For Eternal Glory

Silence was strange. Sometimes it was eerie and menacing, something so big and unavoidable that it overwhelmed people. Other times it was comforting; a big, warm blanket of emptiness. Isabel enjoyed silence. She would lay awake until four, sometimes five in the morning just enjoying the silent castle.

This morning was no different. Isabel lay in a lump on her bed, the plush quilt pulled up to her chin. She had both arms under the blanket as well; the winter was not kind this year, and even the largest of fires in her mantle could not keep her warm. The princess turned her head to look out the window on her far wall. The sky was cloudless tonight and she had a clear view of the many stars that lit up the night. The telescope in the corner taunted her, but the thought of placing her bare feet on the icy floor kept her tucked up in her bed. Isabel turned back to face the door, where she had been counting the rivets that held it in place. She knew he needed to get some sleep but couldn’t force herself to close her eyes. Therefor she stared at the door, waiting for the maids to barge in with her morning tea. Isabel’s eyes were finally closing when she heard a noise from downstairs. 

When you lay awake anywhere for long periods of time, you learn the routine; when the guards march past, when the cooks begin breakfast preparations, you memorize the silence. As soon as a single noise was out of place, Isabel would know. And there were lots of noises out of place. Firstly, there would be no one walking downstairs until the sun began to rise. There would be no one talking until her mother, Queen Catherine, arose, and there most certainly would be no one knocking on her balcony door. Ever. There was no way to get to her balcony other than coming in through her bedroom. So when she heard a rattling noise and the clink of knuckles on glass, Isabel was on high alert. 

For a moment she considered pretending she hadn’t heard him, or perhaps wasn’t even in the room. The intruder may leave; give up hope on courting the princess. Isabel had plenty of experience with crazed suitors, although never one this intent on getting to know her. However, a million situations flashed by where the trespasser broke in and ran her through in her bed, so she decided to brave the criminal’s intentions, whether good or bad. Isabel swung her legs off the side of the mattress, sincerely wishing that she had left her slippers by her bedside. 

The princess stood up, her back still to the door. This whole situation had been taking place for only a few moments, but they felt like eternity to Isabel. As she turned around, rubbing her arms to ward off the cold, she looked toward the glass door, fearing the worst. The man standing outside her door was tall, with broad shoulders and torso. Isabel couldn’t make out his facial features very well, but the flickering light from his torch splashed onto his face every so often and from that she could tell he was quite handsome. He was looking down at the ground, and this made the princess see him as less of a threat than before. With slow, careful steps, she made her way over to the door. She outstretched a delicate hand and twisted the cold handle of the door.

The man looked up, his eyes connecting with Isabel’s. She still couldn’t make out much or his face apart from his eyes. They were entrancing. His irises were larger than normal, and there were only tiny bits of white at the corner. They were a dark brown color, and Isabel thought they might have been black, although the darkness made it hard to tell.

“Who- who are you?” The petite princess stood as tell as possible, trying to intimidate the man standing at her door. He bowed low, lowering his hat from his head.

“My lady,” he drawled, his low voice drawing Isabel further into his grasp. “I am Godric Hale. I do not wish to harm you, I only wish to ask a favor of your good graces, if I may.”

Isabel knew she shouldn’t trust him. She has been taught her whole life that people would do anything to get on the good side of the princess, and normally their intentions were anything but honest. However, these life lessons went out of the window as soon as Isabel set eyes on this charming stranger. His voice sent shivers down her spine, and his gaze looked into her very soul. The princess knew she shouldn’t trust him, yet she did.

“What can I do for you good sir?” Isabel looked up into Godric’s shadowed face, looking for any sign of dishonesty. His heart was true, she decided, and she would help him in any way she could. His smile widened as she answered him, and Isabel could’ve sworn she saw his irises widen as well, turning his entire eyes black.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Godric placed his hat back on his head and his torch into a sconce beside the door. He reached into the satchel by his waist and pulled out a worn piece of parchment. He opened it up and cleared his throat, beginning to read. “’And the chosen one will stand, and she will bless the coven with her good grace, and the gods will see fit to bless them as well, and so it will be done.’” Godric folded up the paper and placed it back in the leather pouch.

“I’m sorry good sir, but what does this have to do with me?” Godric chuckled darkly, and for the first time since she met him, Isabel felt uncomfortable with his presence. “I don’t see how I can be of assistance.”

“My dear princess,” Godric grasped her cold hands in his, “You are the chosen one! My coven has seen it in a dream and now we need you to bless us in our ritual so the gods will finally grant us their good will. Please, my grace, will you lend us your blessing?”

“Oh, of course,” Isabel curtsied low in her nightgown. “I do bestow upon this man and his coven my blessing. Now, is that all you needed?”

“Not quite, unfortunately,” Godric wrung his hands together awkwardly. “I need you to accompany me to where my coven is gathered so you may bless us there.” Isabel was growing more and more wary by the minute, but something in the man’s face made her trust him. Everything in her mind was telling her not to go with him, but she was seeing in a trance, and her body moved against her will. As her mind screamed no, she grasped his outstretched hand and they were off.

The next hour or so was a blur. Godric helped Isabel down the vines by her balcony and then onto a horse. She grasped his waist as they rode down a wooded path, overgrown with vines and shrubbery. It opened up into a clearing lit by candles, with a large stone table in the middle. There was not a soul there.

“Godric, may I inquire why your coven is not here to welcome us?” Isabel spoke up as she stepped down from the horse.

“Unfortunately they could not be here to witness tonight’s events. Don’t fear, they are here in spirit,” Godric lead Isabel to the stont table and motioned for her to lie down.

“No, I didn’t agree to this,” The princess stepped away from the table and started to run back to the horse. With a wave of his hand, Godric pulled the damsel back to him, where he kept a tight grip around her waist. “Sir, I must ask you to let me return. My parents will be worried!”

“I apologize my dear princess, but I cannot,” Shadows began to emerge from the trees as Godric forced Isabel into the table. The princess moved without realizing it, slipping her bare feet and wrists into cold metal shackles. The shadows, which she saw now, were people wearing the same cloak as Godric. They had their hoods up, concealing their faces. Godric stepped toward her, grinning madly. His eyes were entirely black now. Isabel was shaking in terror, and she desperately pleaded with Godric to let her go.

“Please, my parents will do anything. They can pay you large sums of money, or perhaps land if you desire,” A few tears leaked out of the princess’s pale blue eyes and dripped onto the stone below her head. “Anything. Please.”

“Unfortunately for you, we do not desire anything of material value,” Godric unsheathed a small dagger from his belt and poised it above the princess’s heart. “Long live the King.” And with a final cry from both parties, the dagger was buried in the princess’s chest.

A few hours later the Queen and King could be found mourning by the lost princess’s bedside. Catherine fell into her husband’s arms, asking over and over why she had to be taken. The King kept his thoughts to himself however. His wife would surely leave him if she knew he had traded their daughter’s life for his eternal glory.