Chapter Seventeen Part Two

The Queen hurried to try to compose herself, taking a fine linen handkerchief from her sleeve and drying both eyes with it before turning her attention back to Charlotte. “But how?”

Charlotte indicated Thomas. “You have this man to thank. But I wonder, your Majesty, is it truly safe for us to tell you all of this here, now? Might not the walls have eyes and ears?”

“This is the safest time there could be, though that window is rapidly closing,” the Queen replied, slowly moving to a chair and lowering herself down into it. It was clear she was sickened by grief. The shock of finding out that her son still lived, while a joyous one, had knocked her from her feet. “Please, sit close to me, you must be exhausted. Bring those chairs nearer, and explain to me as quickly as you can, all of this. But first, as much as it pains me to do so...” She handed the letter to Thomas. “Sir, if you would be so kind as to put that into the fire? Now that I have seen it, it is better if no other eyes chance upon it. For your safety as well as… his.” She began to break down again, and Charlotte’s heart ached for her.

Thomas did as he was asked. Then he drew two heavy chairs near to the Queen’s position and held one for Charlotte as she sat.

“Secure the doors,” the Queen ordered next, and Thomas did so. Only then did he take his seat.

“You said I owe this man my son’s life, how is that possible?”

Thomas was sorry to have to relay such a terrible story. “I found your son in the shallows of a stream, gravely injured and close to death, Your Majesty.”

“And you are a physician, or know of one? Who cared for him, who has kept him alive?”

“Her father is as close to a physician as our village has, Your Majesty,” Thomas answered. “He tended to your son with the greatest possible care.”

“Who nursed his wounds?” The Queen asked, though from the look on Charlotte’s face at hearing the story retold, she had little doubt who it had been.

“She did, Your Majesty.”

“You did.” She turned to Charlotte, and Charlotte nodded meekly. “Well, speak, girl. Tell me the honest truth, how badly is he injured? Is he expected to recover?”

“To a degree, Your Majesty.” Charlotte’s voice was heavy with sorrow. “You must prepare yourself. He was very badly hurt. Not only by the attack itself but by the horse, which trampled him in the chaos.”

“He is going to be all right?” The Queen begged, grasping Charlotte’s hand in a crushing grip.

“He will live. His mind is sound, and he will be fit to rule. His physiognomy, however, is forever changed. He is disfigured, on the left side of his face. He has also lost an eye and the left leg below the knee.” Charlotte paused as the Queen first turned pale, then her skin took on a greenish hue. “Shall I stop?”

“No.” The woman took a few slow breaths with her eyes closed and then looked at Charlotte again. She reached out and touched her cheek. “It seems I owe you my son’s life as well, because without your care surely infection would have taken him, had the wounds not. You, this man, and your father; I am indebted to you beyond my ability to express.”

“We have only done what should be done for any man. We had no idea who he was, to be honest, when we found him. But soon the pieces fell into place, and here we are.” Charlotte glanced at the Queen sideways. “May I ask a question, Your Majesty?”

“Ask what you like, my child.”

“How is it you so easily believe our story? How is it you know we are telling the truth?”

“Several reasons. First, when I was told I had a letter from my cousin Eleanor, I knew it could not be possible: the woman has been dead for five years. Next, I know my son,” she whispered, a tear forming and falling from the corner of her eye once more. “I know he would use that name to catch my attention, as she was his favorite relative. Upon seeing what was sealed inside that letter the shock was almost too much… I know the lock of hair is his. I know the way he signs his name, and though he was too weak to write the whole letter it is certain by his choice of words that he dictated it. Last...” She shook her head. “I knew it was not Tristan they buried beside my poor, beloved King.” Her words were barely audible now. “I knew it was Francois. I had known that boy since his youth, and, thinking it was Tristan, I insisted on seeing the body. Even as badly injured as he was, I knew immediately it was not my son.

“Because of the odd circumstances of the situation, with Frederick being the only survivor and telling the tale without witnesses and then immediately invoking law to take rule…” She sighed. “I said nothing about the body, with small hopes that perhaps somewhere, out there, Tristan yet lived.”

“So strange for me to hear you call him that,” Charlotte mumbled, thinking aloud.

“What did you say, girl?”

“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, it’s just that he asked we call him Julien, and so, we have become accustomed to it.”

A small smile curled just the edge of her lip. “He always preferred that name, even as a boy, he asked me to call him Julien.” She quickly dismissed the memory. “There is no time for recollection now, I am afraid. I need you to verify one final piece of information for me. The letter, it says the Duke betrayed the King, and the Heir. This does not surprise me in the least; I have never liked nor trusted Frederick. My question is, do you believe there is a way to somehow restore Tristan to his rightful place without the attempt costing his life? Without sending him out of the country for a time, and then quietly amassing an army for him to return with?”

