Page 5

She brushed her jet-black hair and plaited it in a thick braid, which she tossed down her back.

Upon her head she placed a silver coronet, adorned with icy aquamarine gemstones, which perfectly complemented her shimmery blue gown.

To put a rosy glow into her nervous pallor, she pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to give them a hint of blush.

With one last glance in the mirror, she smoothed the folds of her dress, held her head high, and proceeded to the throne room, followed by the two remaining royal guards who had been waiting at attention just outside her bedroom door.

The eastern wall of ogival windows bathed the glorious throne room in brilliant morning sunlight.

Graceful white stone columns held the curved arches along the length of the vast room, where two green velvet tufted thrones were centered upon a raised wooden dais, flanked by the royal standard of King Donnchadh—the great white hawk upon the dark green background.

The throng of servants apprehensively awaited her, their new queen.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd assembled on either side of the long carpet which covered the stone floor and extended from the entrance to the rich walnut dais.

At the sight of the queen and her royal guards, the throng fell silent as Morag purposefully strode into the room and claimed her seat upon the throne.

Brangien stood uneasily before the dais, Sir Knial the escort at her side.

“Dear Brangien,” the queen began, her voice commanding and cold despite the fondness of the term with which she addressed Issylte’s governess. “You have been a most loyal servant for many years, for which King Donnchadh and I are most grateful.”

She smiled insincerely at the woman who appeared terrified to have been summoned to the throne room. Morag exulted in the thrill of power. Her pulse thrummed with excitement.

Motioning for the steward, Lord Lugaid, to approach, she handed him a black velvet pouch and ordered him to give it to Brangien. The nurse accepted it hesitantly, her fearful eyes fixed on the queen.

“Please accept this as compensation for your excellent service to the Castle of Connaught. However, since I plan to personally assume the responsibility of educating the Princess Issylte from now on, you are henceforth dismissed from your duties as her nursemaid.”

Gasps of shock reverberated through the crowd of servants.

Queen Morag nodded to the four guards who had received the explicit orders just outside her royal antechamber.

“My royal guards will escort you to your room so that you may pack your belongings. You are to depart at once, before the princess returns from her equestrian lessons.”

Brangien emitted a guttural moan and dropped to her knees.

Morag impassively smoothed the folds of her elegant gown and lifted her haughty chin to glare at Brangien. “I wish to avoid a most unpleasant scene. You will depart immediately. Thank you for your service, dear Brangien. You are hereby dismissed.”

The four royal guards escorted the distraught nurse from the throne room.

As the servants bowed before her, Queen Morag gracefully stepped down from the gleaming dais and glided up the carpeted path, followed by a trail of simpering royal attendants.

A few moments later, a small crowd gathered at the front of the castle and bid goodbye to Brangien, who rode off into the forest with the queen’s four loyal guards. Morag smiled in wicked delight.

****

Issylte returned from her riding lesson, her cheeks windburned, her hair a tangled mess, her spirit still soaring.

She led Luna into the stable, where she removed the horse’s saddle, storing it upon the wooden stand.

She brushed and groomed the dappled gray mare, who was now munching on the sweet-smelling hay that she’d placed on the floor of the stall.

At the sound of footsteps, Issylte looked up and spotted her two attendants, Roisin and Aislinn.

They seemed upset, their eyes puffy and red, as if they’d been crying.

Issylte’s heart pounded. Something was terribly wrong.

“What is it?” she gasped, dreading the response.

Neither one of her ladies in waiting seemed willing to respond. They glanced at each other in desperation, both avoiding her imploring eyes.

“Please, Roisin, tell me! What has happened?”

Issylte took hold of her attendant’s trembling hands.

Roisin gulped, as if finding the courage to speak. Finally, she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion, “The queen dismissed Gigi! She ordered her to leave at once. And now, Your Majesty… Gigi’s gone!”

Issylte couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Gigi was gone? She turned to Aislinn, who nodded, her eyes downcast, her lip quivering.

She didn’t know what to do. Her mind raced. She was terrified of the stepmother who haunted her every move, always lurking in the shadows. She certainly could not run to the frightful queen with soulless eyes and icy hands. Father was gone, for at least another week.

