Beryl’s Requiem: Seasons of Sorrow
by:
I can remember quite clearly where I was the day my father died. It was winter and I was in my chambers, playing chess with my governess, the Lady Alainne. Clothilde was humming tunelessly on a stool next to the fire as she darned a pair of stocking that I had torn running through the barren berry thickets. It was a restful, peaceful day and I was filled with a dreamy lassitude, certain that all was right in my world and nothing could ever go wrong. The palace was unusually silent, all of the men, and no few of the women, had gone for a boar hunt in our forests, to grace that night’s table. The fire was more than adequate to keep the three of us warm and some hot, buttered scones and mulled cider waited for us to grow hungry.
Lady Alainne had just made a move when an abrupt knock on my chamber door broke us from our tranquil reverie. Clothilde, a puzzled look on her face, scurried over to open the door. There stood a tall man, in thick, snow-covered, blood-stained clothing a solemn, saddened expressionon his face. I didn’t understand what his presence in my rooms meant, Clothilde and Lady Alainne did, almost immediately. My governess stood up and drew me up beside her, her hand resting on my lower back. The man entered, and still I did not know what he was about. I was confused, and no little frightened, for here stood a man where no man was allowed to be, except for my father and brother. He stopped directly in front of me, made a fist and placed it over his heart, then bowed. I was too busy watching the snow drip from his boots onto my thick carpet to really pay attention to what he was doing. It was not until he straightened and began speaking that I truly began to grap the import of his visit.
"Your Highness, dear Princess Beryl, and most valuable treasure of Arcadia, I regret to inform you that your father, His Majesty the King, died today." Here his voice broke. My Papa had been beloved by his people and to bear this message to me must have truly been an agony.
Clothilde sank into a chair, clutching her heart and stared at the man, eyes filled with tears. She had nursed papa as she had nursed me, and it must have been a blow to hear the man she had raised as her own had died. Lady Alainne, swallowed audibly and swayed for a moment before catching herself. On my part, I could do nothing but stare at the growing puddle at the man’s feet, pale and wan and disbelieving of the news.
"His Majesty had ridden on ahead with some few of his huntsmen and His Royal Highness, the Prince. The hounds had scented a boar and they were the only ones with horses good enough to keep up with the dogs. Then the hounds had split in two, one going east, the other heading west. Prince Mykel suggested that the huntsmen go west and that he and the king go east, where the baying was louder. The king agreed and they seperated. After about fifteen minutes of searching, the huntsmen were riding back, it seemed the hounds had lost the scent. Then came a great cry and they rode as fast as they could for the king. By the time they arrived it was too late. The boar lay dead, the prince’s spear in it’s heart, and the king also, savaged by the foul beast’s tusks. The prince lay kneeling next to his father, in tears, blaming himself, for it was he who had suggested the hunt and he who had advocated the separation."
The man’s words seemed to come from far away. For some reason, I glanced at the chess table and saw what Lady Alainne’s final move had been. Checkmate. My king lay fallen on the board.
I did not cry that day. Merciful blackness enshrouded me instead and I knew no more till sunrise.
***
I cannot give a coherant account of the next week or so. I only remember flashes, holding Clothilde’s hand as Mykel told us in greater detail what had happened, trying to eat solitary meals in my bedroom that wouldn’t go past the lump in my throat, crawling into my Papa’s wardbrobe where I huddled and cried for hours until a panicked search crew found me and thowing myself onto my Papa’s casket the day of his funeral, pleading with him to come back to life, or for the gods to take me with him.
Mykel was crowned after the funeral with all the due pomp and circumstance, but I was not there to see it. He was diabolical in his planning, giving me a month to grieve, knowing that I was too distraught to know or care about anything that happened to me. However, the moment my grief lessened, he dove on me like a hawk after a helpless rabbit. He knew exactly where to strike, where to gouge my wounded heart to make it hurt the most.
He arrived at my chambers all unexpected one night, announced by a flunky. Mykel had about twoscore and ten of them, young lordlings who were nothing more than a well-bred band of syncophants. They were his trusted advisors, unofficial of course. He wanted nothing that might ruin the status quo, but it was his pack of boot-lickers that held the real power now.
"His Royal Majesty to see Her Highness, dear Princess Beryl, and most valuable treasure in Arcadia---" Mykel, his perpetual half-smirk in place, cut him off with a wave. "That’s the first thing that’s going to change, little sister," he said derision. "That string of titles of yours. You may be a princess, but you’re no longer the most valuable treasure in Arcadia. From this moment on, you’re a nothing. And by the time I’m through with you, you’ll be significantly less than that." His smile widened and he looked like a feral wolf.
In public nothing had changed, but behind closed doors, my life was in shambles.