“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but there is no time left for your subjects to wait for him to return to his rightful place.” Thomas spoke with boldness now. “The people are suffering, being imprisoned. More each day, for nonpayment of the debts Frederick recalled so suddenly. Most of the able-bodied men from our village are now in your dungeon, awaiting the noose because of Frederick’s treachery. He was wise enough to know the people may revolt, and he is making certain there is no one with motive strong enough left to oppose him in all the land.”

“Then what shall we do?” the Queen asked. “Does our rightful future king have instructions for us? Tell me, and I promise you I will follow them to the letter.”

“He does, Your Majesty,” Charlotte said, her eyes searching the Queen’s and finding sincerity there. Charlotte did not believe she was capable of working to assist Frederick, not after he had murdered her family. Yes, Charlotte thought with great relief, the Queen can be trusted.

There was a loud knock on the locked door, and all three startled.

“What is it?” The Queen asked.

It was the voice of a footman. “The food you requested, Your Majesty. Shall I bring it in to you?”

“No, thank you, it is fine where it is. You may go.”

“By your leave,” he said, and then he was gone.

“I should have thought twice about ordering so much food so late at night, it might raise suspicions.” She cursed herself softly. “Well, it is done and here and you must be starving. When he has gone, wait a moment and then go and fetch the cart, will you please, boy? But first tell me, what is your name?”

“Thomas Vallery, Your Majesty.” He bowed deeply at the waist. When he was sure the footman was gone, he hurried to retrieve the food, then secure the doors again.

“And you, young woman, by what name are you known?”

“I am called Charlotte, Your Majesty,” Charlotte whispered, thinking, and I have fallen in love with your son…

“Do not stand on ceremony at this late hour, Thomas—by all means, eat until you are full.” The Queen gestured toward the food. Thomas thanked her profusely before falling upon the meats, breads, and vegetables before them. “And you, my dear, you must eat as well.”

“Maybe in a moment, Your Majesty, if it pleases you. I fear my stomach is unsettled from the long trip.”

“Some wine first, then. Michel.” She stressed Thomas’s assumed name before then using Charlotte’s as well. “Take the wine and then start with some bread. And if you can… can you tell me…” She was becoming emotional again and appeared to need a moment to compose herself. She stood, and both of them rushed to stand in her presence, but she waved them away. “No, please, I must pace and you must eat.” She took to moving to and fro before Charlotte, and the girl wished she could just give the woman what she clearly needed most: a warm embrace and a shoulder to weep upon.

“What do you wish to know, Your Majesty?” Charlotte asked at last.

“Does he long to return to the throne? Or is it a burden he wishes he could escape?”

“He may not long to return, but he knows it is his place. He loves the people, Your Majesty, and he cannot stand to see them suffer so at the hands of the kind of ruler Frederick has already become.”

“I wanted to stop the demands for payment of the debts, but I was unable,” the Queen said, with a shake of her head as she began to wring her hands. “I had not been told of the imprisonments, however. I have been kept, of late, conveniently in the dark as to what is happening in my own palace. Sadly, I was left with no right to rule as a widowed Queen, not under current law.”

“I’m sure your son would change that law, only he wishes not for the burden to be upon you,” Charlotte blurted, then she realized she may have said too much and stopped.

“No, it is right. I am old, and injured though he may be, Tristan is young and brilliant of mind. He should rule.” Again, just the faintest curl at the corner of her lip surprised Charlotte; the woman nearly smiled through her tears. “You have come to know my son quite well, have you not?”

Charlotte averted her eyes.

“Quite so,” the Queen said, moving near and patting Charlotte on the shoulder. “Quite so.”

There was another knock now, low at the door. It was not the pounding of a servant, this was something else entirely.

“We have company,” the Queen said, gesturing toward the door.

“Shall we hide, Your Majesty?”

“No. This company, I sent for.” She moved to the door and, after whispering through it and then hearing the expected reply, she opened the door and a beautiful young woman with golden hair made her way into the room. The Queen bolted the door behind her.

Charlotte immediately recognized the girl from the ball; it was Julien’s betrothed; the intended future queen.

Charlotte rose to her feet and glared at Thomas to do the same but he was apparently so thrown by the sight of the woman before him that he seemed to have lost his senses.

“Please, sit. I am a woman of no consequence,” the girl replied, before turning to the Queen and grasping both of her hands. “You have something to tell me, Your Majesty?”

“Sit down, dear girl.”

The girl did as told and sat upon a chaise. The Queen moved slowly toward her and then sat beside her. She took the girl’s hands in hers once more and whispered two words. “Tristan lives.”

The girl’s eyes widened, and then all at once she swooned, losing consciousness and falling back onto the chaise’s plush cushions in a limp, silk-covered heap.