Earning the Love of a Princess-Chapter 48: Little Fissures

14 November, 1358. Westerhaven Palace, Islia

William adjusted the strap to one of the whalebone ice skates he was wearing and straightened up carefully. It seemed like almost the entire court was out of the castle, in the marshes and shallow pools that surrounded the palace. During the summer, the intense heat meant the marshes were turned into a steamy, insect ridden hell. No one in their right mind would spend the hotter part of the year near Westerhaven.

But in the deepest winter, that part of the country was a completely different experience. The ground would freeze, turning the pools of water into small, shining ice lakes. The whole landscape surrounding the palace was an ethereal expanse of ice, broken up by small tracts of bare land.

It was a sunny day and even the damp winds had died down, meaning the temperature was cool but not bitingly cold. A winter picnic had been arranged, with hot ale and roasted nuts. Everyone was taking the opportunity to skate on the frozen waters.

Richard Bentworth had returned to court two days earlier, having had to spend several days at the Bentworth family estate due to a sudden illness striking down his father, the Earl of Rhie. His departure had taken place at a good time, as the atmosphere between him and William had been strained beforehand.

William was well aware Richard held a grudge after what had happened at the brothel a few weeks ago, when he had had discovered his friend trying to have his way with the young serving maid. Richard had felt he had been interrupted from taking something that was owed to him and William had stubbornly refused to concede. A tense, silent stalemate had ensued which made all their mutual friends wary.

Eventually, William’s temper had frayed. After enduring Richard’s backhanded taunts in silence for several days after the brothel visit, William had finally snapped back and asked how trying to rape an innocent woman enhanced his knightly chivalry. Richard had roared back, accusing William of involving himself in matters which weren’t any of his business.

The two friends had stood facing each other, equally furious. William had even briefly wondered who would throw the first punch, even though the two of them had never come to blows before, outside the training arena.

Finally, Francis have inserted himself between them, urgently trying to pacify both sides. Ever the peacemaker, he had convinced them to both step back from the quarrel threatening to flare into violence.

Upon Richard’s return to Westerhaven, he had seemed more like his brash, jovial self. The incident with the red haired maid was never mentioned again. Instead, Richard had returned in good spirits, regaling them with tales of the wenches he had met and bedded at inns and taverns during his travels.

A little snide voice inside William’s head had felt like asking at the time, "Did you have to force any of them against their will, too?"

Luckily, he had managed to hold his tongue. The easy, steady friendship that had always existed between them returned, full of the usual competitiveness and laughter over bawdy jests.

Richard had even brought back a jug of blackberry liquor from his childhood home to share. The recipe for the liquor was a closely guarded family secret and the distribution of the bottles was carefully controlled. Richard had managed to sneak out a bottle and the two of them had spent an evening sharing it, laughing as they drank late into the night.

The hangover the following day had been agony. William’s head had pounded like a drum, leaving him in a sour mood. Still, William reasoned, it had been worth it to spend such an enjoyable evening with his old friend.

Nevertheless, William couldn’t help but feel like a tiny fissure had formed in their once unbreakable brotherly bond.

Richard’s angry words during their fight echoed in his mind. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Will? Whatever or whoever has changed you, no one fucking likes it."

William’s attention was drawn by Francis nearby, his arm around the waist of a young lady with long, light brown hair in a coronet of braids. His betrothed, Lady Anne Farrington, was visiting the court for a few weeks alongside her mother.

Lady Anne was an unsteady skater, looking nervous as Francis wheeled her about across the ice. William smirked at the way the girl clung to Francis, uttering little screams whenever she thought she was about to lose her balance.

More amusing still was the ever looming presence of Anne’s mother behind the couple. The elder Lady Farrington was a domineering woman who seemed to fear her daughter’s reputation was at grave risk unless she was alongside her at all times.

Unfortunately, the older lady was also not a good skater. She had already taken several tumbles and while Francis had politely helped her back on her feet each time, William knew his friend well enough to see he was barely able to hold back his uncontrollable laughter.

William also knew Francis was one of the kindest and most honourable men alive. Lady Farrington had nothing to worry about - her daughter was in good hands. He smiled to see his friend so evidently content, though he didn’t understand the concept of shackling himself to one woman and expecting happiness to be the outcome.

A little further away, he could see his cousin Tom in conversation with another lady. Tom’s betrothed, Lady Eleanor De Buer was also present at the picnic but Tom ignored her whenever their paths crossed. Tom had said on more than once occasion that he was determined to enjoy every one of his days left as an unwed man.

William took a seat on one of the stools the servants had set up in clusters around the marshes, warming his hands on a mug of ale. His legs ached slightly after spending the better part of an hour racing Tom, Robin and Richard across the ice. His eyes then fell on a trio of ladies skating with their arms linked.

One of them was the Moraigthian princess. Of course it was her.

"It’s always her." William hissed under his breath, annoyed.

In the centre of the trio was Camilla’s lady-in-waiting with curly coppery hair. She lacked skill on her skates, so Camilla was propping her up on one side. On the other side of the timid skater was the young wife of Lord Archibald Taunsen. The peals of their innocent, girlish laughter filled the air as they glided across a small lake.

William looked away and tried to focus on something else but his eyes were drawn back to the three girls, more specifically the princess.

She was rosy cheeked, with her hair piled on top of her head to keep it out of her face as she skated. She was wearing a dark crimson dress, a similar colour to the riding habit she’d worn that day the two of them had found themselves caught in a summer storm in Magdaline’s forests.

William knew he could live to be a hundred years old and he would still remember that day with vivid clarity. The scent of her skin and the feel of her ripe curves against his body were etched in his memory.

He scrubbed a hand across his eyes in silent suffering.

"What’s wrong with you? Feeling ill?" William looked up at Richard’s voice. His friend had removed his skates and went on to toss them carelessly in the direction of a servant to deal with. Richard eased his bulky body down on a nearby stool.

"Just tired." Willam lied. "My legs are going to kill me tomorrow."

Richard laughed but then honed his stare on Princess Camilla. A cold, predatory smile cut across his face.

"What are you looking at?" William kept his tone light and unsuspecting.

"Oh, nothing important." Richard hummed. His eyes were the colour of flint as he stared at the girl. "I was just thinking about how boring it was at my father’s estate where there was nothing...to do. Whereas back at court, there’s always something to pursue, some amusement to be had."

William caught the hidden meaning behind his friend’s words. Richard was going to pursue Camilla. And given his attitude towards women, he wasn’t going to take no as an answer.

It was like a side of Richard he’d never known existed, was slowly being revealed. A self serving side that ran roughshod over what anyone else thought or wanted. William looked away, unable to watch a moment longer as Richard continued to devour Camilla with his eyes.

His only comfort was that her rank as a royal princess protected her. Richard wouldn’t dare try anything with her that she didn’t want, like he had with the serving maid at the brothel.

A terrible thought then crossed his mind and the little voice inside his head asked the question he dreaded the most.

What if Princess Camilla wanted Richard back? Would he be willing to step back and let go of something he wanted so fiercely, for his friend to enjoy instead?

William knew the answer, deep down. It wasn’t an answer he liked.