basket.
Thank the Fates, the hens haven’t produced enough eggs for the market today.
I look back to see the man who pushed me to the ground just to give him a piece of my mind, but he’s already gone.
Shaking my head, I make my way into the village square.
“Isla!” My best friend shouts, startling me. She grabs my wrist and pulls me into her.
“Where have you been?” Raia scolds; her curly, copper hair riots against the braid she tries to wrangle it into. “Oh, please, please tell me you haven’t been with Sir Oliver again.”
I give my best friend a wry smile.
“If you insist,” I shrug. There is no way I can admit to her that I spend every waking moment thinking of him, that the man she swears he is, isn’t the man I know.
She hates him, hates what he stands for, and I will never be able to convince her Oliver is different from the rest of the elite class he belongs to. He isn’t his family. “What’s going on?”
My best friend looks panicked. Stress lines her features.
“The prince is arriving at Cahir Village. His coronation tour has started. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Everyone was in a panic.” She pulls me towards my market stand. “Here, here. Give me your stuff. We’re going to Cahir Manor to greet him. The market was just canceled.”
My shoulders deflate at her announcement. Of course. More news that will bring more taxes levied against the people of this village. That’s usually how it goes. Royalty visits and the Duke feels the need to spruce things up to impress him.
Dread pools in my stomach at the thought of going to the estate and the lost wages from today. I shake my head, clearing it. Oliver’s voice whispers in my mind, reminding me that everything will be fine. He is working on fixing it.
Raia pulls at my hand, leading me to the path of the estate. “You know, I really don’t understand how one who is so close to the Duke’s son is so oblivious about what is happening around you. Didn’t he tell you that the prince was coming?”
I sigh. “We have better things to discuss than the petty drama Philipa is bringing to the village, Raia.”
“Right, because what could be more important than our Prince gracing us with his presence?” She sounds exasperated. Another argument, another tick against Oliver that she will levy against him.
“Anyways, every big and important guest of the Duke is required and the entire attendance of the village — serf, poor fool, and rich merchant is required. No skipping.” Raia rolls her eyes. Distaste drips from her tongue.
It isn’t unusual for Duke Alastair to require the entire village to attend.
We’re a tiny village that consists mostly of the Duke’s serfs.
These occasional grand gestures of company are Duke Alastair’s way of boasting his power over his people— both to his guest and the villagers.
It’s a blatant reminder to everyone that he’s a very wealthy and powerful man.
The expansive estate is the jewel of the Cahir’s wealth. Wisteria climbs the front of the perfectly manicured home. Large gardens frame Cahir Manor in, giving it a romantic, wistful air. Boxed hedges line the carriage drive that are meticulously cared for by the serfs
Herbs and flowers call out to me, begging to be tended.
A spark of anger lights in my gut as I pass by peonies, foxglove, and honeysuckle.
Each plant that can help various people within the village is only planted here for looks and smells.
Raia pulls me into the estate and away from the temptation of walking the gardens, grumbling about the amount of people already here.
Anticipation dances along my spine while we walk towards the Great Hall.
I can’t believe I’ve forgotten the crown prince’s tour.
Prince Cailean is due to be crowned. Since his father’s death before his birth, the prince has been guided by his mother, the Queen Regent, and the royal council in ruling.
They’ve been waiting to crown him on his twenty-fifth birthday.
An honor Oliver hasn’t stopped talking about.
“Honestly, Isla. When are you going to give this thing up?” Raia chastises, reminding me the conversation surrounding my relationship with Oliver wasn’t over. I pinch the bridge of my nose.
It’s always a never-ending argument with her regarding my relationship with Oliver. She just doesn’t get it. The duke’s son of all people? The duke’s son? The very family that takes pleasure in bullying the lowly villagers under their rule. I press my lips together. Oliver is different.
“I know what I’m doing, Rai. I promise.”
“That’s the thing— I’m not sure that you do.
” Her lips purse and she twists her hands in front of her.
Raia opens her mouth to speak but instantly shuts her mouth when we enter the hall.
We slip through the serfs and villagers already in the room, when Raia eventually opens her mouth again.
“Let’s get near the back, so we’re not spotted,” she whispers.
Before we can move past the crowd, the thick, tall oak doors open, halting our progress. The Duke stands at the front of the grand room to greet the Prince and his traveling group.
Behind him, the Cahir family tree tapestry that boasts their distant relation to the former King. Oliver and his older brother stand to the left of the Duke, while the youngest sibling, Philipa, stays seated behind them with her mother.
They’re dressed in their finest gowns doused in their family color, a deep emerald green that lights Oli’s eyes up.
