“So you unlocked the door and went to Princess Arista’s room?”
Reuben nodded again.
The king turned to his daughter. “Is this the boy who carried you out?”
Arista said nothing. She didn’t even look up.
“I asked a question. Answer me.”
“Maybe.”
“Arista, look at him.”
“I don’t want to.”
The king petted his daughter’s hair. “Why?”
“I hate him.”
“You hate … but he saved your life, didn’t he? Carried you from the castle? Others have testified they saw him with you in his arms coming out. Are you saying that isn’t true?”
“It’s true.”
“Then why—”
“He didn’t save Mother. He let her die! He lived and she died! He’s a coward, a vile, awful…” Arista broke down in tears and with a wave from the king was led out.
Reuben thought he couldn’t feel worse and hated himself for his naivety. Everything could be worse. He felt tears forming and struggled to hold them back. He didn’t want to cry in front of all those men.
“Everyone out,” the king ordered.
“But, Father,” Alric protested. Reuben noticed then that the prince had two swords, one in his hands and one on his belt. The one he held Reuben recognized as his own sword that the prince had given him, the sword he had lost in the fire. “You can’t listen to her. He’s innocent. He saved Arista’s life. He tried—”
“I said out!” The king’s voice finally boomed and everyone retreated. He waited for the door to close. It was just the two of them then. Reuben and the king. Even Dorothy was gone.
Imitating the bishop, the king sat on the spinning-wheel stool beside the bed. He didn’t say anything at first and Reuben didn’t dare look at him. He kept his eyes on the dried plants hanging from the ceiling.
“The castle was on fire,” King Amrath began, his voice low, soft. “Leaving your post would result in severe punishment, maybe not death, not to a boy who was serving his first day, but a whipping at least. You knew that.” The king paused, stroking his beard. “You were ordered not to enter the castle by the chancellor and your own father.” He paused again, licked his lips, and exhaled loudly. “Even discounting everything else, you ran into an inferno when everyone else was running out. Reuben, that doesn’t sound sane to me. So explain—why did you?”
“To save Arista.” The words came out of his mouth, but they were born somewhere deeper, and having said them a tear slipped and fell. This time he did not notice it hurting; the pain from his burns was secondary to this new agony. He looked at the pommel of the king’s sword and wished he would draw it, wished he would kill him. His life was a waste. Born unwanted by both parents, he killed his mother and drove his father to murder and treason. Now the only girl he would ever love hated him. He wanted to be dead. The fire had cheated him. How much better if he had burned to death believing in ignorance that he had finally done something right.
“I see.” The king nodded. The tempest in his eyes was gone. All that remained was sadness.
“I tried to save the queen,” Reuben offered. “I went back, but I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was going to die in there. I know I failed you. I know I’m worthless. I know you all hate me. So, please, just do it.” Reuben was crying openly now. He no longer cared.
“Do what?”
“Kill me.”
“Is that what you think? You think I came to execute you?”
“Didn’t you?”
“Why would I punish the one man in my kingdom who did his job? The one man who risked his life for my family? Who knowingly sacrificed himself for the ones I love the most? Reuben, I am not in the habit of executing heroes.”
“But your daughter…”
“She just lost her mother. She hates everyone right now, me included. I can’t blame her. I almost killed the bishop myself for speaking the truth. Maybe your father was a traitor, but you are not. I owe you a great debt. I’m not going to execute you, Reuben. I’m going to reward you. I could knight you for bravery, but I don’t need another knight. As a knight, you would leave the castle, and I can’t have that. The coming days will be dark ones, I fear, and I am frightened for the safety of my family. I need men to protect them. All the gold in my treasury couldn’t buy a better protector for my daughter.”
The king stood up. “You need to get well quickly, Reuben. I will be arranging for proper combat training, as my son tells me you are less than able with a blade, and I need you as skilled as a Pickering.”
“I don’t understand.”
“As of this moment, you are now, Reuben Hilfred, royal sergeant at arms and the personal bodyguard of the princess. You will go where she goes, never letting her out of your sight. And as far as her protection is concerned, you act with the power of the king. That means you have my permission to kill any man who threatens her—I don’t care what rank or position he holds. Do you understand?”
Reuben nodded.
“From now on, you answer only to my daughter and to me. Never let anyone tell you not to protect her again.”
“But the princess hates me.”
“She’ll get over it.” The king turned to leave, then paused. “Of course, I think we’ll wait at least until you’re healed and have learned how to use a sword before I break the news to her. She has a temper, that one.” He walked for the door, but paused once more before opening it. “Thank you, Reuben.”
“Your Majesty?”
“Yes?”
“I wasn’t alone.”
“What’s that?”
“In the fire. When I went back for the queen, I wasn’t alone. Someone else was with me. I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t see anything. Just a voice; she told me which way to go, how to get out, and when I finally reached the stairs, she told me to jump. Only no one else could have been in there with me, could they?”
“There was no one else. You alone braved the fire.”
“I think it might have been my mother. I think she wanted to help me—see that I survived—and now she has.”
The king stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “I think everyone may have underestimated your mother’s love for you. Me included.”
CHAPTER 24
THE ROSE AND THE THORN
Hadrian watched as snow began to fall on the dirt. It melted faster on the newly turned soil, causing the little grave to stand out. The rough rectangle clean of any leaves, rich and dark, looked too small. It could be a child’s grave. He remembered her from that night—her face so young, so frightened. She was hardly more than a child. He pictured her under all that dirt and his stomach tightened. Gwen had dressed her in a gown of white and surrounded her in the last roses the vendors had left. Then they had nailed the box shut and settled it into the hole. Gwen had paid for the plot; she never said how much. All the ladies had pitched in for the headstone. There was a place outside the city for undesirables, but after Chancellor Braga’s announcement that the ladies of Medford House were under the direct protection of the king, no one protested. Not able to use her name, the headstone read GRACE FLOWERS.
If only he hadn’t interfered.
Would Rose have lived? Is she in that box under all that dirt because of me?
If he hadn’t helped Richard Hilfred fight off the sheriff and his deputies, if he hadn’t stepped in the way and stopped Terence from taking Rose to safety, she would still be alive.