TFL ch. 15

The crowd has moved from the ballroom to the banquet hall. I shuffle in between the slow-moving ladies, impatiently chewing on my lip. I haven't been able to speak with Guinevere much at all since she danced almost every dance and I danced as little as possible. I can see her across the room but the women's dresses consume so much space, that I cannot find a way through to Gwen or a way of escape. I always conveniently become ill the last half of the ball in order to change my clothes and guard Guinevere from the nearby shadows. I fulfilled my promise, now I am leaving.

"If you are considering leaving, you are not allowed." Selina's commanding voice behind me says. I turn, wondering to whom that statement was directed. She smiles at me. "Yes, Miss Amelia, I was speaking to you. I know that look- you are desperate to leave all this madness."

I politely smile and nod. "Well, it is a bit overwhelming in here." Princess Selina seems sweet, but I cannot stand her presence. It reminds me of how I do not in the slightest deserve Eric, how utterly beneath him I am.

She studies me, allowing her eyes to wander from holding my gaze. Her eyes grow distant and mystic for a moment.

"Your highness?" I question.

She blinks several times. "Oh, I am so sorry! I- you- you remind me of my elder sister."

Elder sister? She is not heir to the throne? "You must be confused." Selina continues as if reading my thoughts. "My elder sister died three years ago of the ague after training with our knights in a storm. She was a wonderful swordswoman, much better than I am, though I am competent enough." She fastens her gaze back on me. "From Guinevere's stories of you, you are very much like her. Fond of the outdoors, excellent swordswoman, awkward at balls and other royal functions."She chuckles, "Yes, I can see it written on your face."

I blush profusely. In just a short time, this, this, princess has clearly and accurately analyzed me.

"You are sitting next to Guinevere at the highest table. Please, do not escape. Your presence would be very much noticed."

I moan as she glides away. Not only can I not hate her because she is too pleasant, I have to endure an entire evening in the same vicinity as her and Eric. Joy.

I make my way over to Gwen. "Did Selina tell you? You are sitting with us! And several very handsome knights of Rhodenheim..." Gwen comments, wagging her eyebrows at the end.

"Gwen..." I warn. She laughs and takes my hand. Arriving at our place, we sit down and lose ourselves in a trifling conversation.

Once all the guests were seated, King George guides Queen Elise to the seat next to his, whispering into her ear as she sat down. She turns and laughs at him, her eyes sparkling with joy. King George straightens himself and hushes the crowded room by raising his hand a little bit. His cheeks above his beard are a flushed red but his voice is strong and energetic.

"Gentleman and ladies, I want to thank you once again for joining us in the celebration of my dear Selina and his royal highness, Prince Eric's engagement. As your king, I must say that though it saddens me to know that our line will have ended, I know that the Lisle line will continue on in the good traditions of both Rhodenheim and Aspenvale. Eric," he pauses. "My daughter is the highest gift I could offer to you in all of Rhodenheim. Care for her as you would your own life."

Eric nods. "I will, your majesty."

"I know you will. Rhodenheim has been blessed with many riches- rolling meadows, plentiful fields, many mines. Our armies are strong, mighty, swift. But our countries joined will result in-" He cut off. Grasping his left side, he staggered backward a step.

Murmurs sound as Queen Elise and Selina immediately rise. "Sweetheart? What is wrong?"

He clears his throat. "It was nothing just a pain." He shakes his head, trying to gather his thoughts. "Together, our countries will-" Again he stops, clutching his chest, sweat beading on his forehead. Queen Selina grabs his hand and Sir Bentley runs to her.

Tears forming in her eyes, she says, "Help him to our room. And somebody, please, get the physician." I stand up quickly and run up one hallway and down another to the physician's room.

Banging on the door, I shout, "Open up! The king needs a physician!" An old, white-bearded man opens the door, already clutching his bag. Wordlessly, he moves down the hallway, straight to the king's bedroom. I follow to the door, then stand there, offering up a very confused prayer.

I mindlessly make my way back to the banquet hall, which now has become disarrayed and chaotic. Women whisper loudly and men nearly shout hypotheses as to what has happened to the king. Eric stands. "Gentlemen of Rhodenheim and Aspenvale." The room falls silent. He continues, "King George is ill. Now is not the time to shout and yell at one another. If anything, now is a time to go to the cathedral and beg for the king's healing! What will your idle banter do?" Without another word, he walks out, in the direction of the cathedral.

Sir Bentley and Jack follow him immediately. Then, one by one, the gentlemen rise and follow Eric's example. The women join them, the once boisterous hall, now solemn.

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I pace outside the room, where King George lies dying, and Guinevere has been for over two hours. Four days have passed and not a single improvement. Queen Elise constantly has tears streaming down her cheeks and both she and Selina whisper to the unconscious king. At this present moment, Selina is talking to Guinevere and Eric. "His breathing is so shallow sometimes, I think he is already gone from us." A sob catches in her throat.

Eric pulls her into a hug, his hand running consolingly through her long hair. Guinevere places her hand on Selina's shoulder. Her muffled sobs haunt me. Less than a week ago, she was a beautiful women in full blossom, practically glowing. The past four days, her eyes are red from tears, her throat hoarse from sobbing. Only a week ago and yet so much has changed.

Gwen exits the room, her own eyes red from her sympathetic tears. I grasp her hand and pat it. She smiles reluctantly and says, "I'm fine, Lee. I just keep imagining if it were my father." I nod, no words coming to mind. We walk down the hallway in silence. "Lee, let's stop at the cathedral." Once again, I simply nod. In a situation like this, words are useless to me. What words would have sufficient meaning?

The cathedral is brighter than the rest of the gloomy grounds, lit up with the flickering candles. The candles for the king, the vigil, the many prayers offered up here- the very room seems sanctified by their presence. Guinevere lights another candle, whispering a prayer as she does.

My eyes tear as I look at the candles. So many years ago, I had lit a candle in my mother's room, hoping it would keep her alive; but the candle sputtered out and my mother slipped away in the night without even a goodbye. I had never lit a candle for anyone since that day. That was when all the traditions, all the omens, all the folklore had lost their meaning to me. Not even six years old, yet I despised the false hope these trifles gave.

My sincere hope for the king's health causes me to wave, though. Perhaps, I should light one just to show my feelings, since I cannot find words. Perhaps...

Trembling, I awkwardly lift two candles, one lit and the other not. Touching the lit one to the wick of the other, I try to whisper a prayer, but my throat refuses to emit sound. Gwen smiles knowingly as we turn to leave. Queen Elise meets us at the door and whispers, "Thank you." I only can hope that the king will live. I can only hope.