Five

A CHILD IS BORN

If fate had made Queen Lenore suffer in her wait for a child, it was done with her once her womb proved fertile. She bloomed along with her stomach. Her cheeks flushed with color, and her skirts rustled as she walked with a bounce to her steps. She dreamed up patterns for blankets and swaddling clothes and urged me to sit by her side at her loom as she brought those designs to life. I marveled at her swift fingers just as I marveled at my own ability to converse easily with a woman who treated me more as a younger sister than as a servant. On the day I turned fifteen, she presented me with a hand-crafted shawl, the loveliest piece of clothing I had ever worn, made all the more valuable by the knowledge that my mistress had woven the garment with me in mind. Those were the days that I first heard the queen laugh—not her usual polite acknowledgment of a jest but outbursts of unabashed delight. How it breaks my heart that I can no longer recall that sound, for it would bring me great comfort to remember her when she was capable of such joy.

The change in Queen Lenore’s demeanor rippled through the court to those around her. King Ranolf abandoned his daily hunting trips and doted on his wife like a love-struck suitor. Millicent was just as solicitous, though her visits were far less convivial than the king’s. She ordered Queen Lenore about in an imperious manner I thought unseemly for one who had never borne a child herself. She brought flasks of foul-smelling concoctions for the queen to drink, telling her they would make the baby strong, and nagged at her to lie abed into midmorning. Queen Lenore smiled politely and thanked Millicent for her concern, but she began spitting the drinks into her washing bowl when Millicent’s back was turned.

“Something that tastes so horrible cannot possibly do the child any good,” she told me.

Indeed, she put more stock in my own advice; since I had seen my mother through half a dozen pregnancies, there was little I did not know of the changes a woman’s body undergoes during those nine months. It was a heady feeling, realizing that my words were having some small influence upon the future heir to the throne. At times it almost felt as if I were mothering her, sharing the reassurance and nurturance she would have received from her own family, had she not been living so far from her homeland.

By all indications Queen Lenore’s pregnancy progressed with none of the troubles that can so bedevil a woman at such times. But as the queen’s stomach grew more prominent, filling even her roomiest gowns, Millicent began to insist she recuse herself from public life.

“A royal wife should keep to her quarters once her condition becomes manifest,” she said authoritatively.

“In my country it is very important that a queen be seen with a full belly,” Queen Lenore argued. “If not, it could be whispered that an heir had not been borne of her body.”

Millicent rolled her eyes dismissively. “Such reassurances may be necessary in your part of the world, but no one here would dare insinuate such a thing. You simply cannot be seen prancing about in your delicate state.” The king, mindful of family tradition, took his aunt’s side.

The queen felt the loss of her freedom deeply, and I was no less affected. As autumn announced itself with cool breezes and shorter days, the castle took on a grimmer, more shadowy cast. I began to dread the upcoming winter and the months of confinement it would bring, for I had few opportunities to escape those gloomy halls. I received the occasional invitation to dine at my aunt Agna’s, but the bond between us had not deepened with time. Her home was a self-contained world with little place for outsiders, and my cousins treated me with barely disguised snobbery. I might answer to the queen herself, but in their eyes I was still a servant, while they were the favored children of one of the town’s leading citizens.

So it came as a great relief one afternoon when the queen threw aside her embroidery with an irritated sigh and sent for the king, declaring that she could not tolerate another minute of imprisonment. He came quickly, his face tight with concern.

“Do not fear, all is well with the child,” she said. “But I am so very melancholy, shut away in here. Could I perhaps join you in the Great Hall for supper?”

The king narrowed his eyes but did not say no.

“Is this not a happy time, love?” she asked.

“Indeed it is.”

“Then why must I pass these months as if I were in mourning? Should we not celebrate our good fortune?”

It would have been impossible to resist her then, with her eyes sparkling and her voice calming him like a caress. The king’s sense of propriety was no match for her charms. He moved his hand from her cheek to her hair, smoothing it under his fingers.

“I see no reason I should deny myself the pleasure of your company this evening,” he said.

“Might we have music?”

“Music, eh?” I could see from the twitch at the edge of his lips that the king was teasing her. “Who could say no to such a pretty plea?”

“Oh, thank you!” she cried, embracing him with a delight that caught him off guard. He rocked back for a moment, then righted himself and laughed.

Thrilled by this turn of events, I could have embraced the king myself. Catching sight of my relieved smile, Queen Lenore waved me forward.

