The Broken Crown

Chapter 52

Thomas

 He heard it from a letter; he was the first one to hear. It had been sent by a squire, sealed with wax and King Raphael’s seal. It spoke of the unfortunate death of Lord Alex, sole heir to Tibera and a special message for Thomas to deliver the news to the Queen. For this purpose, a second letter, this one sealed the same way, was given.

 To Thomas, who had barely known the man, yet only remember him for good, these news were grave. His heart sank in his chest when he read the words – it pains me to tell you that lord Alex Lamarck was found dead on the battlefield – so he could not imagine the reaction of his own sister.

 He found her in her private chambers, and for that he was grateful. He would not have to drag her away so that she would have to explain.

 She was sitting beneath a window, her hair in a loose braid as she read a book. Her daughter sat beside her, only nearly five summers old and already stitching quickly and beautifully.

 “Your Grace,” the servant who had let Thomas in said, “Lord Thomas Bonney here to see you.”

 She looked up from her book, the hint of a smile on her face. “My lord, what a pleasure it is to see you.” She put aside her book and stood to her feet. “Evelyn,” she chided softly “Curtsey for our guest.”

 The Queen did a slow curtsey, making sure that her daughter followed her movements. He bowed to each of them, making sure to wiggle his eyebrows at the princess. It was one of the few things that made him happy these days, to meet with the Queen who now trusted him far more than she had done when she first arrived.

 “What is it, my lord?” Adrianne asked, her eyes still latched onto her daughter.

 “A… private matter,” he said.

 Adrianne’s smile paled only slightly. It was understandable; she had a husband and a brother fighting a war. A brother. “Mayben!” she called, and an aging lady came in through a door to the side. “Take Evelyn to the gardens.”

 Evelyn looked only slightly disappointed, but already too well mannered to show it. “She is very beautiful,” Thomas commented, hoping to distract her for a little while. Soon, I will be the one to crush her world again, he thought. What has she done to deserve it?

 “What is it?” she asked, and he could hear the apprehension in her voice. She was a woman who had learned the hard way to always steel herself.

 Thomas looked away from her, from her expectant gaze. “Dismiss your servants.”

 He could hear her draw in a breath, he could hear it catch in her throat and tremble. “You heard him,” she said.

 “I have a letter,” he whispered and held it out. He did not see her hand take it.

 When he looked up, she had opened the letter, her eyes were reading the lines quickly. Then her jaw clenched and her fact paled. Her breathing grew ragged, desperate, as though the air had vanished from the room. The letter dropped onto the floor and she backed away from it, her silk slippers soundless against the stone floor. Then her scream cut the air, and it sounded like nothing human. It was so shrill, like a bird’s cry. She screamed again and again, tumbling backwards until she fell on her hands and knees. Teardrops landed on the floor.

 Thomas had no idea what to do. “Your-Your Grace?”

 “Please leave,” she whispered.

 He nodded, even though her eyes were fixed on the floor, and left. When the door closed behind him, another scream penetrated the air and he felt as though it was a knife, cutting him to shreds. The tears that came to his eyes could not be helped.