The Stolen Kingdom



  The Stolen Kingdom

  Fun Books

  Lynbrook, NY

  Copyright 2012.

  Ross Rosenfeld.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration by Sida Chen.

  Copyright 2012 by Ross Rosenfeld.

  All rights reserved.

  Visit us on the web: www.stolenkingdom.com.

  ISBN-13: 978-0615581378 (Fun Books)

  ISBN-10:

  0615581374

  For the Dreamers.

  Introduction

  Years ago, Once Upon a Time was Right Now. And eventually, Right Now will become Once Upon a Time. In fact, it just did. Time is funny like that. In most stories time is very important. Not in this one. The story may have horses and not cars, but really it could happen now like it did then. Then being Once Upon a Time, years and years ago.

  The story is one of passion, and last time I checked, passion was still around. It exists in love, hate, obsession. For instance, I have a passion for pickled herring. I can’t live without it. Every day I have to have some. In my salad, raw, on my sandwiches. It tastes great on hamburgers.

  However, this story is not about pickled herring, but it does have love, hate, and obsession. I tell you about these things first because it is these things that cause everything else, as we know they are prone to do. And there’s a lot of other things in this story, too:

  There are monsters and mobbers, heroes and heroines, villains and thieves, power and conquest, murder and mayhem (sounds like politics, doesn’t it?), magic and miracles, and last but not least, pride and honor.

  Oh, and don’t forget arugula! Arugula is very good, though not as good as pickled herring. Even arugula has a place in the story.

  And what a magnificent story it is! I give myself great credit for coming-up with it.

  OK. Slight lie. I didn’t (technically) come-up with it. It was actually told to me over and over again by my grandfather. He didn’t come-up with it either, though. I think he got it from his grandfather. And I’m not exactly sure where his grandfather got it from. Probably from some old folklore or something. But as far as I know, it’s a true story. Anyway, if credit is to be given, I guess you can give it to my grandfather, cause he always told it so well. I’ve done some of what ya might call “editing,” but basically I tried to tell it just like he did (he died some years back). I only hope I can give you what he gave me, even though he didn’t give me this story because this entire paragraph was a complete and utter lie. Either way, I think you’ll enjoy what comes...

  Chapter 1

  Belsden

  On the day the King was born, all of Belsden mourned. Not that they did not respect the birth of a king, but it was the death of the Queen that bereaved them.

  Queen Beatrice was the most admired queen in all of Europe. She had been very good to her people. She had been born a commoner and held the common folk in high esteem. Often she would walk out among them in the market and converse with various commoners, and she was always greeted with warmth and gratitude.

  The Queen had been chosen out of a host of others as a bride for the then Prince Edmund. There were many others in the lot that were much more qualified to hold the position, yet, upon meeting her, Edmund took an immediate liking to her, noting her charm and extraordinary beauty. Though, I must say, she herself cared little for appearance, and cared even less for him at first.

  Her father, however, whom she was solely brought up by due to her mother’s early death, cared greatly about the Prince. He saw the Prince as an opportunity to bring his only child into a life of comfort. So as soon as the Prince announced that he would be choosing a bride, he immediately began preparing his beautiful daughter for the job. And since Beatrice loved her father, she went along with his wishes without hesitation.

  Beatrice’s father was certainly not wealthy; just a plain old blacksmith. Yet, he was so consumed with the idea of Beatrice becoming a princess that he hired an old, austere trainer for the girl. Her name was Madam Barbarra, and Beatrice couldn’t stand her. She found Madam Barbarra to be cold and uncaring, traits very much foreign to Beatrice’s personality. She put up with her, though, for her father’s sake, and learned how to walk, how to talk, how to smile, how to laugh, how to do everything.

  She would demonstrate a walk and Madam Barbarra would say, “No, no, dear. Shoulders up,” or “More wiggle in the tushy, dear.” And Beatrice would comply.

  Beatrice did not go to school and was truly educated very little. In fact, Madam Barbarra was her only education. This education lasted from 8 AM to noon, six days a week. And, in the afternoon, she would help her father in the shop.

  On the day before the Prince was to begin choosing his bride, Beatrice’s father had a conference with Madam Barbarra as Beatrice watched on.

  “Madam Barbarra,” he said, rubbing his thick hands together (he was a robust man, and a jolly one, too), “do you think that she is ready?”

  “As ready as she’ll ever be,” Madam Barbarra replied.

  “Well, what I mean is,” he said, still rubbing his hands, this time on his apron, “do you think she’s got a chance?”

  “As good a chance as any other, if not better.”

  Beatrice’s father smiled at this reply. Madam Barbarra was a very serene woman and her words were not filled with enthusiasm, but they were encouraging nonetheless. He looked towards his beautiful brown-haired, blue-eyed daughter and his smile broadened.

  “Well,” Madam Barbarra said, “my services here are done, I believe…I shall be going.”

  “Yes, yes, thank you, Madam. We are very grateful.” With this comment Beatrice’s father stopped wiping his apron and stepped toward Madam Barbarra, holding out his still dirty right hand.

  Madam Barbarra looked down at the dirty hand without making any gesture toward it, then looked back up at Beatrice’s father, brandishing a sneer of contempt.

  “Oh, I am sorry,” Beatrice’s father said, pulling back the hand as if it were a knife.

  “Do you have my payment?” Madam Barbarra asked.

  “Why, yes,” returned the blacksmith, taking a satchel from his belt. He handed Madam Barbarra some money and that was the last he or Beatrice ever saw of her.

  …………………………………………..

  On the day the Prince was to choose a bride, all the town was astir. People, royalty as well as commoners, came from far and wide. Outside the palace a line had been formed starting at the front gate and winding all the way around the huge structure. Thousands of common women waited on this line, slowly progressing. Beatrice was one of these women.

  The plan was for the Prince to consider the women of royal blood first, then, if he could not choose from them, he would have a look at the common women.

  The women had been assembled since dawn and it was now well after noon. The guards kept order and instructed the women to be patient and wait, for if the Prince did not choose a royal or a noble, then the Prince’s assistant, Rahavi, would emerge and begin to choose candidates among them.

  But the women were becoming impatient. Many of them began to stir and even started to fight with each other. Beatrice watched as behind her a fight between two women broke out:

  “Outa my way!” a fat one said.

  “Don’t touch me, ya fat horse!” replied the slim one.

  “I said MOVE IT, bones!”

  It took four guards to break it up, as Beatrice watched in disbelief. It made her feel even more uncomfortable. Her nerves were running high and she was very tense, although she knew she was not supposed to be.

  Suddenly, horns blared out in front of her, giving Beatrice quite a start. She turned to see a guard, his voice loud and bellowing, address the crowd:

&
nbsp; “Ladies of Belsden,” he declared, “I present to you the Prince’s Royal Assistant, Master Rahavi.” The trumpets blared again and out stepped a broad-shouldered, auburn haired man with a matching goatee and mustache and penetrating eyes. He seated himself at a desk in front of the line that had a dip pen and a sheet of parchment upon it.

  The guard spoke again: “You will proceed forward one at a time and approach the desk.” He paused, looking over the crowd, then turned toward Rahavi, who nodded. “Begin.”

  The first woman approached.

  “No. Too fat.” He waved his hand and a guard led her away.

  “Next.”

  Another approached.

  “No. Too ugly.” (The girl was not really ugly at all, but not good enough for Rahavi’s standards.) “Next,” he said, waving her off.

  Another.

  “Bad walker,” he said. “Next.”

  Beatrice was thankful that she had learned how to walk properly.

  “Too short…Next.

  “Bad smile…Next.

  “Bad shape…Next.

  “No red-heads…Next.”

  With that some of the women stepped out of line.

  “Hmm…What’s your name?” he said, reviewing one.

  “Dana.” She bowed.

  He pulled out a scroll, laid it on the desk, and looked it over.

  “Nope,” he called out, pointing his finger down at a spot on the parchment. He stood so that all could hear: “No Danas, Tinas, Taras, Karas, Claras, Saras…Well, you get the picture: no ‘a’s. If your name ends in an ‘a,’ please, save yourself some trouble and get off the line.”

  With that some more women stepped off and the next woman stepped up.

  “No…

  “No…

  “No…

  “Hmm. Name?”

