The Forest Queen: Isles & Tribulations

Chapter 3

Once free of the forest, the knights urged their horses to a trot. The bouncing roused Orlaith; she gazed at the town they had entered through heavy eyes. Her mother had never permitted her to leave the forest, leaving Orlaith with no other option but to peek from the outskirts, her imagination the only thing capable of bringing other places to life. In her imagination, however, her mother had always been with her when Orlaith eventually discovered these new landscapes.

Evening had fallen and the town was quiet. They passed small thatched houses, some with illuminated front windows, showing families sitting down to their supper. In the distance, Orlaith could hear cattle mooing and the soft whinnying of horses. When they reached the centre of the village, stalls appeared that, when open, sold fruit, bread, grains, seeds and meats. There was a forge, too, where the armour for knights and soldiers would be made, and horseshoes would be produced. Brothels were scattered throughout the town, never too close together, hoping to lessen the competition with one another. Larger houses began to spring up as the market stalls thinned out; there were fewer of them than their smaller counterparts. And then, growing more and more impressive with each step that their horses took, a castle came into view, dwarfing everything that Orlaith had already seen.

Her mouth hung open as her eyes roved over the magnificent building before her. Stone walls surrounded the castle grounds; a set of wrought iron gates acted as the entrance, leading onto a gravelled walkway and grassy lawns. Two pentagonal towers stood in the foreground, one on either side of the castle, their roofs topped with crenellations. Connected to the rear of the five-sided towers was the building's main body, dotted with large leaded windows. The upper floors were encircled by a terrace. Stone steps led up to sturdy oak doors, ten feet high and six feet wide, studded with iron bolts and hinges. Never before had Orlaith thought it possible to feel intimidated by a building.

The gates had been opened for their small party by a pair of guards, who were dressed similarly to the three knights who had caught Orlaith, except their cloaks were striped black and green. The guards each held a scythe made of shining steel, with long, black wooden handles. Orlaith thought they were eerie-looking weapons. They were not used, though; with nothing more than a nod, the guards allowed the group to pass unquestioned.

When they reached the stone steps, they were greeted by three shabbily dressed stable boys. Sir Walter dismounted before lowering Orlaith to the ground, allowing one of the boys to lead his horse away. When the kind knight offered her his arm, Orlaith hooked her own through it and followed Sir Walter's brothers-in-arms up the steps.

The black-haired knight banged his fist against the doors. After a short time, they were pulled open by a tall, middle-aged man. He wore black woollen breeches and a matching doublet, with leather boots. His smile came easy for the returning knights, but it vanished when his midnight blue eyes found Orlaith. She offered a small smile, hoping to see his return, but her attempt was in vain. His unwavering gaze was intense and made Orlaith feel as though he knew more about her than she knew about herself.

Once he was able to smile again, the tall man said, “You have returned sooner than expected, sirs,” his tone half-surprised, half-amused.

Orlaith heard the youngest of the three knights speak for the first time. “They are easy to find when they do not know how to hide, Counsellor Dibbs.” His acne-scarred face had broken into a mischievous grin, displaying a set of misaligned teeth.

“Might the king be able to receive us?” Sir Walter asked, placing his hand on Orlaith's arm that was hooked through his own. His friendliness was the only form of comfort that she had in her disconcerting situation, yet it was not enough to slow her racing heart.

“Of course, sir,” Dibbs affirmed. “I will alert His Highness of your return. Now, if you would...” He motioned for them to step inside.

Following the man known as Counsellor Dibbs, Orlaith and the knights were led into a cavernous entrance hall. Slate-grey flagstones covered the floor and directly ahead of them stood a grand stone staircase, leading off to both the left and the right. Iron sconces lined the walls, holding flaming wooden torches that cast flickering pools of light across the hall. Smaller versions of the main castle doors were also set in the walls, interspersed between the torches.

The hall echoed with the sound of their footsteps, the first door on the right being their destination. With a forceful shove, Dibbs pushed the doors open and preceded the group into a modest chamber with a high ceiling. Running from the doorway to the back wall was a carpet the same colour as the knights' cloaks, wide enough for two grown men to walk abreast. A raised platform was at the opposite end of the room, on which stood two thrones of elm, their backs intricately carved into a design of twisted vines and leaves of ivy. Orlaith found the grandeur of the castle overwhelming.

Excusing himself, Dibbs left to summon the king. After a minute or two of silence, Orlaith began to overcome her fascination with the castle's architecture and a wave of panicked uncertainty fell upon her. Looking up at Sir Walter, she asked, “What is going happen to me, sir?”

“No harm is going to befall you, my lady,” he assured her. “The king is a most hospitable man.”

“If only the same could be said for the queen,” the acne-scarred knight muttered. He and Malley snickered.

Sir Walter narrowed his eyes at his comrades. “You would lose your head if any of Her Elegance's people heard you speak such words, Stepsan.”

Stepsan and Malley quelled their laughter, but did not force their smirks to disappear.

At the back of the chamber a battered wooden door opened, its hinges groaning as it did so. First through the door came Counsellor Dibbs, followed by a man and a woman, who Orlaith assumed were the king and the queen.

She was not proven wrong.  They sat in their respective thrones, His Highness on the right and Her Elegance on the left. The king was tall, although not as tall as the counsellor. His clothes were similar to those worn by Dibbs, although the king's doublet was quilted, the stitching and the buttons silver, and, like his knights, an emerald green cape hung from his shoulders. His hair was a chestnut brown, not unlike Orlaith's, and he had a stern, strong air about him.

Whilst the king was a powerful, intimidating man, the queen was a terrifying woman. If looks could kill, Orlaith would have died a hundred times over since Her Elegance had walked into the room. Her eyes were icy blue and disapproving, narrowed with intense dislike. Long white-blonde curls framed her fair-skinned face. She was dressed in an emerald green gown made of satin, ivory lace sprouting from the collar, sleeves and hem. There was no denying her beauty, but she displayed no signs of kindness. To Orlaith, 'Her Iciness' seemed a more fitting title.

Counsellor Dibbs stood in front of the thrones, before the raised platform. “I bring before you King Alistair, King and Ruler of the Empire Isle, and his wife and lady, Queen Camille!” he announced, before stepping to one side. Orlaith did not understand why the proclamation had been made to only four people, but she knew that it was not her place to ask questions, so she held her tongue.

“Bring her forward, Walter,” the king instructed, motioning toward himself with this hand.

Sir Walter gave Orlaith another gentle tug and led her towards the raised platform, their arms still linked. The closer she got, the faster her heart beat. She could feel both the king's and the queen's eyes on her, yet she kept hers fixed firmly on the floor. When they were in position, Sir Walter slipped his arm out of hers and stepped away from her. Letting out a faint whimper, Orlaith watched him walk back to his comrades and fought the urge to reach out to him.