Survival of the Rose
Autore
Audra Symphony
Letto da
2,5M
Capitoli
56
After the death of her father, the king, Deanna finds herself in a dangerous situation. She is a bastard princess, and her stepmother, Queen Rosaline, and her stepbrother, Prince Lamont, will stop at nothing to see that she is removed from the court. Alone and without anyone to protect her, Deanna begins to fear for her life. But when suitors begin arriving to court Queen Rosaline, Deanna meets a handsome stranger from a faraway land who may offer the salvation she seeks...
Age Rating: 18+
Prologue
Deanna looked up at the dark gray sky. The clouds swirled angrily, threatening to drench the land in warm spring rain.
Usually, Deanna enjoyed storms. They made the air smell fresh and clean and helped her beloved flowers grow vibrant and strong. But right now, she could only feel sadness.
Ignoring the sky and the soft rumbles of thunder that were sure to become stronger with time, she hurried to clip the roses before the rain started. She was already covered in dirt and dust. If she entered the castle completely soaked and covered in mud, her stepmother would surely punish her severely.
Once the basket was full, she dashed from the royal gardens back to the castle, making it in just in time for a downpour. She sighed as she looked outside, remembering when she was a little girl. She used to play and splash in the puddles despite what her nursemaid told her. She even managed to convince her older sister, Helena, to join her at times. Sometimes, she wished for the days when she was a child again.
Deanna sighed again. She seemed to be doing that a lot these days. She made her way to her father’s chambers. The giant ornate door that once looked so inviting and warm now intimidated her. Still, she knocked softly, praying she heard her father’s familiar voice answer, but there was no such luck.
“Enter,” came a female voice. Deanna steadied herself. She shoved open the door and quietly walked in, shutting it before curtseying in front of the bed. The room was dim and cool. It smelled of sickness and still air. The drapes were drawn over the windows. The only light came from the dying fire that did little to warm the chill in the room.
“My lovely Deanna,” the man lying in the giant four-poster bed whispered. He looked so small in the grand bed, much smaller than the strong, tall man he once was.
“How fair thee, Father?” Deanna asked sweetly.
“How does it look like he fairs, you stupid girl,” the voice that told her to enter snapped. Deanna looked at the woman who sat next to his bedside. She wore a lavish gown and jewels that glittered in what little light there was. The jewels were nothing compared to her beauty.
She looked far younger than her actual age. Her blonde hair looked like it was spun from gold on top of her head. Her features were sharp and well-defined. Her finely arched eyebrows seemed to be in a constant scowl, creating the only wrinkle that marred her smooth face. Her hazel eyes settled on Deanna in a stern glare.
“Hello, Mother,” Deanna responded to the woman. The queen just sneered at her.
“Father, I brought you more flowers from the gardens,” Deanna said as she moved to a vase that sat on a table in the corner of the room. She removed the wilted flowers and replaced them with freshly picked roses.
“Must you bring those dreadful things in here,” the queen snapped. She let out a dainty sneeze and covered her nose with her handkerchief.
“The king has not been outside in such a long time, I thought I’d bring some color from outside in here,” Deanna shrugged.
“Thank you, my heart,” the king smiled softly. He held out his hand to her and Deanna abandoned the wilted flowers and went to him. She held his hand and sat on his bedside. She pressed his knuckles to her lips.
“You have always been more of a child of the flowers than of I,” the king chuckled.
“I am blessed to be a child of such a king as you, Father,” Deanna smiled. The queen gave her a disgusted look.
“Excuse me,” the queen sniffed, standing up, “I must go see to the servants. Someone must run this castle while my dear husband is indisposed.”
“Of course, Rosaline, my queen,” the king coughed. The queen curtseyed and left the room, glaring at Deanna as she went. The door seemed to have closed a little harder than necessary. Deanna stared at the door for a moment. How the queen hated her so.
“I am sorry you have grown up so harshly,” the king said solemnly, calling back her attention.