“Did you hear, Elise?” she exclaimed. “Music! Perhaps even dancing!”

“Now, now . . .” the king admonished.

“I would not dream of dancing myself. I meant only that it would give me great pleasure to watch.” She tilted her head back and planted a peck on his cheek, then turned to me. “Come, we have work to do. Do you think my violet gown could be let out enough that I might wear it?”

That night was the first of many banquets Queen Lenore attended even as her stomach grew more pronounced. After eating my own meal with the servants, I would creep upstairs and watch them through the doorway of the Great Hall, the graceful ladies and courtly gentlemen embodying all that was noble. On those nights the menacing shadows that so unnerved me were banished to the farthest corners of the room, and scores of candelabra bathed everyone in a youthful, golden glow. I can still remember Queen Lenore’s dark eyes reflecting the sparkle of the silver candlesticks, King Ranolf watching the proceedings with benevolent delight. I had never seen them as beautiful as they were on those nights, nor would I ever again.

“To my son!” the king would announce, raising his glass for a toast. Courtiers would cry out, “To the future king!” and the hall would echo with the sound of brass and silver goblets clinking together, a metallic clash that I imagined sounded like swords on a battlefield. None of us doubted that the child would be a boy, a solace for all the years of waiting. We did not allow ourselves to picture any other outcome.

Yet it would be a lie to say the days passed in a haze of happiness. Deftly pushing aside Lady Wintermale and the other ladies-in-waiting, Millicent clearly relished her role as the protectress of the future heir, and she turned to me as an ally, demanding I reveal the most private details of Queen Lenore’s health: what she ate, how often she used the chamber pot, whether the king spent the night in her bed. I attempted to feign ignorance or said I could not recall, but Millicent was relentless in her questioning. Time after time I gave way and told her what she wanted to know. When she smiled and said I had done well, I felt a rush of pleasure that blotted out the shame of my disloyalty. For despite the warmth I felt for Queen Lenore, a love that rivaled the love I felt for my own mother, Millicent’s approval was harder earned and therefore the more valuable. I believed it possible to serve two mistresses, thinking it within my power to keep peace between them.

If only Millicent had been content with our private bargain, savoring her knowledge of the queen’s life in secret! But that was not her way. She boasted openly of her influence and laughed dismissively when King Ranolf grumbled that her constant hovering was overtiring his wife. And I allowed it to happen. I told Queen Lenore nothing of Millicent’s intrusive questions or her snipes at the king. I did not understand—how could I?—that Millicent and her nephew were drawing ever closer to war, with Queen Lenore as their prize. I was the one person who could have warned against Millicent’s deviousness. Yet I stood dumbly aside. For that I shall never forgive myself.

The cataclysm, when it came, was swift and devastating. Queen Lenore’s pains began in the middle of the night; with typical selflessness she suffered them in silence for some time before her restless turning awoke me. I pulled myself up to my knees and saw her lying on her side, arms clutching her belly.

“It has begun,” she whispered. In the darkness the only things I could see were her eyes, looking at me fearfully.

I leapt up and lit a candle. Then I poured water over a cloth and put it to her forehead.

“I will inform the king,” I said.

I rushed into the hallway, stumbling in my hurry with only the candlelight to guide me. I rapped on the door to the king’s chambers, and one of his guards emerged, wiping his bleary eyes.

“Send for the midwife,” I said. “The queen’s time is come.”

Immediately the guard straightened and nodded. I waited while he pulled on an overshirt and a coat. Then he lit a candle from mine and hurried away. The midwife, Ursula, had already been paid a healthy sum to check the queen’s stomach throughout the pregnancy, and she had pronounced the baby hearty. She had a jolly, confident manner that I thought would serve Queen Lenore well during her ordeal.

After whispering the news to the king’s valet, I rapped on the doors of Lady Wintermale and the other ladies-in-waiting, then returned to Queen Lenore’s side. She remained as I had left her, with the cloth lying across her forehead.

“Elise,” she said, stopping to wince for a moment. She panted for a few breaths, then continued. “It’s early. Ursula said the baby would not come for a month or more.”

I, too, had worried at the timing as I dashed back and forth in the halls. But it would not help the queen to linger on such things. She would need all her strength for what was to come.

