The Reign of Trees (6 page)

***

The tower opposite Illianah’s housed the bedchambers for the royal family. Prince Henrick took her halfway up the tower and into a bedchamber much grander than hers. A four-poster bed with intricately carved wood dominated the room. The curtains were drawn on the window, making the room feel eerie and cold.

Illianah was instantly drawn to the hearth, which her room lacked, but it did not look like it had been used for many years. Above the hearth was a painting of a beautiful woman with black hair and eyes of coal. Queen Sophia. “Your mother’s bedchamber?” Illianah asked.

“Yes,” Henrick replied. He went to the foot of the bed and knelt before a large chest, also beautifully carved from Deltegran wood.

“I never had the chance to tell you how sorry I was to hear of her death,” she said. Queen Sophia had been too ill to come to Burchess two years ago when Henrick had come with the intent of claiming Illianah’s hand; the queen had succumbed to her illness just months after King and Prince Henrick had returned to Deltegra. Illianah had wished to send her condolences to the king and his son, but her father forbade it. Relations between the two countries, which had always been tense, had escalated to a dangerous new level. In fact, had Deltegra’s forces been greater in number, it was certain that they would have attacked. It now appeared that Deltegra was finally getting its war, and on their home territory too. The attack on Freidlenburg must have been many years in the making.

“Thank you,” Henrick said without looking at Illianah. “It is obvious that this castle is still haunted by her absence, as you pointed out earlier.”

“I am sorry for not being more sensitive. I was being selfish.”

He smirked. “’Tis a common trait we royals possess.”

She smiled as well.

Prince Henrick began pulling items out of the chest. Lavish gowns were carefully folded and placed on top. Underneath those were books, candlesticks, and a large circular loom with loose threads hanging from the fabric. “My mother started this after Katherine died. Katherine was the third child my mother lost, and we believe it is what contributed to my mother’s ill health. Her heart had been broken one too many times. The border,” he said, grabbing the edge of the fabric, “is our family crest, woven into a chain that is to be unbroken by death. And each of these,” he pointed to the flowers inside the border, “represents the members of our family. My father, at the center, is the orchid.” Underneath the orchid, a tiny script was legible. “Henrick Da Via.”

“I am next, the eldest son—the elderberry—signifying that through me, the fruit of Da Via will blossom.” Underneath the elderberry, was the script “Donovan.”

“Donovan?” she asked.

“My mother called me by my Christian name. She said that I was too unique—too special—to have the name of another.”

“Donovan,” Illianah repeated. She liked how it sounded on her tongue: like a river rolling down a hillside brimming with large rocks. “It is fitting,” she said. Henrick always seemed so bold a name for someone as gentle as the prince. Even though she had known him as Prince Henrick her entire life, her heart changed his name to Donovan the second it rolled off her tongue.

He continued to show her the needlework. Two flowers represented his younger brothers who had both died in their infancy, and delicate yellow roses represented his sister Katherine. In the upper right corner was a pink flower—a weeping cherry blossom to represent his mother. Only it was not finished. There were just three small blossoms; many more were needed to cover a space of over a foot. “Perhaps you would like to finish it for her,” Prince Donovan Henrick Da Via said.

“Your family tapestry? I cannot.”

“I know I am most certainly not going to try my hand at it. And the king is too … well, perhaps you have noticed how his hands shake? We are the only two Da
Vias
left. It may never get finished.”

She wanted to suggest that someday he would have a bride and finishing the tapestry should fall upon her, but Illianah could not bear to speak those words.

“You are in want of something to keep your hands from being idle, and this would fill my mother’s dying request. She was very fond of you, Illianah.”

“She had not seen me since I was a child, not even thirteen.”

“Which would explain the fondness,” he teased.

Illianah carefully studied the complex needlepoint. In addition to feeling certain she should not be the person to finish the tapestry, she did not know her skill matched his mother’s. “I really do not feel qualified to complete this task,” she said, hoping he would hear the desperate uncertainty in her voice and reconsider his offer.

“Nonsense. It would make my mother very happy to have you do this for her.”

As Illianah continued to carefully study the needlepoint, Donovan left her side. She noticed one section, just below the cherry blossoms, where it was obvious that threads had been clipped and removed. Only a few white threads remained. “My Lord?” she asked, “what was here?”

