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I grab the edge of the table as a deathly chill runs through me. An alliance between Prince Mikil and Greythorne can only mean one thing. It was Greythorne’s men who killed Prince Ronan’s wife and baby son.Oh gods!I think, as I try to calm my racing heart,how do I tell Ronan?

“Elinor,” Kes asks, her voice loaded with concern, “what is it?”

I look her and Ailish in the eye and reveal to them the prince’s tragic tale and the horrific fate of Aonghus and Aurora. “From what you have told us, Ailish,” I say in a low voice, “I believe it was Greythorne’s men who carried out this heinous act at the behest of and probably in return for payment from Prince Mikil. And the gods help me, but I don’t know how to tell the prince.”

“That’s why Prince Mikil accused Barra and Aaran of being part of some conspiracy to kill Prince Ronan, to deflect from his own involvement?” Ailish asks.

I nod. “I’m afraid that’s what it looks like to me.”

“The black-hearted bastard,” she exclaims. “I’ll kill him myself.”

“Not if Barra, Aaran or the prince get to him first,” I reply.

“Such news would come as quite a shock to the prince,” Kes states in a concerned voice. “Do you think he’s capable of dealing with it right now?

“I don’t know,” I reply, “but I think for now we need to deal with the immediate threat of Greythorne arriving sooner rather than later and trying to gain access to the castle and me. I will say nothing to the prince for now and will marry him tonight. I will inform him of my suspicions in due course.”

“I think that’s wise,” Kes agrees as she rises from the table. “I shall go in search of Barra and Aaran and tell them to be in your chambers at sunset.”

“And I shall go in search of food, a bath and some clean clothes,” Ailish announces.

I watch as these two warriors walk away from me and feel good in the knowledge they’ve got my back, especially in a world where men as evil as Greythorne and Prince Mikil exist.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The sky is a glorious mix of orange, pink, terracotta and blue as the sun sets over the far plains of Arywyth. Kes, Ailish, Barra, Aaran, the prince and I are gathered in front of the terrace and the recently arrived castle cleric is trying his best to hide his confusion.

“Good evening, Pater Aemon,” I greet him. “You have been called here this evening to perform the sacrament of marriage.”

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” he replies, as he visibly relaxes. “I would usually undertake such a sacrament in the chapel. However, if you wish for it to be performed in your chambers then, as your most humble servant, I can, of course, acquiesce to such a request. Pray tell, which one of these couples wishes to marry?”

I step forward and extend my hand to the prince. “It is I who intends to marry,” I inform him, “and I am taking Prince Ronan of Ellerban as my husband.”

His mouth falls open as he looks from me to the prince and back to me again. He tries to speak but nothing more than a strangled croak escapes his lips. He shakes his head and clears his throat. “Forgive me, my Queen,” he stutters, “but I thought you said it’s you who wishes to marry.” He laughs nervously as if he has just uttered the most ridiculous idea ever.

“That’s exactly what she said,” Kes says in a firm voice as she steps closer to the cleric. “Now I suggest you grab whatever it is you need to perform the ceremony and get on with it.”

He looks at Kes in alarm. “B...b..ut, the Queen is promised to Lord Greythorne,” he declares. “How can she be marrying a prince of Ellerban? And where is this prince? Is this emissary his proxy?”

The prince steps forward. “I am Prince Ronan of Ellerban,” he announces, “and the rightful heir to its throne. I came to Ardvalla in the guise of an emissary as I wished to woo the queen free of any interference from her courtiers or mine. She wishes to make me her husband, therefore I suggest you do as she asks before she loses her patience with you.”

Pater Aemon simply gawps at the prince and after some seconds he looks at me and asks, “But what of Lord Greythorne?”

At this stage I lose my patience. The sky is darkening and as I spy the moon starting to rise I’m reminded of the fact Greythorne is already on his way to Valensia. “If I were you, Pater Aemon,” I say in a sharp voice, “I would worry less about Greythorne and more about the wishes of the queen who stands before you.”

The sharpness of my voice has the desired effect and he nods vigorously. “Yes. Yes, of course, my Queen,” he stutters, “please forgive me. This has all come as quite a shock.” He fumbles in his pocket and produces a silver realt, the blessed symbol signifying the north star, the star of truth and integrity and the one which we all look to for guidance.

Before he can do anything else, Aaran steps toward him. “And make sure the ceremony is short and sweet,” he says in a voice underscored with threat.

Pater Aemon looks into his crystalline eyes and nods even more vigorously than before, “Y...yes,” he stutters as he raises the realt in front of me and the prince.

“Queen Elinor are you here of your own free will and do you wish to enter into the sacred sacrament of marriage today with Ronan, the prince of Ellerban?” he asks.

“I am and I do,” I reply.

“Prince Ronan of Ellerban, are you here of your own free will and do you wish to enter into the sacred sacrament of marriage today with Elinor, Queen of Ardvalla?”

The prince smiles, no doubt recounting how he came to be here. “I am and I do,” he replies.