“A child arrives when it’s ready,” I said, in what I hoped was an assured manner. “My mother was never correct in her calculations. One of my brothers appeared a full two months before she expected, and he was as healthy a child as she had.”

“Really?” She seemed to believe me.

I was spared any further lies by the arrival of Lady Wintermale. If I had seen her under different circumstances, I would have been amused by the sight of her bedraggled hair and ill-wrapped robe. But tonight I felt simply gratitude that she had come so quickly. The woman usually took such pride in her appearance; it was a testament to her love for the queen that she had dashed from her rooms attired thus.

“How does she?” Lady Wintermale demanded, looking at me.

“I am well,” Queen Lenore said with a brave smile. “Well enough to speak, at least.”

“Good, good. Elise, light the candles. We must make it as bright as possible. You’ve sent for the midwife?” I nodded. “We must ready the supplies.”

Roused from the servants’ quarters, a huddle of maids arrived to take Lady Wintermale’s orders. Sweaty-palmed with nerves, I stepped aside, only to hear Queen Lenore call out my name.

“Yes, my lady?”

“You must fetch Millicent. She promised me—” She winced as her stomach contracted. “She promised me something to ease the pain.”

Lady Wintermale rolled her eyes but said nothing. I hurried to the North Tower, concern for the queen overpowering my fear of those dark, echoing hallways. Millicent did not answer the door until my third, pounding knock. With her hair covered by a nightcap and her eyes sagging with weariness, she looked, for the first time, like an old woman. Defying that first impression, however, she quickly readied herself once I announced my mission. She swept out of the room and paused at the door next to hers, giving it a sharp rap. The door creaked open almost instantly, as if Flora had been perched in readiness, waiting to be called into action.

For months I had wondered about Flora, pitied her, even feared her. My imagination had conjured such visions of madness that I’d forgotten she was a real woman, aunt to the king, flesh and blood of a royal family known for its striking good looks. And Flora, in her prime, would have been the most striking of all. She had the same strong nose and chin as Millicent, but her large, smoky green eyes gazed at me softly, almost wistfully. Her mouth curved naturally in the hint of a smile, and her cheeks were tinged a delicate pink. Framing her angelic face was a mass of fine white curls, so fragile they could have been made from a spider’s silk; the rest of her hair was tied back with a girlish ribbon. She must have been past sixty, but in her virginal white nightdress, lit by the flame of a single candle, she appeared ageless.

“The queen has gone to her childbed,” Millicent said briskly. “Do you have the herbs?”

Flora disappeared into the darkness of her room. From the little I could see, it had the same imposing proportions as Millicent’s and similarly lavish furnishings. I was puzzled by several dim shapes that hung from strings tied to the bed frame, until I recognized the jagged edges of leaves and branches. It seemed odd that a noble lady would dry herbs like a common apothecary, and I wondered if this was a proof of her disturbed mental state.

Flora returned and handed her sister a small glass vial filled with a dark green substance.

“It should be placed under her tongue,” Flora said in a quiet, breathy voice. “No more than could cover her smallest fingernail.”

“Yes, good,” Millicent said.

Flora looked at me curiously, and Millicent hastily explained that I was the queen’s attendant. At this, Flora asked, “How does your mistress fare?”

Disarmed by Flora’s evident concern, I answered honestly. “The queen fears the ordeal before her.”

“So she does, poor thing. So she does.”

She spoke as if she were privy to the queen’s most secret thoughts, and I felt a ripple of unease.

“Come,” Millicent announced, motioning me toward the stairs. I dropped a quick curtsy to Flora, and she smiled wistfully, her expression such a mix of sweetness and sorrow that I was momentarily baffled. Only the rapping of Millicent’s cane brought me out of my trance and reminded me that my duties lay elsewhere.

As we entered the hallway leading to the queen’s rooms, Millicent suddenly stopped, her path blocked by the king and two of his knights.

“The queen is being attended to by the midwife,” he said sharply. “She needs no other distractions.” Jaw clenched and arms crossed before him, the queen’s loving husband was transformed into a self-righteous ruler who would tolerate no threat to his authority. The same man who had publicly shamed his own brother, regardless of the consequences.

“There is something I must give her,” Millicent insisted.

She stepped to the side and made as if to walk around the king. The insult of the gesture fueled the fire already simmering within him.

“You shall not enter!”

The knights each took a step forward, and Millicent retreated. Smiling as if amused by the whole scene, she waved the glass vial in front of her.