He looked on her with eyes deeply pained and seemed to hesitate before answering. His mouth moved once without producing words, and then the second time he opened his mouth, his voice was not soft as she had expected. It was hard and edged with bitterness. “A lily,” he said.

A lily. Her flower. She was meant to be on that tapestry.

Chapter Five

It took Illianah two days before she gathered enough courage to work on the tapestry. But before she could begin her stitches, she had to make certain the remnants of the lily were removed. At first, she was angry about the flower. Queen Sofia should never have been so presumptuous to assume that Illianah would become a part of the Da Via family, even though the marriage had been in the works since she was eight. Her father valued the wood imported from Deltegra more than any other commodity, and Deltegra needed the protection a bond with Burchess would bring. But apparently, the two kings could not look past their differences even though a union would profit them both greatly. And neither king took into account the fact that the young prince and princess seemed to be fond of each other and would actually have been very happy in marriage. Illianah’s anger over the lily was then replaced with sadness; sadness for what may have been, as well as sadness for the losses within the house of Da Via. Illianah considered herself to be privileged that she had been spared the pain of losing loved ones. Her own mother had died during childbirth, and while Illianah often felt the emptiness in her heart from not having a mother, she never had shed tears over her mother’s death.

Illianah had another reason to be sad for Prince Donovan: she knew the pressure of providing an heir and she wondered if it loomed over Donovan with the same bleakness that seemed to cast a shadow across her womb. Although, she did realize she had one less concern than Donovan did; Illianah no longer had to worry about whom she would be forced to marry. She wondered if Donovan would have any say in the matter, and if he did, who would he choose to provide him with offspring?

After just minutes of thinking along those lines, Illianah became angry again and realizing her own jealousy made her blood boil even hotter.

Illianah carefully drew a sketch of the weeping cherry blossoms before she began her embroidery. She decided that there needed to be enough cherry blossoms to cover the remaining space on the tapestry, covering the spot where the lily had once been. This made her smile with satisfaction. It did not leave a space for whomever it was that would become Donovan’s bride. Her deliberate pattern on the tapestry was the only vengeance she would be allotted.

Three days after she began stitching the cherry blossoms, she felt brave enough to work on her needlepoint in the solar. She sat by the window and busied her hands, and after quite some time, Donovan entered the room, just as she hoped he would. He approached and said, “I see someone has stolen my favorite seat.” But a soft smile was upon his lips as he said this, indicating he had no real objection to her sitting there.

“I need good light,” she replied.

He came close enough to take one corner of the tapestry in his hand. Having him stand so near left her breathless, but she was also holding her breath in hopes that he would approve of her handiwork.

“It is lovely. Your stitches are every bit as elegant as mother’s,” he said, almost in reverence.

“Thank you, Donovan,” she replied.

He righted himself and looked as if he had turned into a ridged wooden beam. She quickly panicked. “Is it all right that I call you by your Christian name? Your mother was right, you are not a Henrick.”

The corners of his mouth tugged at a reluctant smile, but his eyes still held an immense sadness. “Only my mother called me Donovan. It is a bit shocking to hear it fall upon my ears after such a lengthy silence. But you may call me whatever you wish, as long as you do not use words like barbaric, or say that you hate me.”

She fought the urge to smile freely, yet her heart overpowered her face. “Ah, so you do remember how to smile,” he said. This made her smile even more, although her mind was telling her she was behaving foolishly and in a manner very unbecoming a married princess—a married princess who was being held captive by her enemies, nonetheless.

Donovan sat in a chair near the hearth and began to read some parchments. He continued to smile as he read. “Good news?” she inquired.

“Yes. Very. The battle at the border has been entirely in our favor.”

His good news should have been her bad news, but she felt no pain inflicted from his words. She bowed her head and pretended to be immersed in her work.

“Does this news trouble you, Princess Illianah?”

“Yes, greatly,” she lied. “You are distressing my father and his kingdom, therefore you are distressing me.”

“But of course,” he said. “Then why do you still smile?”

“I do no such thing.” She tried her best to force her mouth to frown, but it seemed to have no connection with her will.

