Rosalie
ONE
The light in the summer sky was fading to dark but the villagers still lined the streets, keeping a constant flow of ale to keep the spirit alive. The day that caused for celebration was the birthday of the beloved princess, and while the occasion was marked with street parties for some, the atmosphere in the castle that was sat on top of the hill was a different story.
Sat at the head of the table, the Queen led the prayer that asked the Gods to keep her daughter safe. Her ladies were sat down both sides, each one dressed in a simple black dress that consisted of one skirt and no lace, and at the opposite end of the table the chair remained vacant, a reminder that her late husband was no longer around. The soft, sorrowful music that was playing lulled her close to tears, but it had been years since her daughter had disappeared and there were no more tears that she could shed. There was no use crying over something that could not be changed.
A quiet "Amen" finished the prayer and the bell was rung for the servants to start serving the starter meal. The plates had been placed in front of each woman when there was commotion from within the hall before a tall, proud man walked briskly into the room and knelt in front of the Queen while her ladies whispered furiously in surprise. "My Queen, I am Prince Christian, second son of King Harold, and I come bearing news."
The Queen was not impressed and did not permit the prince to rise. "The insolent way that you invaded these private dining quarters on a day such as this does not amuse me. Take your news and leave," she ordered, motioning to the guards that had followed after the prince.
"Forgive me, my Queen, but this new is of the most importance," he protested, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. "My men have been exploring--"
"Leave!"
The guards rushed forward to seize the prince. "It is about your daughter!" His words froze the guards, silenced the ladies and wounded the Queen. There had not been a man in her court that had spoke of her daughter since her husband had passed, and before that there was only ever the mention of her name whenever the day of her birth rolled around. Had she not suffered enough losing her only child? Why must she suffer with talk about her when the talk will not bring her back to her mother, where she belonged?
The prince took advantage of the silence. "I would not have come had I not had proof, but my men are men of their word. They explored caves and cliffs at my command for new territories, and when they returned last they told of a castle that sat upon a cliff. Ruined and dangerous, they ventured closer and swear upon their honour that a girl was spotted in one of the windows."
Composing herself, the Queen looked down at the prince. "And what, sir, gave them the idea that she might be my daughter?" she said coldly.
Twisting around, the prince beckoned his companion over and took the small chest that he was holding, placed it in front of him before slowly opening the lid. "This," he replied, revealing to the Queen the dirty blanket that was folded inside. "It is burnt and damaged, but there is no mistaking that it belongs to your daughter."
Cautiously, she bent down and pried the blanket out of the chest, pushed her plate away and draped it down in front of her. Some of the dirt dropped onto the table as she inspected, but when one of her ladies saw it, her glass dropped from her hand in shock and shattered on the ground. A servant rushed to clear it up as the Queen looked back at the prince, her eyes shining. "I made this blanket for her when she was two years old. I last saw it when she was five, the day that she was taken away from me. Now you bring it back, all these years later, on the day that she would be sixteen."
The prince looked directly at the Queen, and with the utmost sincerity said, "And I swear to you, in this room, in front of all these people, that I will bring you back your daughter."
Sat at the head of the table, the Queen led the prayer that asked the Gods to keep her daughter safe. Her ladies were sat down both sides, each one dressed in a simple black dress that consisted of one skirt and no lace, and at the opposite end of the table the chair remained vacant, a reminder that her late husband was no longer around. The soft, sorrowful music that was playing lulled her close to tears, but it had been years since her daughter had disappeared and there were no more tears that she could shed. There was no use crying over something that could not be changed.
A quiet "Amen" finished the prayer and the bell was rung for the servants to start serving the starter meal. The plates had been placed in front of each woman when there was commotion from within the hall before a tall, proud man walked briskly into the room and knelt in front of the Queen while her ladies whispered furiously in surprise. "My Queen, I am Prince Christian, second son of King Harold, and I come bearing news."
The Queen was not impressed and did not permit the prince to rise. "The insolent way that you invaded these private dining quarters on a day such as this does not amuse me. Take your news and leave," she ordered, motioning to the guards that had followed after the prince.
"Forgive me, my Queen, but this new is of the most importance," he protested, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. "My men have been exploring--"
"Leave!"
The guards rushed forward to seize the prince. "It is about your daughter!" His words froze the guards, silenced the ladies and wounded the Queen. There had not been a man in her court that had spoke of her daughter since her husband had passed, and before that there was only ever the mention of her name whenever the day of her birth rolled around. Had she not suffered enough losing her only child? Why must she suffer with talk about her when the talk will not bring her back to her mother, where she belonged?
The prince took advantage of the silence. "I would not have come had I not had proof, but my men are men of their word. They explored caves and cliffs at my command for new territories, and when they returned last they told of a castle that sat upon a cliff. Ruined and dangerous, they ventured closer and swear upon their honour that a girl was spotted in one of the windows."
Composing herself, the Queen looked down at the prince. "And what, sir, gave them the idea that she might be my daughter?" she said coldly.
Twisting around, the prince beckoned his companion over and took the small chest that he was holding, placed it in front of him before slowly opening the lid. "This," he replied, revealing to the Queen the dirty blanket that was folded inside. "It is burnt and damaged, but there is no mistaking that it belongs to your daughter."
Cautiously, she bent down and pried the blanket out of the chest, pushed her plate away and draped it down in front of her. Some of the dirt dropped onto the table as she inspected, but when one of her ladies saw it, her glass dropped from her hand in shock and shattered on the ground. A servant rushed to clear it up as the Queen looked back at the prince, her eyes shining. "I made this blanket for her when she was two years old. I last saw it when she was five, the day that she was taken away from me. Now you bring it back, all these years later, on the day that she would be sixteen."
The prince looked directly at the Queen, and with the utmost sincerity said, "And I swear to you, in this room, in front of all these people, that I will bring you back your daughter."