“My dear Ranolf, you misunderstand my intentions. I have been summoned here on your wife’s orders. Ask Elise.”

I hugged the wall, reluctant to be drawn into their skirmish. “The queen sent for a tonic to lessen the pains of childbirth.”

“The last thing the queen needs is one of your potions,” the king said to Millicent with obvious contempt. “This is another feeble attempt to insinuate yourself with Lenore, hoping she will take your side against me. I will not allow it! You will not drive a wedge between me and my wife!”

Despite Millicent’s propensity for troublemaking, I was alarmed that the king chose this moment to make such a stand. Would he deny Queen Lenore relief from her agony simply to spite his aunt? Millicent held herself perfectly still throughout the king’s tirade, her face never shifting from its impassive expression. Only I, standing so close, could see the way her fingers clutched her cane until the veins popped from the skin. Then she smiled, as if she had remembered the final weapon in her arsenal.

“You still fail to grant me my due, dear Ranolf. I spent hours with Lenore at the shrine of St. Agrelle, praying even as our bodies shuddered with cold. Now, thanks to me, she presents you with an heir. Yet have you shown me gratitude?”

King Ranolf’s eyes narrowed as she continued.

“I was with your wife when she cried at the barrenness of her womb. I caught her tears with my hands. I will not be denied my rightful place beside her as she welcomes our heir into the world.”

“Our heir?” The words came out in a whisper, as if King Ranolf could scarce believe he was saying them. Then his face flushed and he waved a hand contemptuously in her direction, the same gesture he used to dismiss servants who displeased him. “You have no place here, not today. Begone!”

Stunned, Millicent stumbled backward, and I leapt forward to steady her. Her breathing was heavy and deliberate, her chest a bellows pumping up her rage. Terrified of where her anger might lead, I bowed obsequiously to the king and tugged at Millicent’s sleeve, urging her to return to the North Tower. King Ranolf turned away with a stomp of his boots, followed by his men. Lady Wintermale’s face peeked around the edge of the doorway, and she nodded when she saw I had Millicent in hand. I only hoped the voices had not carried as far as Queen Lenore’s bed. She must not be upset, today of all days.

I can still see Millicent as she was in that moment, a vision that haunts me even now. Tall and regal, her striking face set in an expression of arrogant determination, she had a terrible splendor that weakened my already shaky resolve. Could I have stood against such a force? If I had bent Millicent to my will and pulled her away, would I have prevented the scene that followed? These are questions that still trouble my sleep, when exhaustion allows such thoughts to creep in. I tell myself a servant girl of fifteen could not have altered the course of events. My affection for Queen Lenore was no match for Millicent’s dark powers.

“Elise,” she said, reaching out to clutch my forearms, and I was lost once again, lulled into obedience by her commanding voice. “You must go to the queen.”

“I will, as soon as I’ve seen you back to your room.”

“No, no, it cannot wait. Tell her that Ranolf has forbid me entrance but she must insist upon my presence. I am the only one who can assure she receives the proper dose.”

She pressed the vial into my hands, urging me on my way. I heard a sharp cry reverberate through the thick stone walls. It was Queen Lenore, screaming. I nearly cried out myself; the thought of my mistress in such pain made my stomach twist in sympathetic anguish. The concoction I held in my hand would relieve her suffering, but my offering it to the queen would only bring on another, far worse, confrontation with the king. Palms sweating, I hesitated by the door, miserable with indecision. Millicent stared at me, and the full force of her attention washed over me like a searing-hot wind, flushing my face despite the castle’s midwinter chill.

“Go,” Millicent said coldly.

Had she shown but a glimmer of kindness, of gratitude, I would have done her bidding. But she shot me a look of disdain, as if I were still spattered with country mud. In a flash of devastating insight, I saw her attentions toward me for what they were. She had not singled me out for special notice because I was smarter or more able than the other maids. No, she had flattered me into thinking I was exceptional so I would obey her under any circumstances.

Humiliated and betrayed, I buckled at the knees and pressed my face into my hands, pushing back the tears that threatened to overcome me. My collapse enraged Millicent, and her carefully maintained self-assurance cracked. She straightened her shoulders to stand at her full height, enjoying her advantage over me, then pulled her cane back and struck me on the shoulders with crippling force. I cried out and dropped to the floor, curling my arms around my rib cage.