Donovan pursed his lips, as if he were trying to keep from smiling as well. His eyes studied her carefully, as if he thought staring at her long enough would gain him entrance to her thoughts. Her heart fluttered within her chest like a giant butterfly trying to take flight. She was certain he saw her inhale deep enough to try and squash the butterfly. “Perhaps you smile because you are thrilled that you will have time to finish your needlepoint.”

“Exactly. I never like to leave something unfinished.” She regretted the words once they passed from her lips. She should have said “leave a project unfinished,” but the way she had worded it was full of implications.

When he smiled, his eyes were kind with understanding, causing her cheeks to warm with embarrassment.

She broke eye contact and went back to her work. Before long, she stole a glance at him. He was again reading, a content smile upon his face. It may well have mirrored the expression on her face, as she felt entirely peaceful—and daresay happy—sitting here with Donovan.

The king entered the room. “Montague says you have the letters from the border.”

“Yes. Here, father. It is good news. We have been blessed.”

Donovan gave the parchments to the king. As he reviewed them, he let out several pleased grunts. “It is very well,” he agreed. He handed the parchments back to Donovan, and then the king turned toward Illianah. She began to stand to address the king, but he held his hand up to stop her. Then his eyes caught sight of the tapestry. His brows furrowed. He looked from her to the prince, and then back again.

“I am sorry,” she began, “Don … Prince Henrick thought perhaps I could complete this for the queen. I mean no offense, nor disrespect.”

“Illianah needed something to pass the time,” Donovan explained.

“A word, please,” the king said to his son. They nodded at Illianah and left the room, but they did not go far; she could hear their voices coming from the nearby passageway. She held perfectly still and listened. “Too comfortable,” the king said.

Donovan’s reply was inaudible.

“You were sitting together like an old married couple.” The king’s voice grew angrier and louder.

“We were merely enjoying a moment.” The prince’s voice increased in volume and irritation as well.

“You trusted her with my beloved’s needlepoint.”

“Why would I not? Mother would have approved.”

“She is our enemy! You have given our family tapestry to the very woman with whom we are at war.”

“We are not at war with Illianah. We are at war with her father. He is our enemy. Burchess is our enemy. Not her.”

“You forget something, Henrick. She is married. That alone should make her your enemy. She now is a part of the kingdom of Liksland, also our enemy. You are playing a dangerous game, my son. A game where there will be no winner.”

There was no response from Donovan; the silence in the passageway made her think that the two
Henricks
had left. But then the prince entered the solar and collected his parchments. Illianah tried to look consumed by her work, hoping he would not realize that she had overheard.

“My Lady,” he said with a bow in her direction. He was leaving her, without even acknowledging that beautiful harmony they had so recently shared.

“I am sorry if I upset the king. I meant no offense,” she said.

“No, it is not you who has upset him.” Donovan’s eyes were no longer happy: they were again cold and hard like they had been on the day she arrived at the castle. It sent a chill down her spine. He blinked and broke eye-contact. Moments later, he returned his gaze to hers. “You heard?” he asked.

“Yes,” she admitted shamefully.

He merely nodded and then left the room, his footsteps first echoing in her ears and then in her heart. She sank into her seat, her heart beating heavily within her chest. Her eyes stung with tears. King Henrick wanted her to hear his exchange with his son, as the king thought she was behaving inappropriately as well. She gathered up her sewing and retreated to her bedchambers where she threw the tapestry, threads and needles on the floor. Her cheeks were hot with rage and humiliation. She stomped her foot against the rough wood floor, forcing the tears from her eyes. She would not cry over the Prince of Deltegra. He had already consumed enough of her tears.

The king said Donovan was playing a dangerous game, but it was not Donovan who had initiated the game. She had. Intentionally. She had hoped to woo the prince—to make him fall for her again. Then he would feel remorse and no longer want to keep her as a prisoner. Her ploy was reckless and gave no heed to Donovan’s heart. But he was supposed to be the enemy and she should not care if she hurt him. Yet, the more she thought of it, she realized it was no ploy. She wanted his love. She needed it. And most likely, it would not result in her freedom. It would only make matters worse. She was lawfully married to another. Her heart should belong to Leif.

Illianah fell to the bed. She could no longer contain her tears. She was wretched. King Henrick was right to warn his son. She could not be trusted—not when Donovan’s heart was the item of her conquest.