  “Doris,” she said with a smile and a bow.

  “Over there,” he said. “Next.”

  “No…

  “No…

  “Hell no!

  “Aaahh…” Beatrice stepped up. “This one seems appealing.” He looked Beatrice over in her white and cream satin dress. She smiled at him gracefully. “Name?”

  “Beatrice, Master Rahavi.”

  He leaned back and rubbed his chin. “Over there.”

  Beatrice turned toward her father, who was watching from a distance. She smiled at him and he smiled back and rubbed his big belly as if he had just finished a large jelly donut. Beatrice went and stood next to the other girl that had been chosen.

  It took another two hours for Rahavi to get through the line. By the time he was done, four other potential brides stood around Beatrice. All were smiling and all were beautiful.

  When every last person had filtered out, including Beatrice’s father (who gave her a thumbs-up before being forced out of the courtyard), Rahavi approached the five women.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  A guard opened up the front gate and the young women followed Rahavi through it and into the palace.

  Commoners were not usually allowed inside the palace walls, and so all of the women fell quickly into a state of utter awe. They looked around at the magnificent rooms, marveling at the exquisite craftsmanship of the walls and furniture. The sun shone bright and they could see the glimmer from the gold lining the ceilings. There were fixtures of marble and ivory and various other fine materials, including an enormous wool rug that greeted them at the entrance and seemed to extend indefinitely down the hall.

  Rahavi led the women through two large doors. He was anxious to be relieved of the day’s activities and so he walked rather fast, forcing the women to increase their pace accordingly. As he walked, Rahavi spoke to a servant: “Inform the Prince that I have five for him to choose from.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I will seat them in the den and he can call them up one at a time.”

  “Yes, sir. I will tell him.”

  He made off as Rahavi turned the bend and led the women into a room filled with armor and fine rugs. There were velvet couches and armchairs arranged around a large gilded fireplace with marble headings.

  “Sit down and wait,” he instructed.

  The five women seated themselves on the velvet couches. Rahavi, meanwhile, sat in a great red chair set directly before the fireplace. They sat in silence for some time, with Rahavi twiddling his thumbs impatiently, and whistling every so often.

  At last, the servant returned.

  “The Prince says that he is ready,” he reported. “If you will call your first candidate, I will take her up to his chambers.”

  All of the women looked anxiously at Rahavi, eager to be the first called. It was a tough choice, and so Rahavi was forced to call upon his greatest decision-making capabilities in order to choose who should be the one:

  “Enie, Menie, Minie, Moe…”

  Unfortunately, Beatrice was not chosen.

  But it was only a matter of seconds before the first woman was sent away. Then another was chosen, again not Beatrice. Yet, she too was sent back down within a minute. For a third time Beatrice was not picked, but for a third time she watched the chosen woman be escorted out rather quickly.

  It was down to only two: Beatrice and a dark-haired woman who looked about the same age as Beatrice, but who Beatrice considered much more beautiful. They both looked at Rahavi in suspense. But again, when Rahavi finished his “Enie, Menie, Minie, Moe,” his finger was not pointed at Beatrice.

  The other woman smiled and took off with the servant.

  Beatrice waited nervously to see if she would return, or if Beatrice herself would be asked to leave. The seconds seemed to pass like hours, as Rahavi tapped his foot on the rug under him. Beatrice wanted to fidget and twitch, but she knew she could not – for that would seem very un-lady-like, and could jeopardize everything.

  To her relief, the chosen woman finally reappeared and was quickly escorted out.

  “Well,” Rahavi said, “I suppose it’s down to you.”

  Beatrice rose and followed the servant to the Prince’s chambers. As she walked, items of priceless value passed by her view, only to reveal more and more priceless items. There were golden dinner sets and marble vases and silver chandeliers – any one of which had to be worth more than all of her father’s earthly possessions. It was enough to make anyone feel odd and out of place, but now was not the time for jitters, for they were approaching the Prince’s chambers.

  The servant stopped and motioned to the door with his hands. It was open, but Beatrice knocked anyway. From the inside she heard a soft, deep voice say, “Come in.” She entered and saw the Prince sitting behind a large, oak desk. He was a tall man (although she could not tell so at first), strongly built, with dark hair and dark eyes. He had a broad, well-formed structure, and a stature that could be altogether intimidating when necessary.

  Sitting nearby, against the wall to the Prince’s right, was an elderly fellow, who, Beatrice learned later on, was the chief advisor to the Prince. He would later become her own chief advisor. His name was Benevely.

  As she approached the desk, the Prince’s expression became one of awe.

  “Why, Benevely,” he said, looking toward the old man, “I have never encountered a woman of such beauty!”

  Beatrice did look beautiful. The light that entered through the Prince’s window seemed to fall rightfully upon her, causing her long brown hair to shine. Her eyes were as blue as the daytime sky, and just as scenic and peaceful. And her smile! Why, it could ignite a fire, so magnificent it was!

  The Prince looked her in the eye. “Are you aware of how beautiful you are?” he asked.

  “Not until you told me,” answered the modest Beatrice.

  “Surely, you jest,” he said. “A woman of such immense beauty must realize her value.”

  “There is more to me than beauty,” she replied.

  The Prince glanced at Benevely. The old man’s eyes glistened over.

  “Well, then, you are certainly worth m
y time and fortune then, are you not?” said the Prince, turning back to Beatrice.

  “That is for you to judge,” she answered.

  Again the Prince looked over at the elderly man in the corner, who was now smiling and nodding.

  “Wait outside for a moment,” said the Prince at last to Beatrice. “I must speak with my advisor.”

  Beatrice obliged and exited. She stood outside the Prince’s door very calmly, though certainly she felt impatient. She wanted to pace, but knew that she shouldn’t. She could hear talking from inside the room, but, despite being eager to hear of news, knew that she could not eavesdrop.

  Finally, the elderly man emerged.

  “The Prince will see you now,” he said. He walked off down the hall, his simple brown robe dragging behind him.

  Beatrice walked inside and confronted the Prince. He was standing now and, for the first time, she could tell how tall and strong he was.

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Beatrice,” our lady replied.

  “I have good news for you, then, Beatrice,” said the Prince. “I have decided to take your hand in matrimony; for you will be my wife and Princess of all of Belsden.”

  Beatrice’s heart nearly burst. She knew how happy her father would be.

  “Does this sound pleasing to you?” the Prince asked.

  “Yes, Your Highness; yes, indeed, it does.”

  “Good. Then pack your things. You will move into the palace tomorrow. From now on, you are no longer a commoner.”

  And that was it. That was all there was to it. The Prince had performed his test on all of the women. He did not want a conceited wife, but a modest, gracious one. Beatrice happened to be the most beautiful, but it was her modesty that made her a princess and eventually a queen.

  …………………………………………..

  The people gathered on the opposite side of the front gates by the palace courtyard. This was the day that Prince Edmund was to announce his bride to the public, and all of Belsden was brimming with excitement. They had heard various rumors, but nothing definite, and all were anxious to discover who the new princess-to-be was.

  For hours Beatrice had been groomed from head to toe, with one servant fixing her nails while another did her hair and another yet her make-up. At first it was a bit unusual to her, being one of the commonfolk who never had so much as her own brush. But she was going to be a princess now, and she felt the need to act like one. She sat proud and astute as the three servants worked her over. When they were done, and Beatrice finally got to see herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but feel pride in her appearance; for she truly did look like a princess. Her dress was a fine red satin, embroidered by the greatest dressmaker in all the land with laced gold. In her hair was a matching red bonnet that ran all the way down her back and to her legs, in her ears diamond studs. She was truly a marvel of magnificence. Had they had the opportunity, any artist would have chosen her as their subject.

  She took a deep breath. This was the moment that she had been waiting for for weeks now. She had spent days practicing smiling and waving to the crowd. The wedding was to follow in only one month and making a good impression was imperative.

  From her new room, Beatrice could hear the noise of the crowd. Never before had she felt such a stirring in her stomach. What if something went wrong? What if the people did not like her? What if they did not think her pretty enough? She was still busy checking herself in the mirror when a knock came at the door.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “It is Benevely.”

  “Come in.”

