The King and Prince Wes fell into deadlock silence. Neither let up, standing by their previous arguments.
The younger Westergård relaxed his posture and folded his hands across his lap. "Father, I must ask you to reconsider."
"My word is final."
Casually leaning back in his chair, the Prince stared into his father's hardened eyes - as though to change his mind telepathically. The King sighed, his thumb and index finger massaging his temples.
"You want me to put my own son on trial. Do you hear yourself, Wes? If you had children, you'd understand that-"
"Oh, I understand perfectly. It's your guilt!" snarked Prince Wes to which the King raised a brow. "You wish you had shown Hans more affection. More love! Maybe then he wouldn't have thought of only himself when he took out a sword on your ally."
The words did little to provoke the His Majesty, which Prince Wes expected of the seasoned diplomat.
He stood up and drifted over to the family portrait over the hearth. Many times he studied the painting, always finding something unseen before. His hand glossed over the children huddled around the King and Queen.
Except Hans.
The child held a vacant expression while he stood right next to his father. Prince Wes dropped his hand. His unlined face fell into a scowl.
"Don't you dare think you're the only one," he said under his breath.
Saying nothing, King Westergård glanced at the portrait, seeing over a dozen heads of red or brown hair. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that breakfast time drew near.
"We're done here, Wes," he said, heading for the door.
"He's twenty-three years old now." Prince Wes faced the perplexed monarch and held his hands behind his back, regaining his regal air. "It's much too late to merely take away his privileges and send him to his room.
"Even though he is your son - my brother - you are King. Your subjects must be assured that no one is allowed special treatment. No one."
A somber look cast over His Majesty's face. For a long time, he pondered over those forthright words.
He let out a demoralizing sigh. "...You're right, my son."
The Prince raised his eyebrows just a tad. In truth, he wasn't expecting him to agree.
"But I cannot try him myself," His Majesty added, watching the kingdom that lay beyond the window. "The people of the Southern Isles will decide his fate. Prince Hans will have his day in court."
Prince Wes didn't know whether to smile. "Very good, my King."
♕
The aroma of jam and fresh crêpes lured Cait into the kitchen. The chef finished up decorating the plates with sliced fruits.
"Voilà! A masterpiece!" he said, sashaying his hands in the air with gusto. After a moment of admiring his work, he ordered the kitchen staff, in French, to take the food to the dining table.
"Oui, chef!" they said, taking the hot platters and bustling out the door.
Cait couldn't help but smile; it was like watching a play. At the King's personal request, one of the most renowned chefs in France was brought in to revive the castle's cookery. Life in the kitchen became all the more dynamic with Monsieur Lambert in charge.
Noticing the maid lost in thought, Monsieur Lambert called out to her. "Bonjour, Caitlin! Here for the Prince's breakfast?"
Switching thoughts to Prince Hans, Cait sported a stoic facade and nodded.
"But of course!" The chef presented a rather large chafing dish. "I put extra care in this one. His Highness may in the dungeon, but he is still a man of royal palette, non? Here it is!"
Lifting off the cover, he revealed dishes of omelettes, crêpes, cheeses, fruit, tea - cuisine Cait had seen only her dreams. Satisfied with the girl's amazement, Monsieur Lambert returned the cover and handed the dish off to her. Thanking him, she hurried out the kitchen.
The maid headed for the most isolated part of the castle: the third tower. An imposing door protected by a tall, brawny guard marked its entry. The sight intimated her, but she had to steel her nerves.
Walking confidently to the guard, she announced, "I am here to deliver Prince Hans his breakfast."
His eyes cast down at the puny maid. "No one sees the prisoner," he said firmly.
Cait froze. Her hope instantly deflated. She just thought if she... No. This wasn't another one of her dreams. She couldn't just waltz into the dungeon.
The dish grew heavy in her hands. She stepped back, prepared to walk away when Monsieur Lambert came to mind.
His Highness may in the dungeon, but he is still a man of royal palette...
Standing erect, she berated the guard. "The King ordered that the prisoner continue to receive his meals. He is still a prince. If he starves to death, you'll be charged with treason!"
His eyes widened. The history of prisoners dying from absence of food was no secret. And Hans hadn't lost his title just yet.
Prince Hans must be kept safe at all times.
Choosing the lesser of two evils, the guard opened the door for the shifty-looking maid. Before she entered, he warned, "Ten minutes for the Prince to eat. Don't return by then and I'll arrest you for conspiring against the throne."
Cait tried to look indifferent. The heavy door closed behind her and she preceded down the torch-lit stairwell. Once or twice she stumbled over her own feet. The dish almost slipped from her sweaty palms as she neared the end.
She stopped before the final step, shaking from the nerves. Closing her eyes and counting to three, Cait descended the last stair. Had her grip on the handles not been so tight, the chafing dish would have crashed to the cold ground.
YOU ARE READING
Frostbitten Heart
Fanfiction[KINDLY ADD TO READING LIST! :)] Hans has shamed his kingdom, his parents, and his twelve brothers. The only one happy to welcome him is a lowly maid named Cait. On her first day in the castle, Prince Hans briefly took her into account with a smile...