“You wretched fool!” she shrieked. “How dare you defy me!” Again and again she struck me, her vile words as painful as the blows. “You would be nothing without me! A dung-stained chambermaid unfit to lie at the queen’s feet!”

Dimly, through half-closed eyes, I was aware of thudding footsteps surrounding me. The beating stopped, and a footman wrested Millicent’s cane from her hand. As I slowly rose, my back throbbing, King Ranolf appeared before us.

“What is this madness?” he demanded, eyes blazing.

Millicent spat out her words. “This insolent wench must be dismissed at once.”

“Sir, I beg you,” I said in a rush. “She told me to bring this to the queen, against your orders.”

I showed him the vial, and he snatched it from my hands. Holding it up to one of the torches mounted on the wall, he swirled the contents with a flick of his wrist, then hurled it against the floor. Millicent gasped as a slimy green puddle oozed from the fragments of shattered glass.

King Ranolf stepped forward to stand directly in front of Millicent, his proud bearing the mirror image of hers.

“My tolerance is at an end,” he said, his voice rumbling with barely controlled fury. He motioned to the knight at his side. “Thendor, escort my aunt Millicent to her room and keep her there, under guard.”

“Perhaps you should consult your wife before making such rash pronouncements,” Millicent murmured.

“The queen obeys me!” the king thundered. “In this and all other matters!” He turned to the men hovering behind him. “Take her away! I can no longer stand the sight of her!”

Suddenly Millicent was grabbed on either side by two burly guards and pulled nearly off her feet. The woman whose majestic bearing had so awed me was reduced to a pathetic, shrieking crone, struggling futilely against her captors. Her white hair slipped from its fastenings and cascaded over her face as she hurled insults at the king, horrible words that lingered in the air like smoke long after she was out of sight. King Ranolf stood for a few moments in the hallway, silent and clearly shaken. Then he marched off past me, into his room, crashing the door shut after him.

Slowly rising from the floor, I saw that a crowd had gathered behind me. The queen’s ladies-in-waiting huddled together, uncharacteristically silent. A group of footmen muttered darkly, while a lone chambermaid stared at me in loose-jawed shock. All had witnessed my humiliation, as well as the king’s rage. The story of this confrontation would be spread throughout the castle within minutes.

Indeed Lady Wintermale took me aside not much later as I stood in the queen’s sitting room, gazing out as daylight crept over the garden, involuntarily shivering whenever I heard a cry from the bedroom.

“Is it true?” she asked, wide-eyed. “Millicent has been sent away?”

“The king has confined her to her room.”

“Thank heaven for that.”

“How is the queen faring?” I asked. Ursula, with the king’s approval, insisted that only she and Lady Wintermale be permitted at the childbed, and thus far the two women had shared little of the labor’s progress.

“Her spirits are good,” Lady Wintermale said. “Though she continues to ask for the potion.”

“Tell her it could not be procured,” I said. “She does not need to know why.”

“Poor dear. I fear it will be some time yet till the baby is born.”

She was correct in her prediction, for Queen Lenore fought through a day and a night of pain. Concern for my mistress denied me sleep, and I spent the evening drifting between the royal apartments and the Lower Hall, where a group of maids and footmen kept vigil along with Mrs. Tewkes. As I stood at the sitting-room window again the following morning, witnessing yet another dawn, I feared I could not bear a single hour more. Ominously, I had heard no cries or groans from the bedchamber for some time.

Ursula emerged from the room, summoning a weak smile. I could see from the way she held herself that her arms and legs ached. I had brought her a bowl of soup, but she pushed it aside.

“The time is near,” she said. “Come, I may need you.”

Inside, Lady Wintermale sat on a chair, limbs crumpled with exhaustion. Ursula leaned down at the head of the bed. Queen Lenore was a pitiful sight, with her usually lustrous black hair matted against her drawn, sallow face. Her eyes stared dully, showing no flutter of recognition when I entered.

“The time has come, my lady,” Ursula said. “You must push.”

Queen Lenore moaned, a sad, faint sound that made my heart ache. If I could have put myself in the bed and pushed for her, I would have.

Ursula’s voice took on a hectoring tone I had not heard before. “You must! Your baby is ready!”

Clenching her teeth and fists, Queen Lenore began to push. And God took mercy on her then, for the remainder was arduous but quick. Within no more than ten painful breaths, she had sent her child into the world.