  Beatrice had come to learn that Benevely was indeed a wise old man, as well as a compassionate one. He was the only one in the palace that Beatrice felt comfortable talking to, a sentiment which the Prince himself also seemed to feel, for he confided in Benevely most often.

  Benevely entered and closed the door behind him. His warm brown eyes gleamed over as he approached Beatrice and put his hand to her shoulder.

  “It is time,” he said.

  Beatrice took one last glance in the mirror and another deep breath, setting aside her nerves.

  “All right,” she said at last, turning and walking away with him.

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he comforted, smiling. He opened the door for her.

  …………………………………………..

  The crowd outside had become restless. They were rustling and shouting out in terrible anxiety. Where was the Princess?

  Finally, the trumpets blared and the King and the Prince stepped out on the balcony. In an instant the crowd became silent. The King, being quite old, was not one for words, and so he took his place in back, content to be in the background of his son’s affairs.

  The Prince addressed them:

  “My fellow countrymen…” he began, “…the time has come for me to present to you your new Princess. You will not be disappointed, I assure you…for she possesses the most immense beauty and charm…I only ask that you welcome her as I have welcomed her…And I assure you, she will welcome you as her people…Ladies and gentleman, I present to you…Princess Beatrice!”

  The trumpets blared again as Beatrice joined the Prince out on the balcony. Upon her appearance, the crowd cheered triumphantly, to which reception Beatrice responded with her practiced smile and wave, for she was not supposed to talk.

  The Prince began to speak and the crowd became silent once again: “We shall be married in one month, my people. I hope that you will all join us in the festivities.”

  With that the crowd began to cheer again as Beatrice took a curtsey. Then they each waved and smiled once more, before finally taking their leave. The King, fragile in his old age, followed slowly behind, with Benevely tailing the end.

  …………………………………………..

  The King was a widower whose wife had died long ago. He had raised Edmund alone since then, from the age of thirteen to his present age of thirty-three. The King was a very elderly man, older than even Benevely. He was considered by most a strong king, though a good and kind one. He had always been fair with the people and had led them victoriously through numerous wars, including the Great War between Belsden and Dermer, their neighboring enemy. The war had been costly to both sides, but Belsden had eventually proved the victor, acquiring only a small portion of land, but a very large portion of pride.

  The period following the war was the King’s most prosperous time. Belsden relished the victory and the King was praised by all as a great military strategist. Especially by himself, and he knew him well. And who was to argue? After five long years of war nobody wanted to argue, everybody wanted to party. So that’s what they did.

  Belsden was a party country, too; people in Belsden liked to party, especially after victory in death and destruction. So when the war ended, the festivities began, which meant pig. Pig was hung everywhere, everywhere was pig. After a “successful” war, the people of Belsden always liked to go out and kill a bunch of pigs and eat them to their hearts delight. That is why the people were being complimentary and not insulting when they referred to King Walter’s reign as “The Reign of Pig.”

  It was now thirteen years since that terrible war with Dermer. The King had broken the eighty-year mark, which at the time was considered remarkable. During that time, Belsden had flourished in the arts and sciences (a new type of rake was invented), and economically as well, while Dermer became less and less significant. Because of this, the hatred between the two countries grew greater and greater, making the situation between them increasingly tense. Therefore, the King was always concerned that Dermer might rebuild itself and attack Belsden, sparking yet another war. But so far this had not occurred and all had been peaceful for the past thirteen years. Yet, the problem continually worried the King.

  Now, nobody likes to worry in their old age, including kings. By the time you reach eighty years old, you just want to lay back and relax. And that�€
™s exactly what King Walter wanted to do. Except he had to think about Dermer and the complaints of the farmers (Was it his fault that there wasn’t enough rain?) and the economy and so on. So, each day he would decide to put these troubles out of his mind. And then the next day he would decide to do the same. And the next day. And the next. And the next. Until finally, he completely forgot about them. And not only did he forget about them, but he forgot what day it was, why he was standing in a certain room, the years, where he slept, and numerous other unimportant things. In fact, he even began to forget he was King. By the time he was eighty-one, the King had gone completely senile.

  Fortunately, Benevely had been the King’s advisor since the King was seventy. When the King started to become senile, it was Benevely’s advice that had kept the Kingdom alive. It was really him who made the decisions; the King just gave his “OK.” Meanwhile, Benevely made plans for a transfer of duties from the King to his only son, Prince Edmund.

  The Prince had been educated by the finest tutors around at the time. Since very young, he had been trained to be a king, learned in language, mathematics, science, and proper manners and procedure. Benevely himself had taught him history. He believed that a good education was the finest weapon any king could have. And so the Prince was very much prepared to be King, and so he began, with the aid of Benevely, to take on the King’s responsibilities. He heard the complaints of the farmers, worked on economic planning, and even sent out diplomats. It wasn’t long until all around Europe the Prince was respected as the true leader of Belsden.

  And, certainly, he didn’t do a bad job. He was a pretty smart fellow. He kept the economy doing well and always handled problems with wisdom and agility. The wisdom being Benevely’s, the agility his own.

  The King, meanwhile, got worse and worse. Everyone in the kingdom became concerned when the King “fell” (in modern times we would say had a couple of strokes, but back then, he “fell”). He was very sick. Many feared that he would not survive another “fall.”

  It was at this time that Benevely advised the Prince to begin to find himself a wife, which, with all of his national duties imposing upon him, the Prince had put off. If anything should happen to the King, Benevely reasoned, that would leave Edmund as the only remaining member of the royal family; if something then should happen to him, there would be no heir apparent to the throne. In such case, the Crown would have to be passed to the Duke of Lonn, who was neither liked nor respected.

  The Duke of Lonn was an arrogant man. Ambitious, too. He had began as only a nobleman, but succeeded to the dukedom after the original duke was killed in the war with Dermer. Harris was the duke’s birth name. He had been the richest nobleman in Lonn, having made a fortune off of buying land around the river, which proved to be rich with raw materials.

  The people of Lonn quickly took a disliking to their new duke. He taxed them intolerably, often even exceeding palace limits. The people would complain, but he never listened, and all made sure not to be too vocal, otherwise the penalty could be most severe. Time after time, people had come to the King or Prince asking for relief from the “Dark Duke’s” harsh rule. But there wasn’t much they could do. Belsden law and policy made it the job of the other nobles to keep the Duke of Lonn in check, not the King.

  Yet, all the nobles feared the Dark Duke (as he quickly became known) far too much to intervene. His land was by far the largest and the wealthiest in all of Belsden, and the other lands depended on his economic support. Plus, the Dark Duke was truly a very scary person. No one put much beyond him. His ruthlessness was well-known and unmatched. There were those that challenged him, but they were never seen or heard from again. It’s no wonder that he made all the other dukes nervous. Even his stature brought on an aura of fear: his body was tall and well-built, with a stern, rugged face, covered by a beard as black as his ruthless personality. But it was his eyes more than anything else that could inspire fear: they were dark and piercing, able to cut through you like an ax chopping through paper.

  The notion of the Duke of Lonn succeeding the king when there was no rightful heir derived from the Belsden Stature. The Stature was a basic set of rights and regulations that acted as the foundation for the Belsden government. It had been drawn up by the nobles and signed by the Prince’s grandfather. It brought stability to a land that was temporarily perturbed by the threat of revolt.

  Since Lonn was the largest and most populated dukedom in the kingdom, it was only logical that the Duke of Lonn should proceed to the throne if no other suitable king could be found. Hence, the nobles included a clause that stated just that, and no one thought any more of it.

  Benevely had known the Duke of Lonn from the time that he had become the King’s Chief Advisor, and from the beginning it was obvious what type of man he was. The King and the Dark Duke often had conferences and Benevely accompanied the King at such times. Soon he was to develop the same sentiment as most others and joined them in disliking Lonn’s lord. He found him greedy and malevolent, and knew that he could not be trusted.

  The feeling was mutual. The Dark Duke felt Benevely to be overbearing and generally too much of a “goodie two shoes” as they say. He mocked him by referring to him sarcastically as “Benevely the Benevolent.” But his mockery backfired when a commoner happened to overhear him one day. Soon the expression, as well as the conflict, caught on with the people. In the streets puppet shows were performed with “Benevely the Benevolent versus the Dark Duke.” The Duke of Lonn blamed Benevely for this, too, though the old man had nothing to do with it. He blamed Benevely for practically everything – which is why he took Benevely’s advice for the Prince to marry quickly as a personal insult. He knew that it was meant to insure that he himself could never be king and, in the opinion of the Dark Duke, it was what he was most suited for. The nation needed a strong leader, he believed, that was not afraid to impose his will, and he was just that leader. He, and he alone, knew how to rule Belsden, though leave it to Benevely to interfere with his ambition.

