The Traitor's Daughter (Complete)

Part 12-St. Helene

The clinking of the bells of the horses was in rhythm with their steps, as they galloped on the road. Zena sat on the open cart, along with two servant girls, as they made their way to St. Helene. She had been taken out of the tiny room at the crack of dawn, given a bowl of thin gruel to eat, and then marched outside to the cart.

"Where...where are you taking me?" she asked, afraid that she was being taken to the gallows.

"To St. Helene. That's the order of his majesty. Now, shut up and get into the cart," one of the guards snapped at her.

A cold wind whistled through the leaves, sending shivers down her spine. She huddled with Peggy and Molly for warmth. At least, the presence of both the girls, made the long and tedious journey bearable. The guards followed close behind on horseback, making escape impossible.

The Prince was traveling ahead in his carriage, the whole cavalcade a mile long. She was furious with herself as she still tended to think of him as Luke. How much more humiliation would it take for her to learn that he wasn't the gentle Luke, but the ruthless Prince Lucas Maximilian? He was never going to hear her out, nor change his inflexible opinion about her father.

It was at his command that she was being taken to the city. Most likely, her execution would be made a public spectacle. She had heard of those, where the citizens thronged, men and women, some carrying their babies. The atmosphere was usually of a village fair, where vendors sold pies and taffy. Cheers would go up every time a convict was hanged on the noose.

Well, if she had to face all that, she would go with her head held high. She would not let them catch a glimpse of her grief or her fear, instead, they will only see her pride in being her father's daughter.

They stopped on the way to feed and water the horses. Zena sat under a tree, watching the guards sitting around a roaring fire. The Prince waited impatiently for a change of horses. Zena looked at him, dressed in his long cashmere coat, and stylish breeches, his dark mane tamed into a queue with a velvet ribbon. He looked the epitome of royal elegance. Only she knew that it was but a veneer. Inside, he was a blackhearted monster.

He glanced around, his gaze coming to rest on her. He tried to stare her down, but Zena returned stare for stare. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Anyway, she was going to the gallows and had nothing to lose. His look seethed with hatred, which she returned with a scathing one of her own.

The mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat wafted to her nose, tickling it. Zena felt the pangs of hunger in her stomach. A table was laid for the prince and a meal was arranged on it. He sat down to roast lamb, bread, cheese, and mince pies, sipping wine as he ate. Zena peeped from under her lashes, saliva filling her mouth.

In no time, the meat and bread were distributed among the servants, who fell upon it hungrily. None remembered her, or maybe she wasn't supposed to be given any. A guard saw her looking at the food. He threw a piece of dry bread her way, laughing aloud.

"Here, take that, you miserable creature," he shouted.

Enraged, Zena let the piece of bread fall near her feet, then spat on the dust. A string of abuses was hurled at her, as the guards glared, threatening to strike her.

Luke watched the whole exchange without a flicker of emotion on his face. Zena could scarcely believe that a day before, he had fed her delicious cakes with his own hand, licking the cream from her lips. How could such sweetness turn to hatred in the span of a night?

They started again, making their way through the gale which froze her to the bones. She pulled the woolen scarf tighter around her shoulders. Molly, a plump-faced girl with merrily dancing eyes, fingered the soft material with a sigh.

"That's a fine piece of cloth you have there, Zena. I would love to own something like this," she said, her eyes shining. "Can you give it to me before they take you for the hanging?"

The matter-of-fact way she said so, made Zena tremble with apprehension. It was true then. She was being taken to the city to be hanged. According to the others, it was a foregone conclusion.

Wordlessly, she nodded and saw the smile spread on Molly's face. Zena knew that the girl wasn't unkind, just eager to own the garment.

It was nightfall by the time they reached the royal palace at St. Helene. There was a flutter of activity as the wagons and carriages were unloaded and the servants hauled everything inside.

Zena climbed down from the wagon, her legs feeling numb.

"Move," a guard shouted at her, prodding her with his bayonet.

She stumbled forward, on shaky legs, entering through the door which opened at the back for the servants. Why did they not take her to the prison, she wondered. Death row convicts were kept there, in filthy cells, waiting for their turn to be hanged.

She was taken to a hall and made to kneel on the marble floor.

"His majesty will see you," the guard told her, serious-faced.

Maybe, he would like to tell her himself when she was going to be hanged. She was sure that the kind of man he was, he would derive pleasure from the act.

She waited for more than an hour, her knees getting cramped, when his arrival was announced.

He stood above her, watching her bent head, his face thoughtful, as if he was debating something in his head.

"Get up," he commanded.

She stumbled to her feet.

"I have decided to let you live for the time being. I'll decide later, how and when you are to be punished."

"Be grateful for the mercy his majesty has shown to you," Dave sniggered.

"Take her to the dungeons. Let her rot there, till I make up my mind," Luke ordered his men.

The guards dragged her out of the room, leaving Luke and Dave alone.

"Lord Wilfred has asked for an audience, sire."

"What more does he want now? I entrusted the affairs of the war to him."

"He is an ambitious man, sire."

"But loyal to the crown. Not like Martin, who betrayed our trust."

"What shall I say to him, your majesty?"

"Tell him, I'll see him tomorrow morning," said Luke, before walking back to his chamber.

The decadently luxurious chamber, with all its comforts, failed to please him for once as he shed his clothes and stepped into the adjoining bath. Maids rushed to wash him, as he lay in the extensive marble bath, a glass of wine by his side.

"Get in the bath," he commanded a girl with blonde hair, pulling her under him and taking her, not seeing her face but that of another as he took her. Later, as he lay on his soft bed, his body still felt on fire. What sorcery had that witch done on him, that he was unable to get her out of his mind? His body, still unsatisfied, craved Zena. Would he ever get over her?