“Do not trouble yourself, Father,” Deanna said, squeezing his hand, “I’ve grown up loved by you and my sisters and Dillon. I had fine clothes and possessions and was given an education. Far more than I could ever ask for and far more than a bastard princess such as I deserve. I am grateful.”
“You are my daughter and my heir as much as any of your sisters,” the king assured her. This was not the first time he’d said so. And Deanna knew he loved her just as much as any of his other children. However, she was not the queen’s child; therefore she could never be the great King Harold Harrell of Albarel’s true daughter. The queen never ceased to remind her of this.
“I must admit though, I worry about you the most, Deanna,” the king said, saddened. His frown deepened the wrinkles around his mouth.
“Why?”
“I will not be around for much longer—”
“Father, you mustn’t say such things,” Deanna scolded.
“Hush, Deanna, and let me finish,” the king snapped.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Deanna let her chin drop dutifully. The king cupped her cheek. She covered his hand with her own. It felt so frail.
“I will not be around for much longer. The queen will rule until your brother Lamont’s coronation when he comes of age.” Prince Lamont detested her as much as the queen, maybe even more. Deanna never knew why. The rest of her half-siblings treated her as if she was their full-blood sister, but Lamont grew up hating her. He was next in line for the throne, but kings of Albarel could not rule until they were 25 years of age, which meant the queen would be the sole ruler for five years if King Harrell were to die.
“Rosaline has never forgiven me for falling in love with your mother and naming you as one of my heirs when she died. I fear that she will take her grudge out on you when I am gone.” Deanna’s mother was once one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting. She and the King fell in love, and he started an affair with her. The queen did not care about the incident for she had already borne him two children, Princess Helena, and Prince Lamont. But she eventually heard about their love for one another. Love was far more different than a mere affair. The queen was smart enough to know that with love, a woman held great power over a man. She wished to banish Deanna’s mother from court, but the king wouldn’t allow it. It was too late anyway. She was pregnant. When she died during childbirth, instead of sending the infant to her relatives, the king claimed the infant as his heir and named her Deanna. The kingdom knew Deana as the bastard princess. However, growing up Deanna was a curious child. She was often allowed to accompany the king to the village surrounding the castle. The villagers fell in love with her beauty, curiosity, and generosity. Now she often stole away to the village to assist in the hospital or school. Although she was a bastard princess it was known far across the kingdom that she had the kindness and charm of her father.
“I’ve sent out letters in secret to neighboring kingdoms in search of a husband for you,” the king admitted, “To take you far away from here so that you may live your life happy and taken care of.”
“But Father, no one of nobility will marry me,” Deanna argued with a sigh. The greatest thing to the nobility was their honor and marrying a bastard would stain that honor. She would also never be allowed to marry a commoner due to her royal lineage. It would be an embarrassment to her family to marry someone of lesser status. That was why she had long ago resigned herself to a marriage-less life. Perhaps one day she might find companionship or maybe even love, but never marriage or a family of her own.
“You must not stay here, Deanna,” her father insisted.
“But Albarel is my home. It is all I know,” Deanna argued. Frustrated tears started to slide down her cheeks.
“Your home may soon be a dangerous place for you to live, Deanna,” the king whispered, “You are a product of love and not duty. You are loved by your siblings, this kingdom, and me. You are a threat to the queen whether you know it or not. And though she is my wife and I’ve grown fond of her over the years, she will not take pity on a child from another’s womb. Lamont is worse. He does not show the same restraint as his mother. Heed my warning, my child. You must be careful. Hear me, Deanna. Tell me you will be careful.”
“I will be careful, Father,” Deanna promised. She hugged her father tightly.
“I love you,” she whispered. Her chest squeezed and she tried to hold back her tears.
“I know, my heart,” her father whispered back, “I know.” Not long after, Deanna was shooed away from the room by the king’s doctors. She would only see him once more before the king passed away and her entire life would change.
