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“MY CROWN is in my heart, not on my head.”
Shakespeare
The following day dawned clear and crisp; not a cloud could be seen, and the sky rolled overhead in a brilliant carpet of baby blue.
It was a few hours from nightfall but unusually warm. Blanchette felt beads of sweat gather in the heel of her palm as she clutched a straw basket. Sir Royce, a man freshly knighted in the siege’s wake, strolled beside her in a jerkin and trousers. One hand grasped his horse’s lead; the other rested absently on the sword’s pommel. They’d been walking in relative silence for nearly thirty minutes. She’d asked permission to gather herbs from the wood after supper the evening before. Rowan had allowed it, with the exception she’d be under guard, of course. He’d have escorted her, but he and Edrick had busied themselves with their plans.
The wheels in Blanchette’s head had turned, and she’d constructed her plan.
True to his word, Rowan released Jonathan that morning and returned Petyr to him, along with heavy chests of silver and provisions. Rowan had reimbursed him well for those miserable days in the dungeon.
Now, a shimmering sun set the wood afire; that light seemed to caress everything. The ancient trees, which were nearly stripped of their leaves, glowed brilliantly. The mossy hills and rises also looked regal.
Norland was alive, and Blanchette felt its pulse.
The clamor and yells of Rowan’s men faded away as Blanchette and Sir Royce wandered deeper into the wilderness. The greenery thickened. He stayed close behind her, tailing her at each step. Everywhere Blanchette glanced, she saw opportunity—a tree trunk fat enough to hide her body behind or foliage that could conceal her completely…
The wicker basket shook in her grip as her mind chased how she would outwit this kindly knight.
“How much farther in, my lady?”
“Kingswood grows bountifully along the river,” she explained as they stepped under a canopy of trees and followed the chatter of moving water. “It really shouldn’t be much farther now.”
And it wasn’t. Within moments, the Rockbluff River broke into sight. Blanchette’s heart constricted, and her thoughts slid to three weeks earlier. She saw herself in the third person, blood dripping from her wounded cheek and tears streaming from her eyes. She saw her father’s guards waiting at the little dock, her mother’s beautiful features pulled tight into a mask of horror.
The sun shone through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the water. The clear river flowed over rocks and pebbles, imbuing the wood with a soothing sound.
Tall trees lined the river’s bank, their leaves rustling in the gentle wind. The music of chirping birds and the occasional splash of a fish breaking through the water imbued the wood. The air was fresh and clean, with a hint of earthy and vegetal scents from the surrounding greenery.
As she walked along the river, its water sparkled in the sunlight, and she saw schools of fish darting through the shallow pools. The sounds of the woods were all around her; the river’s gentle flow was a constant companion. It was a peaceful scene. The beauty echoed of happier times, and the serenity of the river was a bittersweet reminder of what she’d lost.
Today and that night were complete opposites.
Why couldn’t the river have run gently, as it was right now? Why couldn’t it have led her family to salvation rather than doom? The night of the siege, the rain had lashed the water and turned it a murky brown in the lantern’s light. The water ran clear today, yet her family’s blood tainted it all the same.
The frustration made her quiver with anger and heartache. Her breaths shortened, and the viselike grip on her basket caused the wicker sticks to snag her skin. She glanced down at her finger and watched with detachment as a ring of blood circled it.
“Princess?” Sir Royce said, his deep voice cutting through her thoughts. “Are you well? Perhaps we should rest here a while.”
Am I well? she thought. The babble of this river is the same song that spirited away my mother. I may not see it, but this water still runs red with her blood. I have lost my family, my home, my very happiness.
Your liege lord is the crowning jewel on a crown that never belonged to him.
“I am, sir, just a bit warm,” she said instead, walking toward the bank where flowers bloomed in artful red and paisley blue patches. Sir Royce nodded, then followed her to the edge of the river. Absently, he knelt beside her and ran his fingers across the overlong grass and weeds.
“This is it, my lady? What you came here searching for?”
You’ve not the slightest idea about what I came here for. “Yes, this is the kingswood,” she simply said, cupping one of the plant’s bright, bell-shaped flowers. Then she put her hands to work, deftly plucking the stems from the sodden earth and placing them in the basket. She covered the vial inside her basket with the flowers, hiding it from the knight.
Sir Royce sensed and saw nothing.
He stood and strolled with his horse along the bank, allowing the courser to graze at leisure and drink from the stream. Her heart raced behind her ribs. Her courage sparked. She felt her chance encroaching. A gentle breeze stirred the river’s glassy surface, sending the leafy trees into a noisy chatter.
Norland is cheering for me, she mused.
“Where’d you learn about kingswood, my lady?” he asked conversationally.
Blanchette paused and smiled at him, then moved to another nearby patch and continued collecting the paisley flowers. “My brother, Willem, trained with sword and arrow and lance shortly after he began walking. My sister took to embroidery since she was old enough to hold needles. All three of us were taught to sit a horse and proper courtesies… but my talent lies between the pages of books. And so, I read, learned, and helped in all the ways I could. But kingswood specifically? An old friend taught me about it,” she finished with a whisper, thinking of Thomas and his betrayal.
