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CHAPTER 5
My castle grew larger and larger with every step Fiona took. While it was comforting to see my home, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy and nervous as well. I only had a few days left until my crowning ceremony. Despite riding Fiona, marching with the army itself had slowed me down more than I had hoped it would. I had already written to Wimfred and instructed him to send out invitations to everyone with name and rank and to prepare a large festival for my people, with drink and food paid for by the crown.
I rode Fiona over the large rock bridge and into the castle’s enormous front courtyard. I needed no announcements for my arrival; my army could be seen from miles away.
Staff flocked out from all doors and corners, lining up beside Fiona and bowing. Fiona had barely come to a stop in front of the main gate to the castle when the doors were opened wide and Wimfred blasted through them.
“Your Highness!” he shouted and rushed over, his sweaty forehead glittering in the sun. He had grown a goatee, and instead of his colorful silken wardrobe, he was dressed all in black. So were all the servants. I looked down at my own simple white dress. Had I already broken protocol before even entering my home? Whispers too quiet to make out echoed through the lines of servants. I had planned on changing into a mourning dress as soon as I got here, but should I have stopped on the way to have one made?
“My Queen,” Wimfred said loudly. “The joy to see you arrive in good health...” He bowed and lifted a handkerchief to his eye to dry a tear. I had forgotten how dramatic he was. Or maybe his joy was real?
“A great honor indeed,” a man’s voice made its way over to me. I looked up and found an older man dressed in gold and purple silk finer even than that of kings. He had a large golden cross in his hand that he used as an aid for walking as much as he did for condemning or blessing.
Disappointment mounted inside me. I knew him all too well. This man led all the important religious ceremonies that took place on royal grounds, including my mother’s funeral. His name was Gunther Brunswick, head of the Southern church.
“Your Grace,” I said and bowed slightly. What an insult to all of us that we had to call this man “Your Grace,” considering how despicable he was.
Gunther made his way over to me at an incredibly slow pace. Most likely to demonstrate to everybody who was watching that he could make me wait.
“My poor child, I see you have fallen on hard times. How unfit you look,” he said, analyzing me as he came to a halt a few feet away. There was judgment and disrespect in his tone. The whispers in the courtyard intensified.
I stared at him, not smiling, not frowning. He was almost bald, short, and had the most peculiar gray eyes that sometimes looked almost white and demonic. If it was any other man, I would simply move Fiona a few steps forward to push him out of the way, a demeaning gesture to prove who I was and that I wouldn’t tolerate disrespect. But, unfortunately, he was the most powerful man in the kingdom after my father. I’d spent countless nights wondering who might challenge my rule—from the cruel but incredibly wealthy Lord Amlon to the power-hungry drunk Lord Drossel—but why, I scolded myself, why in the name of God had I never thought of the one man who already had the most powerful weapon in his pocket: people’s souls.
Foolish, foolish Mina!
I dismounted Fiona. “Your Grace is too kind to worry about me. But there is no need. The hard times have taught me valuable lessons,” I countered confidently—or at least I tried.
Gunther narrowed his eyes at me briefly, then smiled. “I am relieved to hear that. What about your father, our mighty and beloved king? Surely you have not left him in the North for the barbarians to do God knows what with his body...Eat it, perhaps?”
A shocked mutter erupted among the servants; some of the women even wept.
For a moment, I was lost. I didn’t know what to say. My father was indeed not with me, something I now had to explain to the one man who would disapprove of any scientific logic I could offer him. Not because he didn’t believe in it—the higher and more educated members of the church welcomed it. But right now, preying on the simple minds was this man’s weapon. And I had played right into his hands.
I faked a smile at Gunther.
How did my father manage to keep this snake under control so well? If only I had paid attention to these matters instead of obsessing over gold and dresses.
“My father is in the South, with the Lord and Lady Fellsbruck. God-fearing people, as you know.”
“Ah.” Gunther frowned, dismissive again. “Barely across the border, but South indeed. Why has he received his funeral up there, then? Our people long to have him here at the Rhine Dome where they may pay their respects.”
“No, there was no f-funeral yet,” I stuttered like an idiot. Gunther placed a hand on his chest in shock.
“No funeral yet? Are you saying that the king’s soul is still not with God?”
I thought of my father’s liver being devoured by rats and a familiar, heavy weight settled on my chest. “It was a long journey, and I needed to make arrangements for him and...and...” I felt like I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs. Gunther looked at me, victorious. Something about this devil-eyed man reminded me of Algar. The anger that rose inside me made way for my strength again.
“My dear father is in the hands of the best physicians in the kingdom. They are preparing his body for the long journey back to his castle so he can be put to rest here. Just as God would want it.”
Some servants mumbled in agreement. Gunther listened to them, then shrugged. “An unusual delay, but it is comforting to hear he will be with God soon. I have to say, very pragmatic thinking, My Queen. Much like the tales I’ve heard of you.” He threw a curt nod at my dress. “We are in mourning, Your Highness. If you need a reminder of the protocol of God and this court, I’d be happy to—”
“Your Grace,” Wimfred dared to interrupt Gunther as he bowed deeply in front of him. “Please don’t disturb yourself any further with details unworthy of His Grace. Her Highness has already written that it is of the upmost importance to prepare her black wardrobe so she can be ready as soon as she steps foot in the castle. Is that not so, My Queen?”
“Indeed,” I lied. I didn’t write it, although I’d had the intention of doing so. Stuck in weeks of hell in between my father’s death and losing my love and kingdom, wearing black daily wasn’t at the top of my list of things to worry about. My fake smile vanished. “Now, will you excuse me?” I took a deep breath and turned toward my servants. “I need to change to meet the Lord in the chapel for prayers. In the traditional black, of course.”
Some servants nodded in relief. Gunther, on the other hand, threw me a look, then faked another smile. “Naturally, Your Highness.”
Instead of bowing, he merely titled his head downward, then watched me leave with Wimfred and Dieter following right behind me. I could feel his intense gaze burn into my back.
