Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 3: Dearest daughter

Since Ella could remember, she had fantasised about running away.

She could remember being eleven, laying elbow to elbow with Cedric on the dewy grass of his farmhouse, and talking about what they'd do if they could leave. They joked about becoming swashbuckling, treasure-looting pirates, never mind that neither of them had ever set foot on anything larger than a rowboat. They fantasised about adventuring and duels and travelling the world, meeting new people and exotic, faraway lands. Children, dreaming out loud, still blissfully unaware.

As they grew, those fantasies did as well. The last time she'd seriously considered it was on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, when her marriage to Jonas Pendergold became a stark reality. She'd come crying to Cedric and he'd consoled her, telling her they could run away. Get a little cottage where no one knew them. He could work as a swording instructor for some snooty nobles, and she could tend to horses and give riding lessons, or become a governess. They would have a new life, away from the pressures.

Ella had wanted it. She'd wanted it so badly. A place away from the suffocating restrictions of Codshire, away from Harrion's violent temper. Somewhere where she could be a free woman, not married off to an equally abusive man. Freedom seemed so tangible, she just had to reach forward to grasp it, and yet... she hadn't been able to do it.

Running away meant losing everything. They would be searched for, and Cedric would have been killed if they'd been found. He could have never seen his mother again, because everyone would have looked for them there. His sick, frail mother, who he didn't get to see often enough as it was. And Ella couldn't fathom leaving her family. Leaving Rosie, Grayson and her mother to fend for themselves. Who would take care of them if not her? And so, she'd reluctantly settled herself in Codshire, not daring to hope for anything different.

In hindsight, it hadn't been about running away from home, but rather to home. Home was where one was wanted. Home was where one came to rest. Home was what she'd thought she had the past couple of months.

She'd been so happy at Gerrathea. She'd felt at peace, even with the looming threat of war. There was finally a safe place for her, where no matter how bad it got outside, she could close the door and be comforted. Home had been the people around her, rather than a physical space. Ella had never thought she'd find it, and she'd especially never thought that once she did, she'd run away.

That was the first thing Ella learned. Running away was not like the childish fantasies she'd had. No, it was much more uncomfortable.

Ella would admit with no qualms that she was a noble, through and through. She'd been raised in a privileged life where she'd been waited on hand and foot. Still, she'd always fancied herself as more competent and less spoiled than many of the aristocrats she knew.

Her mother had instilled in her from a very young age that maids and staff were there to help, but that in no way meant she could be rude or lazy. So, Ella had learned how to bathe herself, make her bed, fold her clothes and keep her room tidy. She wasn't an inconsiderate pig, so she didn't go around leaving piles of clothes on the floor for the maids to pick up, she also wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty, and she certainly wasn't above doing manual tasks, so she'd thought she was up-to-par.

That was the second thing Ella learned on her first morning in the cabin. She was woefully unequipped to handle the real world.

For all the lessons she'd taken, no one had actually taught her how to take care of a home. Not in the sense that mattered. She'd been prepared to become a Lady of a Great House, and that meant she could plan parties, combine porcelain beautifully and write no less than fifteen different types of thank-you notes. That was all well and truly good, but what did it matter, if she didn't know how to boil some bloody water for tea!