For a moment that felt like hours, there was no sound. Then I saw Ursula rise, beaming, with the baby cradled in her arms. A firm slap on the child’s back was quickly followed by an insistent wailing. Relief flooded through my spent body, and I almost burst into sobs myself. Lady Wintermale took the baby from Ursula and wiped it deftly and expertly with a damp cloth, then wrapped the tiny creature in a wool blanket the queen had embroidered for the occasion. She opened the door to the antechamber, clasping her precious bundle.

“Summon the king,” she announced.

The king must have been pacing the hall outside, for he appeared almost immediately. The ladies parted to make way for him as he passed.

“A daughter,” Lady Wintermale said, extending the arm where she held the baby. “Healthy as can be.”

The excited whispers died away, and the room descended into silence. A daughter. I stared down at the floor, afraid to see the devastation on the king’s face. How quickly a moment of joy could be transformed into a scene of mourning.

I caught sight of Queen Lenore on the bed across from me and realized she was crying. Not the euphoric tears of a new mother but sobs of anguish and regret. I grabbed a fresh cloth and dried her face, then dabbed lavender fragrance on her neck.

“Hush, madam,” I whispered. “Your husband is come.”

“A daughter,” she moaned. “All this for a daughter.”

I brushed her hair smooth as quickly as I could. Ursula was removing the bloody sheets from the bottom of the bed in preparation for the king’s entrance. I wrapped Queen Lenore’s shoulders in one of her best shawls, doing my best to make her presentable for the king. But no matter how well she looked or how sweet she smelled, the king would not be able to see past the despair on her face. After all she had suffered, she still had not produced an heir. In a sickening flash, I thought of Prince Bowen. How he would rejoice at this news!

Behind me I heard Ursula say, “She is ready, sir.” I turned from the bed and saw the king hand her a bag of coins. Judging by Ursula’s delighted expression, it was larger than she expected.

“You have delivered a healthy child,” he said. “I will be forever in your debt.”

He walked over to the bed, standing on the opposite side from me. Queen Lenore did not meet his eyes.

“My dear.” He reached out and brushed his fingers along her cheek.

“I am so sorry for this disappointment,” she whispered.

“Disappointment?” He turned back to where Lady Wintermale stood at the door. “Bring the child to me.”

Lady Wintermale gingerly placed the baby in the king’s arms. He carried her to the bed, gently tucking her under one of the queen’s arms, and knelt beside them. “Have you not admired her?” he asked.

Queen Lenore glanced down without moving her head. The baby lay silently, her dark eyes and deep red lips peeking out from the swaddling.

“I prayed every day for a son,” Queen Lenore said.

“If my daughter proves as beautiful as her mother,” said the king, “will that not provide me with more joy than a loutish boy?”

Queen Lenore’s lips twitched in the beginning of a smile.

“I prayed you would be delivered of a healthy child, and those prayers have been answered,” the king said. “A woman may never have inherited the throne before today, but that does not mean our daughter cannot be the first.”

The queen began to cry again, but these were tears of relief, for I could see her smiling and looking at the king tenderly. I heard a sniff and saw that Lady Wintermale was struggling to hold back tears herself. The king rose and addressed himself to the crowd waiting in the antechamber.

“Send word throughout the land that my heir has arrived!”

The ladies clapped, and I could hear the exultation echoing through the hallway outside, where dozens of other courtiers awaited.

“I’ll have no one claim I didn’t welcome this child,” the king said, turning back to his wife. “We will have the grandest baptism this kingdom has ever seen. What do you think?”

Queen Lenore smiled and nodded, her eyes bright despite the dark circles of exhaustion that shadowed them. “Yes, we must give thanks.”

Elation melted the usual social barriers, and I found myself embracing ladies-in-waiting and servants alike, until my mouth ached with smiling. Queen Lenore waved me over to admire the baby, and I cooed with delight, falling in love with her instantly.

If the king had been moved by the spirit of that moment to surrender his pride, all might have been well. Thankful for the birth of a hearty child, he might have forgiven his aunt’s insults. But it was not in his nature. King Ranolf, benevolent and generous with those he loved, was an obstinate man, as obstinate as Millicent. Arrogance may confer certain advantages to a ruler, but it can also blind him to the benefits of diplomacy. It was the reason I was never able to shake a certain fear of the king, for who knows what a man convinced of his own infallibility might be capable of?

Two mighty forces had been set against each other. And such struggles can only end in disaster.