  When it was announced that Beatrice was to become the Prince’s bride, the Dark Duke scorned Benevely and accused him of promoting a hasty marriage. But Benevely paid little attention to such criticisms. He knew that the Duke of Lonn was an angry, avaricious man, and he took no heed of what such a man would say.

  At first, the Duke of Lonn wanted no part in the wedding and even considered not attending at all. What did he want with it all anyway? But soon his better judgment told him that doing so would force poor relations with the monarchy, and so he decided that his attendance was mandatory, for not attending would only damage him further.

  …………………………………………..

  The wedding took place on a warm summer’s day. Thousands gathered around St. Mary’s Cathedral in preparation for the service, though most were forced to stand outside. Two large brass doors were kept open for them, though, revealing the Belsden elite who were fortunate enough to gain a seat inside, while the commoners gawked and stared, poking their heads to catch a glimpse of the shadows bounding up and down.

  In the front benches of the Cathedral were seated all the leaders of neighboring countries, with the noted exception of Dermer. Behind them sat the diplomats and the nobles. Then came the scientists, followed by the philosophers, the scholars, and so on in the “social order.” No commoners were allowed inside the Cathedral.

  Noise filled the Cathedral as people discussed the upcoming ceremony. Suddenly, the reverend emerged and all became silent. Trumpets sounded and the guests watched in utmost awe as the King proceeded down the red carpet towards the front of the Cathedral, escorting his only son. When they reached the foreground, the King stepped to the side, leaving Prince Edmund standing in front of the reverend.

  The crowd began to stir; then all became quiet again as an orchestra of oboes, pianos, and violins began to play. They would’ve played “Here Comes the Bride,” but it wasn’t invented yet, so instead they played “All Hail Our Princess,” which w
as an old Belsden favorite. Upon which, Beatrice emerged.

  As usual, she looked magnificent. Her dress, a pearly, silk white, emphasized the beauty of her clear blue eyes, which could be seen shining through the light veil covering her face. She walked in the most elegant style, clinging to the arm of her beloved father, who escorted her proudly. The heavy man was smiling broadly as he made his way down the aisle, nodding politely to people he didn’t know. He wore a brilliant white suit with a red sash and gold buttons befitting a knight.

  The music stopped as the two reached the pulpit. Beatrice’s father stepped to the side opposite the King and stood there astutely, still beaming uncontrollably. The Prince turned toward Beatrice with a smile of subtle sublimity, which she returned cordially. No love there yet, but certainly a mutual respect.

  All was quiet for a moment.

  “Uheh-hem,” coughed the reverend, an old fellow with grayish-white hair. The Prince and Beatrice turned toward him.

  “Dearly beloved,” he began, “we are gathered here today in order to join together these two parties, Prince Edmund of Belsden and, his wife of choice, Beatrice Evans, in holy matrimony…”

  He proceeded to do his whole bit, which I’m sure you’re probably familiar with. To sum it all up, nobody objected, both parties said “I do,” the reverend talked some more, the ring was placed on the finger, and finally the reverend came to the best part: he said, “You may kiss the bride.” With that the Prince turned toward Beatrice, lifted her veil, and the two touched lips for the very first time.

  From his seat in the second row, the Duke of Lonn watched on.

  …………………………………………..

  A giant cheer let-out when the Prince emerged from the Cathedral with his new Princess. Beatrice was already popular with the commoners; mostly because she had been a commoner herself. The Prince took her hand and raised it with his in triumph.

  The cheering lasted for a full five minutes, until finally, Rahavi, who was in charge of security for the Royal family, appeared next to the Prince and began to usher him and his new Princess through the frenzied crowd. Around them was chaos. Livestock, meant as gifts for the wedding, floated freely about. People threw their children in the air (don’t worry – they caught them). Some even played instruments. Rahavi’s husky foot kicked chickens and geese out of the Prince’s path, as they made their way toward the carriage. Then it was another few minutes before he and his men could find enough room to open the carriage door.

  Quickly, the Prince and the Princess hopped inside, with Rahavi following suit. The cheers of the crowd could be heard echoing off of the gold and velvet interior. Rahavi closed the carriage door and took a deep breath. He was not liking this. “Be off!” he said. And, with that, six horses led the new Princess to the castle.

  …………………………………………..

  Benevely’s prediction proved to be correct. Within two months of the wedding, the King became very sick with cancer (which at the time was called “?”) and died soon afterward. This made the Prince feel very sad, but at the same time fortunate for having taken Benevely’s advice and chosen himself a bride.

  Not much changed politically because of the King’s death, since the Prince had already taken on all of the King’s responsibilities.

  A new problem, however, did present itself: There was now no successive heir to the throne.

  King Edmund by now had turned thirty-four and did not want to take his chances having children late in life like his father had. What if something should happen to him? Then what? This problem began to occupy his mind only a month or so after the death of his father. Belsden is prospering now, he thought, but who’s to insure that it will continue to prosper if I should pass?

  The King and Queen (as they now were) had much to offer a newborn. Not only would he or she be born into royalty, but they would also be blessed with traits of beauty from their parents as well. No child could be better off.

  Furthermore, the child would find itself among loving parents that shared a good relationship with each other. Over time, Beatrice and Edmund had come to feel very strongly for one another, maybe even love one another. Beatrice recognized that the King was a good-hearted man, willing to listen to the troubles of others. The King, in turn, recognized Beatrice as intelligent as well as compassionate. Originally, he had expected little or nothing from her, save childrearing. But she surprised him, offering a great deal of insight into the kingdom’s problems. So much so, that often the King went against common practice and included her in his meetings with Benevely, at which she proved to be very helpful.

  …………………………………………..

 

  One day, Beatrice was sitting in the palace library, reading one of the King’s numerous books on European history, when she overheard Rahavi speaking to a servant. He sounded rash and uptight, like as if something were wrong.

  “…Tell all the servants to be on call…” he was saying, “…and make sure the cook is ready to prepare lunch for us…”

  Lunch?, Beatrice wondered. For “us?” What could he be talking about? She walked out of the library to see what all the commotion was about. The hallway looked more like a marketplace: servants passed fervently back and forth as Rahavi dished out orders. “Get that rug cleaned. Tell the maid to do up the dining room…” Two soldiers passed by with maps.

  “What’s going on?” Beatrice asked.

  “Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” Rahavi said. “How are you today?”

  “Why all the commotion?” she persisted.

  Rahavi could not help but notice her abruptness.

  “The arrival of Sir Lawrence, Your Majesty,” he replied. “He will be here shortly.”

  Sir Lawrence was Belsden’s top military leader, with the only exception being the King himself. He was well-known throughout the kingdom for the great victories he had achieved in foreign lands, colonizing more territory than any previous leader. His name held great weight, and Beatrice recognized it instantly.

  “Sir Lawrence?” she repeated. “Why?”

  “Well, Your Majesty,” Rahavi explained, “it seems as though a little problem has developed.”

  “A problem? What type of problem?”

  “An Augustinian problem,” he said.

  “Augustinian?”

  “Yes, My Lady. The Belsden colony of St. Augustine has been invaded. Sir Lawrence is requesting a larger army to deal with the problem. He arrived late last night with the news.”

  “So the King wishes to dine without me this afternoon?”

  “No,” Rahavi replied. “As a matter of fact he wishes the complete opposite. He says that your presence is requested, being that the upcoming events may affect you just as much as he. He wishes you to play hostess, if possible. The Duke of Lonn, the Duke of Theo, and the Duke of Samek will all be present as well, and he says that you should plan on being there to greet them all.”

  “At what time?” Beatrice inquired.

  “One hour hence.”

  “Very well,” she said. “I will be there.”

  …………………………………………..

