Chapter 7
The remedy was quaffed. Prince Edmund, pale as death, gained a flush of color.
Relief softened every tace.
rancor. I am
The queen, tears in her eyes, clasped my hand. “Good child, despire Edmund’s wrongs–his scorn and cruelty–you’ve saved him without rank deeply grateful.”
She added, “I shall decree you Lady of Elwood with royal honors, granting you a fiel to enrich your village.”
I smiled faintly, accepting. This was my due.
Edmund stirred, his gaze upon me shimmering with tears.
“Torgive me…” At last, he voiced the debt owed across two lives. Yet it was not enough
I said nothing. He choked hack sobs, speaking alone.
“Sorry, I wronged you, Margaret. I deemed your blessed fertility a lie to seek royal favor, and thus misjudged you”
hate
upon you”
His eyes flickered with regret. “In our past life, learning Eleanor hare my child, only to be slain by her lord, I turned
His voice warmed, fervent. “Now, Eleanor lives, her child sale within her. You’ve saved me twice–then and now, Let us begin anew. I’ll spend my life jatoning for your pain.”
I spoke calmly. “While you lay senseless, Your Highness, 1 wed Sir Roland. To speak thos is to covet another’s bride,”
Edmund blanched, stunned, then forced out, “I’ll recompense Sir Roland with all I have. Your sacrifice is great; you may carry his child. If you will agree to a remedy, I’ll name you my princess, and Eleanor my mistress.”
I laughed softly, mocking, “No thanks, Your Highness. I am happy with Sir Roland. Seems you forgot–I’ve said a hundred times I don’t want you and newer will.”
“How can that be?” he cried, voice breaking. “If you despise me, why not let me perish? Why se me?”
He shouted, desperate, “You love me still–you must!”
I made no reply, turning to leave.
Roland, seeing me emerge, exhaled, his tense frame easing
I smiled, teasing “What troubles you? Did you fear I’d not return?”
His gaze, deep and tinged with red, met mine. “I did fear,” he admitted.
I chuckled. “Do you, like them, think I spared the prince for love?”
He turned away. “No.”
I smiled, silent.
Death might satisfy, but it passes in a moment. How could it repay the anguish of my kin and me from our past life?
To live, to suffer endlessly that is true torment.
Supporting Roland, I walked toward the door,
Catching Eleanor’s panicked, venomous glare, I offered her a faint sunile,
Enjoy your days, Edmund
What you know not is this: my blood, steeped in rosemary, may prolong your days, but at a cost–tenfold pain, gnawing ceaselessly until your end Live, and welcome