She could jump on Luna and gallop after them!

“Where did they go?”

Her eyes darted to the saddle. She had ridden hard today, but Luna had rested for about an hour. She might still be able to catch them…

“I don’t know. She rode off with four of the queen’s guards. Some of the women in the kitchen were talking about a sister in southern Ireland. Perhaps Gigi was sent home to her?”

A sister? Gigi had never mentioned a sister. Surely, if she’d had family, she would have shared that with Issylte. They always shared everything.

The enormity of loss hit her like a physical blow.

Issylte dropped to the floor, her legs unable to support her weight.

She couldn’t breathe. Her temples pounded; her stomach clenched.

She lowered her head to her knees and wrapped her arms tightly around them.

She wailed, long and slow—the pitiful, plaintive bellow of a wounded animal.

Memories flooded her. Gigi holding her hand as they strolled through the woods.

Collecting acorns to make pretend cakes.

The countless stories of forest fairies who inhabited the thick woods.

The woodland creatures who would protect their beloved Emerald Princess.

Gigi’s enormous brown eyes, so full of love…

The pain was suffocating. Issylte sobbed, gasping for breath. The pressure on her chest was so intense, she couldn’t breathe.

Roisin wrapped her arms around her. “Please don’t cry, Your Majesty. Perhaps when your father the king returns, you could ask him to bring Gigi back.”

Issylte raised her face, her heart alit with the slightest glimmer of hope.

I can speak to Father! He comes home in a week. I can plead with him. Tell him how much I need Gigi. Yes, Father can bring her back!

She threw her arms around Roisin, rocking back and forth to mend her shattered soul.

“And, even if he doesn’t agree to bring her back as your governess, he can surely send for Gigi to come for a visit. Perhaps for Yuletide. Wouldn’t that be lovely, Your Highness?” Aislinn raised her brows, empathy shining in her pale blue eyes.

Issylte smiled gratefully, fragile hope blossoming in her tender heart.

Roisin extended her hand to help Issylte to a stand.

Brushing the hay from her riding gown, she lost herself in Luna’s soulful eyes.

The tears started anew. Issylte hugged her horse, sobbing into the long, dark mane.

The warmth of Luna’s coat was comforting, her familiar scent reassuring.

Luna nickered in response, nudging Issylte with her wet muzzle.

After a few moments, bolstered by the hope of speaking to her father upon his return, fortified by the solid strength of her beloved mare, and accompanied by her supportive attendants, Issylte returned to the castle. And ran right into her wretched stepmother.

“Ah, there you are, Issylte. I was beginning to wonder what had detained you.” The queen glared at Roisin and Aislinn. The two attendants cast their gaze to the floor.

“I am certain your two servants informed you of my decision to dismiss Brangien.”

At the sound of Gigi’s name, Issylte nearly melted. But she did not want to give her stepmother the satisfaction of seeing her despair. She stared at her boots instead. She bit her lip to stop it from quivering.

“You are fourteen years old now. You no longer have need of a nursemaid. I, as your stepmother, shall assume the responsibility of your education from now on.”

The queen glowered at Issylte, in apparent disapproval of her unprincesslike appearance.

“Go to your room so that your attendants may bathe and properly attire you. I shall have the kitchen send up a platter of food. You’ll be delighted to know that I have engaged a new Latin tutor, and your first lesson is this afternoon. Go now. I shall send for you as soon as he arrives.”

Issylte curtseyed, as required, before the heartless queen and escaped to the sanctuary of her private room. She threw herself onto the plush bed, burying her face in the downy softness. She could feel Gigi tucking the blankets around her, dispelling her childhood fears.

Her throat constricted, and she sobbed into her pillow.

Roisin stroked her hair. Aislinn sent servants to fetch hot water for her bath.

When her porcelain tub was ready, Issylte’s attendants helped her disrobe. She slid into the steaming comfort, sighing contentedly as Roisin lathered her hair with lavender soap, washing away the grief with her gentle touch.

And so, to survive the unbearable pain of loss, Issylte clutched tightly to the fragile thread of hope.

Father returns in a week. I must hang on until then. He’ll make things right. I know he will. He always does.