  In Belsden, it was customary for the Queen to greet the high nobles when they were invited to the palace. Queen Beatrice waited at the door with a dozen servants surrounding her. Her dress was a fine blue satin and a diamond tiara graced her brunette hair. Even in times of trouble, the royal family was always exquisite.

  The Duke of Lonn was the first to arrive. He exited his fine carriage in a black satin suit, his black-handled sword at this side, as was his wont. He removed his black gloves to greet the young royal. As Queen, Beatrice did her job and pretended it was good to see him. As Duke, he did his job and pretended it was good to see her.

  “Your Majesty,” the Dark Duke said, taking her hand and kissing it.

  “Harris,” she returned, “it’s good to see you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine.”

 
She knew that.

  “Come into the dining room,” she told him. “We have quite a meal prepared.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  She led him through the golden foyer and into the dining room. Fine china and crystal were spread across the table, which was covered by a large chandelier that hung high overhead. One of the servants pulled out a chair for him.

  “Thank you,” the duke said to the Queen, sitting.

  “Make yourself at home,” said Beatrice, a comment that revealed her common roots. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and greet the others.”

  Nodding politely, she gladly ridded herself of his presence and headed back toward the front entrance.

  Next to arrive was the Duke of Theo, which was the second largest Dukedom in Belsden (though not half as large as Lonn). The Duke of Theo was a roly-poly man and frankly quite stupid. He had inherited his father’s dukedom and his dog’s brains. He was about as sharp as a wheel. His dukedom was run predominantly by his appointed officials, and he spent most of his time playing cards and getting drunk, the latter being the only thing he was good at. His habits were well-known; he did not attempt to hide them, and in fact looked rather drunk upon his arrival.

  The Queen approached him as he got out of his carriage. “Clost!” she said. “It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

  “Oh, pardon me…” said the duke, rather loudly, “…but do you know the way to the palace?”

  “Why, Clost,” the Queen replied, “you are at the palace. Don’t you recognize me?”

  The duke thought for a moment. Finally, he said, “Ooohh, yes…Aren’t you the maidservant who accused me of fathering her child?”

  The Queen took a deep breath.

  “No,” she said, “I am the Queen Beatrice of Belsden.”

  “Well, isn’t that nice,” said the duke.

  Beatrice took his arm and began to lead him along.

  “Why don’t I sit you down in the dining room…”

  “Hmmm…” the duke thought aloud. “Do you have…beer?” – ironically enough letting out a terrible stench of it when he spoke.

  The Queen waved her hand to fan the smell. “Yes, yes, follow me.”

  After the Duke of Theo came both the Duke of Samek and Sir Lawrence, both arriving at the same time. Both were coming from Samek, where Sir Lawrence had opted to stay the night. As a rule, military leaders were not supposed to sleep within the palace walls. It was considered inappropriate.

  The Queen had already met the Duke of Samek on several occasions and felt she knew him well. He was charming and amicable, a true gentleman. He never belched in public and always kept his elbows off the table, which evidently made him a great man. His hair was gray, his eyes even bluer than Beatrice’s.

  The Queen approached him first.

  “Martin of Samek, how are you?”

  “Better now,” he said, kissing her hand with a smile.

  Turning, she addressed the tall, stately Lawrence: “…And you must be Sir Lawrence.”

  “Your Majesty,” he said, kissing her hand as well, “’tis a pleasure to meet you….Although I do wish it were under better circumstances.”

  “I do not fret and neither should you,” the Queen responded confidently. “I’m sure with leaders like yourself and my husband, Belsden has nothing to fear.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  They exchanged nods before the Queen turned and began leading them down the hall. She brought them into the dining room where she sat them down with the others.

  “Ooooo! En-ter-tain-ment!” cried the Duke of Theo, who was already on his second beer.

  “No,” said Beatrice. “This is the Duke of Samek and this is Sir Lawrence, our best general.”

  “High-class entertainment!” the Duke of Theo shouted, slapping the Duke of Lonn on the arm with the back of his hand and laughing hysterically. The Dark Duke’s eyes shot at him like razors, but the Duke of Theo seemed to hardly notice.

  “A-he-hem…”

  It was Rahavi. All turned upon hearing his voice.

  “The King is coming…” he said.

  Beatrice, Sir Lawrence, and the Duke of Samek all took their seats immediately, with Beatrice sitting herself at the end of the table. On her left was the Duke of Lonn. Across from him was the Duke of Samek, and adjacent to him, Sir Lawrence, in the seat next to the King’s. The King entered and all rose – the Duke of Theo somewhat unsteadily. Behind the King was Benevely.

  “Be seated,” said the King, sitting himself down at the head of the table. Benevely, meanwhile, took a seat over in the corner to the King’s right, isolated from the rest.

  “The situation has been explained to me, but only in brief,” said the King, “Why don’t you explain it to us again, Lawrence?”

  Sir Lawrence had been ready for this. He spoke slowly and clearly:

  “Well, it seems, Your Highness, that our largest colony in Eastern Africa, St. Augustine, has been attacked by the neighboring Navidian colony of Booketa. The attack came as a complete surprise to us, since we have operated in that area for years without any breach of the peace. We had heard rumors that the Navidians envied our raw materials, but never anything substantial. Apparently, those rumors were correct. On the seventh of this month, the Navidians attacked St. Augustine from the west. I, at the time, was in our African colony of Phillippia, conferring with Sir Jeffrey. I learned of the attack four days after it occurred and immediately took to Belsden. From what I gather, an army of twenty thousand men surround our former colony. Our original force of fifteen-hundred has fled and scattered. The people inside support us. They prospered under us. Under the Navidians, they have been forced to pay high taxes and abandon all their rights.”

  The King was listening with the utmost intensity. Sir Lawrence continued:

  “In my opinion, we will need an army of at least thirty thousand men. Our best strategy would be to attack from the north, using the Orgella Pass. The Navidians can’t go south, because the Adlians occupy that area. Their only way would be west, and a tropical storm has left few materials there. They would be trapped.”

  The King sat silent for a moment. Then, without turning round, he addressed himself to Benevely: “What does our army at home number now?” he asked.

  “Seventeen thousand,” Benevely replied.

  “How many of those could we spare, do you think?”

  “Twelve, I’d say.”

  The King looked to the dukes.

  “Can you manage to conjure up eighteen thousand men?”

  “I can get five,” said the Duke of Samek.

  “I like wars!” said the Duke of Theo. “We haven’t had a good one f’years!”

  “How many?” the King said patiently, rubbing his chin.

  The Duke of Theo cuddled his beer. “Oooh, I dunno, maybe…” And with that he passed out cold.

  The King sat startled for a moment. He turned to Benevely.

  “I think it’s safe to expect at least four thousand from Theo,” the old man said.

  The King turned back around and looked at Theo’s duke, who was now beginning to snore. He glanced at Rahavi, still standing by the door.

  “Take him to the couch in the den,” he said.

  “Yes, Sire,” said Rahavi. He opened the door and snapped his fingers. Two guards appeared. Rahavi whispered something to them and a moment later they were carrying off the duke, still snoring. Rahavi closed the door and the meeting proceeded.

  “Harris…” the King said to the Duke of Lonn, whose eyes were still glued to the door. “Harris!” the King repeated.

  “Yes, Your Majesty?” said the Dark Duke, becoming alert once again.

  The King composed himself. He tugged at his robe.

  “Can you muster the remainder?” he asked.

  The Duke of Lonn thought for a moment. The King leaned in closer to him.

  “That would be about nine thousand men,” he said. “If you can do it.” He leaned back and waited f
or the duke’s reply.

  Ten thousand men, Beatrice thought. Ten thousand. That would mean less men for the Dark Duke’s own devices, less to subjugate his people and collect his taxes. But would he disappoint the King?

  “It will be done,” said the Dark Duke at last.

  Beatrice exhaled.

  “Good then,” said the King. “We must leave within the week, so that gives us five days to compile all our men.”

  “We?” said the Queen, who had been listening quietly up until this point.

  “Well, my dear,” said the King, “you can’t expect our army to fight a war without its commander. This isn’t like the war with Dermer, you know. St. Augustine is very far. If Sir Lawrence’s plan should fail, it would take weeks to travel up here to form a new one, and then weeks to travel back. Time like that wasted would be far too costly. I must go.”

  “But you can’t!” she persisted.

  “I must,” said the King.

