CHAPTER 1 - THE KING IS DEAD

THE rain was pouring hard on the stone roof of the Tower the day that King Alaric of Vrasambail, the Third of His Name, died.

It was early in the morning, barely a quarter after the eight hour, and Prince Archer, the eldest born of the King and the long-dead Good Queen Amarantha, was alone reading in his chambers in what is commonly referred to as the Tower but in actuality was the residence of the royal family of Vrasambail when Lucius, the King’s squire, brought him the dire news.

“My Lord,” the 15-year old stocky lad with a mop of brown hair began after a cursory bow, “the King had passed in his sleep. Elder Anselm sent me to let you know.”

The scripture of the kingdom’s mountain clans that the prince had been reading fell to the floor. With the King having been in a sickly disposition for several months now, he had thought that perhaps the pain of his passing would be significantly lesser than it would have been had the death been a complete surprise, but he was wrong. He stood there agape, his chest tightening with every shallow breath.

“Where is he, Lucius? I wish to see him.”

The young man dropped his eyes to the stone floor of the prince’s room. Lucius, despite hailing from one of the proudest families in the kingdom, had always been timid. “He is in his chambers, my Lord, attended to by the Sisters.” The Sisters are the healers of the Kingdom, and they attend to the dead, as well.

He nodded absently. “I wish to see him. Have my sisters been informed?”

“Not yet, my Lord. My orders were to go straight to you. Shall I go now and let them know?”

Archer shook his blond head. “I will do it, Lucius. I will tell my sisters the news. Do you know where Agatha and Madeleine are?”

“Martha said,” he replied, referring to the castle’s elderly cook, “they were in the Princess Agatha’s chambers, my Lord,”

“I shall be gone, then. Tell Anselm that we shall meet him in Father’s chambers shortly.”

ARCHER heard the loud giggling of his sister Agatha as he knocked on the oak door of her chambers. “Agatha? Madeleine? It is I, Archer. I need to speak with the both of you.”

The heavy door opened, revealing a grinning Princess Agatha. She was a lively, fierce one: always high-spirited, but at the moment, she took one look at his grim expression, and her grin dropped. She stood up straighter, her usually mischievous eyes somber.

“Is it Father?”

Archer took a deep breath, and nodded minutely. Agatha furiously blinked her eyes to prevent the falling of the tears that immediately formed.

Archer turned his head and saw his youngest sister, seventeen year-old Princess Madeleine, sitting on her elder sister’s bed. While he and Agatha both inherited their father’s golden curls and blue eyes, Madeleine, with her straight black hair and dark eyes, looks exactly as their mother did at her age.

“Maddy..” he called gently, using her pet name. She was loved by everyone in their family, but by their father especially so. He knew how much the news of his demise would hurt her. “Our Father, the King, has passed.”

Her dark eyes clouded. “I know. I heard you telling Agatha.”

Silence ensued among the three siblings: Archer, head bowed; Agatha, swallowing hard and blinking; Madeleine, clenching the silk sheets of the bed in her hand. However much pain they are feeling, they were born royals: tough, controlled, and do not easily express emotions.

After a while, Archer cleared his throat. “My sisters, Father is in his chambers right now, and I am heading there to see him. You may come with me if you wish to do so.”

Both princesses nodded. Madeleine stood up from the bed and stood next to her sister.

“Lead the way, my Lord.”

HIGH Elder Anselm, the leader of the Council of Elders, was waiting outside the King’s chambers when the three siblings, led by the heir of the throne, arrived to see their father. Two guard were standing there, as well. He bowed upon seeing them, showing his all-white hair. “My Lord. Princess Agatha. Princess Madeleine.”

The prince spoke. “We wish to see our Father.”

“Of course, my Lord,” the old man said, nodding to the guard stationed to the right of the door. Despite not being members of the royalty, the Council’s influence over the Kingdom of Vrasambail cannot be dismissed. They are composed of seven nobilities from the seven most influential families in the Kingdom: High Elder Anselm, Elder Athelstan, Elder Gieronymus, Elder Hezekiah, Elder Hildegarde, Elder Ermentrude, and Elder Theodosia. They are the royal family’s most trusted advisors, and although the King’s word is final, every person in Vrasambail, from the lofty castles of the lords and the ladies to the slums of the capitol, knows that the Council holds immense influence over the King. High Elder Anselm, being the leader of the group, undoubtedly had the monarch’s confidence.

The armed guard opened the heavy wooden door, and Archer stepped inside, the two princesses and High Elder Anselm at his trail. There, in his massive bed, lay the deceased body of King Alaric, the beloved king of Vrasambail, husband to departed Queen Amarantha, and father to Archer, Agatha, and Madeleine. Six women clad in white robes – all members of the Sisterhood of Healers who attend to births, the sickly, and the dead—were around him.

Oh, Father, he thought. King Alaric looked small in his death. During his life, he was as fierce a warrior as he was good a ruler. Towering over most men, he had a thunderous voice, and a glare so fierce it could make anyone’s blood run cold.

But behind that fierceness was the loving father that Archer and his sisters grew up with. Their mother passed when Madeleine was but a child of three. It was said that she never recovered from the difficult pregnancy she’d had with her youngest, and the toll of giving birth, for she had had labored for three continuous night and day with Madeleine. With the loss of the queen, King Alaric became the only parent that they knew. He never remarried, and instead focused on ruling Vrasambail and raising the children left to him by his beloved wife.

The Prince walked towards his father’s body, his sisters at his side. He could hear Agatha’s controlled gasps, and the quiet heaving of Madeleine’s body as she struggles to control the tears falling down her white face. He rested a finger across one cheek of the King’s already-cold body.

“My Prince,” he heard Elder Anselm behind him. “I share yours and your sisters’ grief in the passing of the King. He was a good King, and an even better man.”

“I thank you, Elder Anselm.”

“However,” the old man added, “We must consider the steps to be taken, particularly the coronation, and your marriage to the Lady Cecily.”

Archer closed his eyes tightly. Cecily, the granddaughter of Elder Hildegarde, was a childhood companion of his, and his betrothed as well. Her sire was a good friend of the king.

“I am aware of my duties, Anselm,” he answered firmly. “But as you yourself had said, my Father was a good man. He deserves to be mourned, to be honored. Prepare for his funeral, Elder, and make it worth the sacrifices that he had given to this Kingdom. I myself shall handle the coronation and my marriage, but in my own time. For now, leave my sisters and I alone with our father. Go, all of you. I will call for you when I am ready.”