Henry, the eldest, looks down his nose at everyone who fills the room.
With his chin held high and his hands clasped behind his back, he looks every bit of the arrogant Duke’s son, waiting to take his father’s place over his peasants.
Oliver replicates his brother’s stance. A stark reminder of our different social class, of the mask he dons for his family. Everyone kneels as the Prince walks through the grand doors, except Duke Cahir who waits for his prince to get closer.
“Welcome my Prince,” Alastair Cahir bows deeply. “It is an honor to receive you in my home.”
The tall, raven headed prince nods his head.
He looks around the room, observing the people that have come to see the prince in all of his glory.
His eyes bounce from person to person, examining all the villagers who are mingled with the serfs standing by the walls on the right side.
The other side holds the nobility of the dukedom— Oliver’s aunts, uncles, and cousins that live within the estate.
I watch as Prince Cailean assesses each individual. My breath catches when his predatory gaze lands on me, piercing me with the cerulean blue eyes he’s famous for. Unease settles deep in my gut. I feel like I’m frozen in my spot.
A sharp stab breaks the spell the prince has on me. Raia murmurs under her breath, “kneel lower Isla. Acknowledge him. Dammit. Where is your head?”
I bow even lower than I think is possible, waiting for the prince to move on.
Annoyance dances in my chest at my foolishness.
The severity of the situation isn’t lost on me.
Rumors run rampant around the cruel tendencies of the Prince.
I’m one beat closer to finding out if those rumors hold any truth. The tension is suffocating.
“Duke Cahir,” the prince’s deep voice, addresses Sir Alastair.
“It’s been a long journey.” There’s an unimpressed air about the prince.
He couldn’t care less about being tired, where he was staying, or even the Duke welcoming him into his home, but a chance to humiliate him must be too much to pass up.
Everything is clearly beneath the prized crown prince.
Alastair nods dramatically, his hands are still held wide in a welcoming stance. “Of course, your Grace! Please allow Oliver to show you to your quarters. I’ll have some serfs sent up to tend to your every need.”
Cailean clasps his hands behind his back and nods, “very well then.” Within minutes of the prince leaving the room, we’re dismissed, but the tension still hangs in the air. It feels as if everyone is weary of the crown prince’s visit.
“I don’t feel good about this,” Raia whispers under her breath. We leave the estate in a rush.
“You worry too much, Rai. Everything will be fine,” I try to appease her, to tamper the worry that always seems to run rampant when visitors come calling.
“Something is happening, Isla. The prince doesn’t just gallivant around the countryside visiting his people.
This coronation tour is a distraction. What did Oliver say?
Where did he go? Why was he gone?” She peppers me with questions.
Each one hitting a mark of doubt even further than the last when I can’t answer them.
“It was just his duty. I’ve told you this,” I argue, weakly. “You listen to too many rumors. Plus, you ask too many questions. We knew he would be gone a lot with the Prince. He’s a captain in the royal guard. Plus, the prince is about to be crowned. Why wouldn’t he want to see his kingdom?”
Raia’s mouth tightens in disagreement, “things are changing Isla. There’s a reason the prince is here, other than to sightsee. It should be our place to worry about our home. Our lives. The rebellion—”
I rolled my eyes and cut her off, ignoring the warning bells that went off in my mind that told me to listen to Raia for once. “Oli has assured me his duty with the royal guard is just that — duty. Everything is fine.”
Raia starts to speak but closes her mouth and shakes her head.
I knew she listened to the rumors swirling about a rebellion; it was hard not to, especially when life felt bleak after each tax proclamation.
Raia hung onto every word, hoping one day that life in the village would be once more like the olden days when the King was still alive.
We were just babes when the king died, but Raia held tightly to the stories my papa would tell of a time when peace swept the kingdom.
People were happy, bellies were full, and the villages lived in harmony.
After the king’s unexpected death, a plague spread through village after village.
Many explained it was the land grieving our lost ruler.
Greed set in and famish began. It wasn’t until the Queen regent and her council stepped in with harsher laws, that the famish finally started getting better.
The greed, however, settled deeper into the hearts of the elite.
My mind racked with conversations I’ve had with Oli.
His adventurous tales of other villages and his time in the royal guard.
Why wouldn’t he tell me more about the rebellions?
He boasted about putting them out, but there were never any more details.
He refused to reason with why the people were rebelling, just that us simple-minded folk should listen to the heir of the throne.
I promised myself I’d ask Oliver about it when I saw him next.
I tried to ignore the tickle in the back of my mind that something bigger was happening.