  “Now?” Beatrice questioned.

  “Well, of course now, my dear.”

  “But who’ll run the kingdom?”

  “I have great faith in you,” he said. “Great faith, my dear. I’m sure you can handle matters while I am away.”

  “But you can’t go! Not now.”

  The Queen looked to Benevely for help, but he seemed unaware of what it was she was trying to say. The King, following her eyes, looked also to Benevely.

  “Is there something I should know?” he asked.

  “I haven’t the foggiest,” Benevely said, shrugging his shoulders.

  The King turned back toward his queen. Her lip quivered, but nothing came out.

  “What?” said the King, “What is it?”

  Beatrice braced herself. She let out a mighty sigh.

  “I’m– ” - her words became lost. “I’m…pregnant,” she said, as if the very word was a curse.

  The entire room gasped. For a moment, the King sat startled. His eyes watered. His hands grasped the arms of his chair.

  “You’re pregnant?” he said at last.

  The Queen nodded

  The King leaned forward and looked to regain his poise.

  “Well,” he said, “that’s…that’s…that’s wonderful!” He turned to Benevely. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Benevely nodded. He looked over at Beatrice. “Inopportune, but wonderful, nonetheless.”

  The King’s face lit up. He turned back to Beatrice, smiling broadly.

  “Aren’t you concerned?” she asked.

  “Concerned?” said the King. “Why should I be concerned?”

  “Well, first of all: What if something should happen to you? And secondly: How am I going to overlook the kingdom if I am pregnant?”

  “My dear,” the King said, “you worry too much. Do not fret. Nothing shall happen to me. Our army is much stronger than theirs. Plus, you can be sure that I will take the utmost care. And as far as your running the kingdom is concerned, you underestimate yourself. Plus, Benevely will be here to help you. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  The Queen still seemed unsure. She looked down at her hands in her lap.

  “Don’t worry,” the King added. “You should be happy, my love…we are having a son.”

  The Queen’s left eyebrow perked up.

  “Or a daughter,” she said, attempting a smile.

  “Or a daughter,” the King agreed. He looked around the room. “Anything else?” he asked.

  Nobody answered.

  “Good. Then we shall depart Thursday. Benevely…make sure our forty largest ships are ready by then. We are adjourned.”

  The King rose and all rose with him. Rahavi held open the door and the King walked out, followed closely by Benevely.

  The Dark Duke approached the Queen.

  “Congratulations,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Beatrice eyed him for a moment. Something in his voice did not seem quite sincere. But then again, the Dark Duke of Lonn never seemed sincere. She gave him her hand. “Thank you,” she said. He kissed it and walked out.

  Sir Lawrence and the Duke of Samek did the same.

  The Queen remained standing there, thunderstruck.

  …………………………………………..

 

  The pier was located a mere quarter-mile from the palace. On a typical sunny day, it was calm and peaceful, with none of the distractions of the nearby market. Beatrice herself often went there for solitude, taking in the ocean air while listening to the sounds of the local fishermen.

  But that Thursday the pier was anything but quiet. Throngs of people bustled about, waving and cheering, singing songs and doing chants. They lined the decks and the alleys and all the surrounding streets; for, when there is a war at hand, people will always come out to show their support.

  A man on a box stood yelling rallying cries. Two children danced with wooden swords. Off to the right, the royal orchestra began to play “Praise Belsden,” sending the crowd into a wild frenzy. There were streamers and banners and flags. Women had baked pies and they ran them to the ships, where happy soldiers scooped at them with their fingers. It was a glorious day.

  Up on a platform stood the King and Queen, smiling and waving to the masses, pillars of confidence. Behind them was the great ship Olbera, the country’s largest vessel, flanked by thirty-nine smaller ships of varying size. Over the ledge of each ship peeked the heads of thousands of sailors and infantry, saying their last good-byes before they were to be sent into the terrors of war. They smiled and made fists, cheered and pretended not to be afraid. – as did Beatrice. Fear was not an option for her – she had to look calm, controlled. Otherwise the crowd might see the doubt lingering in her heart.

  She held the King’s hand. She didn’t want to let go.

  But the time had come. All the ceremonies and the speeches and royal decrees were now over, and it was time for them to depart.

  She squeezed harder. Still, it made no difference.

  The King was to board the Mentzner, one of the smaller ships, so that he would be able to more easily maneuver. The prospects of a surprise attack by sea were unlikely, but the King always liked to take every precaution. Brave as he was, he knew that an army could not operate nearly as well without its leader.

  Benevely approached and whispered in his ear: “I believe it is time, Sire.”

  The King turned to his wife. He could see the worry in her eyes.

  “I won’t be gone long,” he comforted.

  “Take good care of yourself,” she said.

  He smiled. “I will.”

  What beautiful eyes she had. He put his hands by her side. She could feel herself getting lost in his loving stare, when suddenly she felt his lips press against her own. A roar of approval erupted from the crowd, but the kiss outlasted even that. Beatrice only hoped that she could remember the taste of his lips. When it was over, he lifted her head and looked into her eyes once again, taking her hand in his.

  Then he turned and was off.

  The crowd cheered louder than ever as they watched their king board his ship.

  …………………………………………..

  Months went by. And as the Queen’s pregnant body grew more and more robust, so did the kingdom. She lived up to all her husband’s expectations and more, running the kingdom as well as any other in its history. With the help of Benevely, Beatrice proved to be quite an effective leader, and all prospered because of it.

  The people soon came to admire Beatrice very much. She was always fair and willing to listen to all their complaints. Often she would insist on walking through the market streets just so that she could speak with the commonfolk. Rahavi found this very cumbersome indeed, since it was he that had to provide a constant escort for Her Majesty. But Beatrice was persistent.

  Beatrice also learned to deal with crisis well. About a month after the King departed a minor period of drought occurred, causing a panic amongst the farmers. Many of them had trouble paying
their taxes and appealed to the Queen for leniency. With the help of Benevely, Beatrice decided to relax the taxes for a while and even gave funding for a relief effort. In time, the drought passed over. The Queen was thereafter praised and admired by all for her competence and compassion. Moreover, she had not lost confidence for even a moment.

  Soon Beatrice was more than a Queen – she was a beloved leader.

  Yet, despite her popularity, something bothered the Queen. She did not hear much from her husband and she worried about him incessantly. Reports from St. Augustine said that the war was taking longer than expected, but that Belsden should achieve victory soon. The army had been pushed back a couple of times, but had damaged the Navidian forces greatly in the process and was about to move in for the kill. These same reports told her that the King was still alive and well, despite having participated in the battles firsthand.

  Every day she would hope for these reports, constantly inquiring of Benevely, “How is he? When is he coming home?” and various other questions that he usually found impossible to answer.

  “Patience, my dear,” Benevely would tell her. “You cannot afford to give yourself a heavier burden than you already have.”

  This was true. The Queen was already seven months pregnant and counting. Her only hope was that her king would be present for the birth of their child.

  …………………………………………..

  Early one morning, Beatrice was awoken from her slumber by a servant urging the Queen to come with her. The servant escorted Beatrice to the very same dining room where the King had met with Sir Lawrence and the dukes not so long ago. Benevely stood staring at a painting of the King’s father. His expression was grim.

  Beatrice approached to his side and paused not five feet from him.

  “What is it?” she asked, bating her breath. “What has happened?”

  Slowly, the old man turned to her.

  “My dear,” he said, his voice low and sorrowful, “I’m afraid I have some rather unfortunate news.”

  “The war,” said the Queen. “We have lost the war…”

  Benevely walked closer to her. “No. We are winning the war.”

  Her eyes faltered. She began to sob, softly at first.

  “My husband,” she said. “Where is my husband?”

  Benevely put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Him we have lost.”

  The words sunk in like a dull knife, boring into her every crevice. She let her head fall softly onto Benevely’s shoulder; he held her tight. She had been strong before, but that was nothing. Now was the true time for strength. Now she would crumble, for the moment – for crumbling was all she felt inside; now how her insides melted in sorrow! But a leader must recover…

  And so Beatrice locked herself in her room that night. She sat there, upon the bed, gazing out the window, her eyes two miniature waterfalls which she thought might never stop. And there she stayed all the night…

  …………………………………………..

