“Where did they go?”
Her eyes darted to the saddle. She had ridden hard today, but Luna had rested for about an hour. She might still be able to catch them…
“I don’t know. She rode off with four of the queen’s guards. Some of the women in the kitchen were talking about a sister in southern Ireland. Perhaps Gigi was sent home to her?”
A sister? Gigi had never mentioned a sister. Surely, if she’d had family, she would have shared that with Issylte. They always shared everything.
The enormity of loss hit her like a physical blow. Issylte dropped to the floor, her legs unable to support her weight. She couldn’t breathe. Her temples pounded; her stomach clenched. She lowered her head to her knees and wrapped her arms tightly around them. She wailed, long and slow—the pitiful, plaintive bellow of a wounded animal.
Memories flooded her. Gigi holding her hand as they strolled through the woods. Collecting acorns to make pretend cakes. The countless stories of forest fairies who inhabited the thickwoods. The woodland creatures who would protect their beloved Emerald Princess. Gigi’s enormous brown eyes, so full of love…
The pain was suffocating. Issylte sobbed, gasping for breath. The pressure on her chest was so intense, she couldn’t breathe.
Roisin wrapped her arms around her. “Please don’t cry, Your Majesty. Perhaps when your father the king returns, you could ask him to bring Gigi back.”
Issylte raised her face, her heart alit with the slightest glimmer of hope.
I can speak to Father! He comes home in a week. I can plead with him. Tell him how much I need Gigi. Yes, Father can bring her back!
She threw her arms around Roisin, rocking back and forth to mend her shattered soul.
“And, even if he doesn’t agree to bring her back as your governess, he can surely send for Gigi to come for a visit. Perhaps for Yuletide. Wouldn’t that be lovely, Your Highness?” Aislinn raised her brows, empathy shining in her pale blue eyes.
Issylte smiled gratefully, fragile hope blossoming in her tender heart.
Roisin extended her hand to help Issylte to a stand. Brushing the hay from her riding gown, she lost herself in Luna’s soulful eyes. The tears started anew. Issylte hugged her horse, sobbing into the long, dark mane. The warmth of Luna’s coat was comforting, her familiar scent reassuring. Luna nickered in response, nudging Issylte with her wet muzzle.
After a few moments, bolstered by the hope of speaking to her father upon his return, fortified by the solid strength of her beloved mare, and accompanied by her supportive attendants, Issylte returned to the castle. And ran right into her wretched stepmother.
“Ah, there you are, Issylte. I was beginning to wonder what had detained you.” The queen glared at Roisin and Aislinn. The two attendants cast their gaze to the floor.
“I am certain your two servants informed you of my decision to dismiss Brangien.”
At the sound of Gigi’s name, Issylte nearly melted. But she did not want to give her stepmother the satisfaction of seeing her despair. She stared at her boots instead. She bit her lip to stop it from quivering.
“You are fourteen years old now. You no longer have need of a nursemaid. I, as your stepmother, shall assume the responsibility of your education from now on.”
The queen glowered at Issylte, in apparent disapproval of herunprincesslikeappearance.
“Go to your room so that your attendants may bathe and properly attire you. I shall have the kitchen send up a platter of food. You’ll be delighted to know that I have engaged a new Latin tutor, and your first lesson is this afternoon. Go now. I shall send for you as soon as he arrives.”
Issylte curtseyed, as required, before the heartless queen and escaped to the sanctuary of her private room. She threw herself onto the plush bed, burying her face in the downy softness. She could feel Gigi tucking the blankets around her, dispelling her childhood fears.
Her throat constricted, and she sobbed into her pillow.
Roisin stroked her hair. Aislinn sent servants to fetch hot water for her bath.
When her porcelain tub was ready, Issylte’s attendants helped her disrobe. She slid into the steaming comfort, sighing contentedly as Roisin lathered her hair with lavender soap, washing away the grief with her gentle touch.
And so, to survive the unbearable pain of loss, Issylte clutched tightly to the fragile thread of hope.
Father returns in a week. I must hang on until then. He’ll make things right. I know he will. He always does.
Chapter 4
The Tournament of Champions
The castle of Tintagel was hosting theTournament of Champions,a challenging three-day event where ten winners would earn the prestigious distinction of becoming Knights of the Round Table for Arthur Pendragon, the High King of Britain. Nearly three hundred candidates from the entire kingdom of Cornwall had arrived at the castle for the thrilling competition, which was set to begin today.
