Chapter 5
It was my first visit to the Ravenspire manor. Far from the rugged austerity one might expect of a general’s abode, the estate was adorned with an elegance that spoke of careful refinement.
“Isolde,” Godfrey said softly, “all this has been arranged to suit your tastes.”
His eyes, luminous and deep, seemed to hold the light of a thousand stars as they met mine. At the banquet to choose a suitor, he had lingered at a distance, watching silently.
He believed my heart belonged to Edmund and held back, but when I announced Edmund’s betrothal to another, the longing he had suppressed could no longer be contained. That very night, he knelt before my father’s privy apartments until dawn, beseeching him for my hand.
I consented without hesitation.
A faint memory stirred from my past life, during my ill–fated wedding to Edmund. Someone had called him from the great hall, and through the heavy door, I caught fragments of a heated exchange. “Heed this warning,” a voice had thundered, “if you neglect Princess Isolde in the slightest, I shall not forgive you!”
When I learned Godfrey had offered his storied valor to wed me, I knew at once it was he–the only soul, save my father, who had ever shown me true care in that forsaken life.
He led me to a garden bower, and knowing it had once been his place of prayer, I felt a pang of tenderness. “Godfrey,” I said gently, “if it pleases you, we can keep a chapel after our marriage. You need not forsake your devotions for my sake.”
He paused, his gaze, deepening as it held mine. “Isolde, the court believes I pray to atone for the blood spilled in battle, but that is not the truth.”
He hesitated, then continued, his voice low and earnest. “When the palace was besieged, you saved not only the king but me as well. Your injury left you with a child’s mind, and the guilt weighed heavy on my heart. From that day, I knelt in prayer, beseeching the Almighty to restore you. By His grace, that day has come.”
His words, each one measured and fervent, brought a shimmer of tears to his eyes. I stood frozen, struck by a revelation I had never imagined. All those years of fasting and prayer, his ceaseless supplications as a Knight of the White Flame–it had been for me.
The day of our wedding arrived swiftly. My father’s gaze softened with pride, led me to the royal litter, his composure faltering briefly as he turned from the crowd. The procession was a spectacle of joy, with trumpets sounding and banners waving as the people of Silvermire thronged the streets.
Sir Godfrey, resplendent in his ceremonial garb, rode at the head atop a noble steed, accepting the crowd’s cheers with quiet dignity. Suddenly, the procession halted. Edmund, clad in his own wedding attire, stood defiantly in our path, his face darkened with fury.
“Isolde,” he spat, “because I bade you apologize to Eleanor, you’ve cast your lot with another in a fit of pique? A man sworn to chastity for years cannot love you–he weds you only to curry favor with the king!”
Godfrey dismounted, his presence commanding as he forced Edmund back with a steely gaze. “Lord Blackthorn, have you forgotten? You, too, are to be wed this day. One might mistake you for a bridegroom come to steal another’s betrothed. Return to Lady Eleanor and do not delay your own nuptials.”
Edmund’s eyes burned with jealousy, his words sharp and heart remains mine alone!”
yielding. “Sir Godfrey, do not delude yourself! The princess chose you only to spite me. Her
He stepped forward, his hands trembling as he reached toward the royal litter, his voice thick with desperation. “Princess Isolde, if you would but grant me your favor, I would seek His Majesty a papal dispensation and seek his grace to claim your hand as consort.”
I gave a soft, bitter laugh. “And what of Lady Eleanor?”
Edmund faltered, then pressed on. “Princess Isolde, my heart is yours alone. I would seek His Majesty’s grace to annul my betrothal to Lady Eleanor and pledge myself as your consort.”
Before he could finish, Eleanor, emerged from her litter, her composure strained but intact, her vell still framing her face. “Lord Blackthorn, how can you speak so? We pledged our lives to one another! Did you not once scorn Princess Isolde as unfit for your regard?”
Her delicate frame trembled, her tears evoking pity even as they glistened in the sunlight. The gathered crowd murmured, their sympathy turning to disdain for Edmund’s betrayal.