  The Queen announced the King’s death herself, in front of a large crowd of her common country folk. In her speech, she tried to comfort them, tucking away her own sorrow for the sake of their confidence. But in truth, she was utterly miserable.

  Afterwards, Benevely insisted to the Queen that she only leave the palace when completely necessary. He realized that Beatrice was in a particularly dangerous position, carrying the King’s only heir. Furthermore, Beatrice was also very fragile due to her progressing pregnancy, and required constant attention. She therefore decided that it would be best to heed to Benevely’s advice and remain within the palace walls.

  All who wished to see the Queen had to visit her there. The Duke of Lonn was a frequent visitor, as was Sir Lawrence and the Duke of Samek. Other visitors included ministers, knights, and representatives of the commonfolk, who the Queen consulted with on a regular basis.

  Everyone noted the Queen’s progressing condition, and all would inquire as to how she was feeling. “By and by,” she would say. “By and by.” Nobody quite knew what this meant, but they would all smile and nod and pretend that they did.

  As Beatrice grew in weight, she also grew in anticipation. The eighth month had come on quickly it seemed, and the ninth month would soon be upon her as well. Each day Benevely would check on her, feeling her tummy and gauging her temperature with his hand. “Any day now,” he would say with a smile. “Any day.” He would say this the day that she would give birth to her only son.

  Benevely always made sure to see her in the morning. On that particular day, as usual, he had asked how she was feeling. “Fine,” she replied. He nodded, then touched her belly and said, “Any day now. Any day.”

  “Yes. Any day,” said the Queen. Then she asked, “What is it that I must do today? Is there anyone to meet?”

  “The Duke of Lonn will be here soon,” Benevely said. “He wishes to respond to the outrage over his killing of that farmer and his wife.”

  “Well, he better have a very good story,” the Queen replied. “His actions were completely despicable, and he should expect to be reprimanded.”

  “Indeed, Your Highness,” Benevely agreed.

  …………………………………………..

  The Queen met with the Duke of Lonn in the den. This was the same room in which she had waited to be called when she was only a potential bride. The Dark Duke was always prompt and had been sitting there waiting when she arrived. The two sat casually facing each other, in sofa chairs. For a moment, both were quiet, interpreting one another, the Dark Duke rubbing his chin while the Queen examined him with her eyes. Finally, the duke leaned towards her.

  “My dear Queen,” he began, “I must tell you that I am deeply upset by the rumors that I murdered in cold blood this farmer, this…this…this man…this man…”

  “Miglene,” the Queen interjected. “You can’t even remember his name! Harris, you are despicable!” Truly, the Queen had grown bolder in her role.

  “Your Highness,” said the Dark Duke, “I assure you, I have done nothing wrong.” He re-crossed his legs. “This man Miglene was leading a potential rebellion. I was only protecting your interests.”

  “And his wife?”

  “His wife?” the duke repeated.

  “Yes, his wife,” said the Queen. “What had she done?”

  The Dark Duke hesitated.

  “Well, she was in on it, too, Your Highness.” He saw the look of extreme doubt on her face. “Your Highness,” he said, “you mistake me. I am not a murderer. I am a dignitary.”

  “Dignitary? DIGNITARY? What you did, Harris, was absolute murder. There was no ‘rebellion!’ All there was was a farmer - an innocent farmer – complaining about your ridiculously high taxes and quotas!”

  “Your Highness-”

  “DON’T ‘Your Highness’ me! You are a vicious – Aah!”

  “Your Highness?”

  Beatrice grabbed the arm of the sofa with her right hand, her left on her belly.

  “Uh! Uuuhhhh!”

  The duke rose. “Oh, my,” he said.

  “Uuuuhhhhhh!!!”

  A guard rushed into the room. He stood in awe, as another guard appeared behind him.

  “…Ben…Ben…Benevely…” gasped the Queen. “…Get…Benevely.”

  The guards took off. The Dark Duke stood there in complete shock. He had never seen a woman in labor before, and the sight of it truly enveloped him. In the background, the sound of the great grandfather clock could be heard striking down the hall. Ticking. Lots of ticking. Finally, Benevely arrived, the two guards rushing in behind him.

  “Take her to her chamber,” he ordered.

  The guards lifted Beatrice, one from under her shoulders, one from her feet. They carried her out of the den and up the stairs to her bedroom, laying her gently down atop the covers. Benevely quickly followed, as did the duke.

  “Prop her up,” Benevely said.

  The two guards complied, and Benev
ely sat down next to her. Rahavi entered the room unnoticed.

  “My goodness,” he said.

  Benevely turned toward him. “Get the midwife,” he ordered.

  Rahavi snapped his fingers at the guards. “The midwife,” he said.

  For the past three months, a midwife had been kept on the grounds, prepared for whenever the time should come. She had been staying in a guest room just below that of the Queen’s. The guards rushed out of the room to retrieve her.

  Benevely took Beatrice’s hand. She was breathing heavily.

  “It’s all right, my dear,” Benevely comforted. “It’s all right.”

  The midwife, a skinny, rugged-boned woman in her forties, was quickly ushered into the room. Benevely got up and let her sit down. She put her hand to Beatrice’s head, then turned back to Benevely.

  “She’s hot,” she said. “That’s not good.”

  Benevely sighed. He could see the pain on Beatrice’s face. She was so gentle and fragile, that he had no doubt what the consequences of a difficult birth could be. But I must stay calm, he told himself. I cannot show her what I am thinking. I must be strong. Let time do its doing.

  But time was harsh in its own way. Hours passed. The midwife, Benevely, the Dark Duke, and Rahavi all remained throughout. Servants passed in and out bringing wet towels and other necessaries. Some asked questions, but most knew not to, for Benevely’s eyes told all.

  Every few minutes the midwife would check on the Queen’s condition. She said not a word, but her expression remained grim. She had seen this before, many times – too many times - and she too felt for the Queen, knowing the pain that she must be going through. Finally, she stepped away from the bed for a moment and asked Benevely to step outside with her. Without being asked, the Dark Duke of Lonn and Rahavi followed.

  “It doesn’t look good,” the midwife said with a nod. “She’s bleeding and heating up. I think I can save the baby, but the Queen - I don’t know. Her condition has gotten gradually worse. Saving the child would itself be a miracle.”

  Benevely’s eyes began to tear.

  “Do your best,” he said.

  The midwife nodded and headed back into the bedroom. For a moment Benevely stood still as a statue, his head turned out toward the window down the hall. He took a deep breath and recovered himself, running his hand over his face. His eyes looked up and met those of the Dark Duke for just an instant, but there was something in those eyes that he didn’t like, didn’t trust. He gave a quick glance to Rahavi and stepped back into the room.

  Rahavi was about to do the same, when suddenly he felt the Dark Duke’s hand upon him. He looked up, confused.

  “Do you realize the opportunity here?” the duke said.

  “Opportunity?” Rahavi questioned.

  “Op-por-tunity!” the Dark Duke repeated.

  “I don’t follow…”

  The duke took a quick glance around. He rubbed his beard.

  “I’ll say it slowly so that you can understand,” he quipped. “If the Queen and the child both do not survive, then I become King. And if I should become King, then you would become my extremely powerful and wealthy High Counsel, and then” – he made a fist, then opened it slowly – “we would have Belsden in the palm of our hands!”

  The Dark Duke’s eyes were like daggers. Rahavi thought it over.

  “But what if the child survives?” he asked.

  The duke’s eyes grew sterner.

  “It will not survive,” he said.

  “Kill the child?” Rahavi dared question.

  The Duke of Lonn nodded. “And the kingdom is ours.”

  Rahavi smoothed over his mustache, his eyes set on the floor.

  “But how could we do it?” he asked.

  “Simple,” the Dark Duke said, and the red-headed man looked up. “If the child is born, then we wait till they lay it down, and when all is quiet, we kill the child and say it simply didn’t survive.”

  Rahavi thought this over.

  “…And so what do you need me for?” he said at last.

  The duke took him by the shoulders.

  “Listen now,” he said. “And listen carefully. You will make sure that there is no one guarding the child. Then you will act as a witness before the people to the child’s death from complications. Do you understand?”

  “And what about Benevely?”

  “What about him?” the Dark Duke said. “He’ll be powerless. We have nothing to fear from him.”

