Chapter 6
The crowd’s murmurs grew sharp, their disdain for Edmund palpable. “A faithless knave, betrothed to one yet chasing the princess’s favor!” one voice cried.
“On his wedding day, he would forsake his betrothed for another–base and dishonorable!
“He fancies himself bold enough to petition the king to undo a royal edict? With Sir Godfrey as her consort, the princess would scarce spare him a glance!”
Edmund’s face darkened with each word, his composure crumbling under the weight of public scorn. I had no wish to linger on his folly. With a subtle gesture, I signaled the retinue. “Proceed,” I said softly, “lest we miss the appointed hour.”
The royal litter moved forward, but Edmund clung to its frame, dragged along the cobbled street, his hands bloodied by the rough wood. Eleanor, seeing the crimson stains spreading beneath him, cried out in anguish. “Edmund, release your hold! You’ll perish!”
He seemed deaf to her pleas, his grip unyielding, his palms torn and bleeding. I knew his game–he wagered on my mercy, hoping I would falter. But I would not grant him his desire. The procession continued until we reached the church, where it finally halted.
Edmund, pale as death, his eyes half–closed, whispered hoarsely, “Isolde, you could not bear to see me suffer…” He believed I had stopped for him, but when his gaze fell upon the gates of the church, despair overtook him, and he collapsed, senseless, to the ground.
Godfrey stepped forward, his voice firm. “Remove him from the princess’s sight, lest his presence mar this day.”
With care, Godfrey offered his arm to escort me from the litter. That night, in the glow of the bridal chamber, his tenderness was boundless, and for the first time, I felt truly cherished.
The next morning, my limbs aching from the night’s warmth, I muttered under my breath, “All that talk of piety and chastity–a fine deception!” Godfrey, his expression one of quiet satisfaction, leaned close, his voice a gentle murmur. “My lady, after years of restraint, I beg your indulgence.” Feeling the warmth of his gaze, I sprang from the bed. “Enough, we must present ourselves at court to offer our gratitude to the king!”
Before we reached the royal audience hall, I heard a woman’s desperate pleas mingled with a man’s stifled groans. “Your Majesty, I beseech you, spare Edmund–he knows his fault!” Eleanor’s voice rang out. “Edmund, confess your error to the king!”
he stone floor was unyielding beneath Edmund, who knelt, enduring the discipline of the king’s guards. I learned then that, after being returned to his residence, he had defied the king’s edict, refusing to wed Lady Eleanor as decreed. At dawn, the court’s nobles, long his rivals, had united in accusing him of disloyalty for his defiance.
Father, ever loath to waste talent, had declared that if Edmund confessed his fault and wed Eleanor on a new day, the matter would be forgiven. But Edmund, as if possessed, had knelt before the king, imploring him to annul the betrothal.
The king’s wrath was swift, and thus the scene before me unfolded. I stood silent, struggling to reconcile the Edmund I saw–broken and pleading–with the man who had once valued Eleanor above his own life. Why would he risk death to renounce her now?
Eleanor, her eyes blazing with resentment, caught sight of me and glared as if I were her foe. “Isolde has arrived,” Father said, his voice steady. “You secured Edmund’s betrothal, my daughter. What is to be done now? I leave it to your judgment.”
Edmund’s gaze lifted, a flicker of hope in his eyes as he looked to me. “Princess Isolde,” he whispered, “do not cast me to another. Even as a lowly knight in your court, I would serve without complaint…”
The once–proud Lord Blackthorn, clad in pristine white, now humbled himself to the dust. “The king jests,” I replied coolly. “A royal edict, once given, cannot be undone. I have my consort, Sir Godfrey, and no desire for retainers. Your hopes are in vain.”
The light in Edmund’s eyes faded, his body slumping into the blood–streaked stone, yet he murmured, unyielding, “Why, my princess… you swore you loved me most…”
I knelt beside him, my voice devoid of pity. “I told you once, the words of a witless child carry no weight.”