  Rahavi was still thinking. He had always wished to hold a higher position and now lay the chance, the “opportunity.” Also, he knew that if the Dark Duke should somehow become king without him, he might very well himself get killed for not going along.

  “Are we agreed?” the duke pressed.

  “I have three men under my command that I’d trust with my life. They, too, have been waiting for their chance to move up in the world. I won’t do it without them.”

  “It’s too risky. The more people we tell, the greater the risk.”

  “Their lives would be at stake too, and I know these men: they won’t talk.”

  The Dark Duke rubbed his bearded chin.

  “I won’t do it without them,” Rahavi repeated.

  The red-head looked deep into the duke’s piercing eyes, contemplating the man in his head. Fierce, savage eyes.

  “Very well,” said the Dark Duke. “Call them to the Palace and have them replace the current guard. Send the rest home.”

 

  …………………………………………..

  Another hour passed, and soon another. Eventually, only the three men: the duke, Benevely, and Rahavi, remained in the room with Beatrice and the midwife. They sat scattered around the room in various chairs as the clock ticked slowly by. All of the guards were gone, with the exception of the three lieutenants Rahavi had taken under his wing. These men waited outside in the corridor.

  The Queen, meanwhile, was looking ever weaker. She had leaned up and spoken to Benevely a couple of times in the beginning, but now even that was rare. All her thoughts were with the baby; herself second. It was the baby that had to survive, for it was the rightful heir to the throne.

  Suddenly, she let-go a massive groan: “Uuuhhhhh!”

  The midwife jumped to attention. She ran to her position.

  “It’s coming,” she said.

  Benevely jolted up, as did the Dark Duke and Rahavi.

  “Push!” said the midwife.

  Quickly, Benevely hastened to her side and took Beatrice’s hand.

  “I’m with you,” he told her.

  Beatrice gave a mighty push.

  “Uuuughhh!”

  “Push!” the midwife called.

  “Uuuuughhhhh!”

  “Puuuuuush!”

  And again.

  “Puuuuuush!”

  Benevely squeezed tighter.

  “Uuuuuuuuuggghhhhhh!”

  “Harder!” the midwife yelled. “Push harder!”

  “I can’t!” cried Beatrice. “I…I…I just can’t!”

  “You must!” said the midwife. “You must push! Otherwise the baby won’t make it!”

  Beatrice heaved.

  “You can do it,” Benevely said. “I’m right here with you, Beatrice. I’m right here with you. Just push.”

  Beatrice squeezed Benevely’s hand. Her eyes cringed as she gathered all of her might and let-out a final “Uuuuuuuuggghhhhhh!” Suddenly, the sound of a baby crying rent the air. The midwife lifted it up high. The boy was covered in the blood of its mother. It was beautiful, pure, and innocent, like that which it had come from. For a moment, all gaped in amazement. Finally, the midwife turned toward Beatrice.

  “She’s bleeding badly,” she said. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  Benevely stared down at the near-lifeless Queen. His eyes softened and fell to the ground.

  “Give her the child,” he ordered.

  The midwife wasted no time. She placed the blood-st
ained baby in the lifeless arms of its dying mother. Beatrice turned and looked into his eyes. They were bold and beautiful, like her own – blue as the sea. And as she stared into those spell-binding eyes, her own came to a final close.

  Benevely propped-up Beatrice’s head with his hand. She was so innocent, he thought, so beautiful. He rubbed her gentle skin before letting down her face. Then he turned away so that the others would not see his tears.

  The baby’s crying could still be heard as the midwife took it in her hands. Benevely came to his senses.

  “Wash him off next door,” he said. He looked down at the tiny face in her arms, and added, “God bless him. For his mother has made the ultimate sacrifice.”

  He nodded at the midwife and she turned and stepped out. Benevely looked toward the other two men. Neither of them spoke, but he could tell just as well that it was only he that was experiencing true sadness. His eyes fell to the ground as he slowly stepped out of the room.

  The Dark Duke and Rahavi stood staring down at the Queen.

  “We must work quickly,” the duke said.

  Rahavi nodded. “No one is guarding the newborn’s room. As soon as the midwife leaves, you can take care of the new king.”

  “Keep your eye on Benevely.”

  “Done.”

  …………………………………………..

  From a crack in the doorway, the duke could see the midwife washing the new king’s head with a blood-soaked rag. The baby had been wrapped in a small red royal blanket by now, and had stopped crying in order to take notice of its new surroundings. He was staring out at the light afar.

  The Dark Duke watched, his evil eyes darting back and forth, as the midwife carefully laid the baby on the table and exited through the opposite door. Slowly, he opened the door and entered with cautious steps, glancing from side to side. He approached the newborn king and placed his hands around his throat.

  “Agh!”

  The Dark Duke turned. It was the midwife, back again!

  She was stuttering: “What…What…?”

  The evil man stepped toward her. The midwife, suddenly aware of her own danger, hiked up her dress and flew out the door and down the nearest set of stairs. Screaming, screaming, screaming, darting in and out of rooms, but no one was there to hear her. “Help me!” she yelled, “Somebody help me! He’s going to kill me! He’s going to kill the king!” The duke was right behind her now and gaining. He had to shut her up fast, before Benevely might hear.

  Finally, they came unto the gallery. The midwife was trapped! She scurried desperately around the room before realizing that there was no exit except for that from which she had come. In a panic, she ran for it. But the duke had beaten her there. He stood with his sword drawn, his eyes the tougher steel. The midwife took a deep breath as he approached.

  “Please…” she said. “Oh, God…Oh, God…”

  He lifted the sword toward her head. In desperation, she tried to make a run for it. But the Dark Duke caught her in his hands and threw her back. She let-out one more piercing scream before meeting her end, a picture of the new king’s great-grandfather looking on.

  The Dark Duke retracted the blood-stained blade. It was not the first such stain.

  Quickly, he rushed back, huffing and puffing as he retraced his steps up the stairs and into the king’s room once again.

  But there was no baby.

  He looked around. Under the table. No baby. Behind the chair. No baby. By the bowl. Still, no baby.

  Suddenly, Rahavi rushed in.

  “We heard a scream,” he said.

  “It was the midwife,” the Dark Duke replied. “She saw me by the baby. Where’s Benevely? The plan has changed.”

  “We’ve lost him. Where is the baby?”

  “You lost him? How?”

  “He must know some sort of secret corridor somewhere. He evaded us. Where is the baby?”

  The Dark Duke rushed over to the window, still broken by daylight. He scanned the town.

  “There!” he cried, pointing out.

  Rahavi came up behind him. He could see a man’s figure down below, scurrying away from the palace.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Only I possess the key to the stables. We’ll find him.”

  …………………………………………..

  Benevely ran as fast as his old body could take him. From behind he could hear the sound of the palace gates opening and horses beginning to tread. Faster! he told himself. Faster! You must not let them have the king! He ran down into the main street, hoping, praying that there would be someone to help him. If only he could make it to the church!

  He spotted it now, off in the distance – the very same one that Edmund and Beatrice had been married in. Quickly he raced.

  But it was too far! The horses were almost on him now – the beat of their hoofs sounding in rhythm to his heart. He had to think fast. He looked around. All that he could see was a local saloon. He had no choice but to try for it. Faster, he went. Faster! The hoofs! He turned.

  Outside was an upright barrel with a lid on it. Benevely opened it and looked inside. It was empty. He looked back. No time to think. He placed the sleeping king inside the barrel and shut the lid.

  “Godspeed,” he bid.

  Then, in a huff, he turned and started to run again. He saw a horse coming at him, and tried to make his way across the street, but was stopped by a sudden kick to the chest. He looked up from the ground. Rahavi.

  “Where is the baby?” the bad man demanded.

  Benevely stood and looked him in the face. He lifted his arms from side to side and hung down his head, closing his eyes.

  “Never,” he said.

  Rahavi looked around. Not a civilian in sight. He drew his sword from its sheath. With one quick thrust Benevely went down.

  “Get rid of him,” he ordered one of his guards.

  The sentry hopped off his horse and slung Benevely over the top. In an instant, he was off with Benevely’s body.

  Rahavi glanced around.

  “Search the area.”

  Chapter 2

  A Serendipitous Discovery