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LENGTH: Mid-Novel
SENSUALITY: Sensual

Cover art (c) Kat Richards 2008
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For all that King Eric knew that he couldn’t take a barren bride to wife, neither could he ignore the King’s widow. Draw to her loneliness by his own, he couldn’t resist just one kiss—but the kiss they shared that awakened the forgotten princess and set her free, imprisoned his heart.

Rating: Sensual.

THE FORGOTTEN PRINCESS

By

S.D. Grady

© copyright by S.D. Grady, July 2008

Cover Art by Kat Richards, July 2008

ISBN 978-1-60394-212-6

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Long ago in the Kingdom of Stilem, there once was a princess ….

Prologue

Laughter echoed through the King’s Wood. Lavinia dashed around a holly tree, the leaves catching in her dark tresses. Tugging to free herself, she could hear the heavier steps of Eric’s boots as he chased her. Giggling she ducked down, squeezing her slim body beneath the low shaded branches of the holly.

Today she would not heed the whispered admonitions of her mother that told her to mind her skirts and the mud. Today was special. Today was magic.

Eric’s boots entered the small clearing. Lavinia held her breath as he paused by her hiding spot.

“I heard you!” he called out, his voice breaking on the last syllable. “Just come out so I can end this.”

Lavinia smiled as she heard the grin in his voice.

The dappled sunshine played across the deep green of the wood while a robin sang his clear song from far above. Here beneath the holly, the heat and humidity of the summer’s afternoon calmed Lavinia’s beating heart. She sank her fingers into the damp leaf mulch, the earthen smell dragging her deeper into the spell of the day.

Eric’s brown leather boots took several steps away, vanishing from her sight as he circled a massive white oak. Backing farther under the branches, Lavinia gained freedom from the holly’s shadow, leaping to her feet and leaving Eric to continue his search. A final laugh escaped her lips.

A cry of discovery followed her. “I’ve got you now!”

Lavinia sped, the exhilaration of the chase spurring her on. The sound of his pursuit came closer and closer. She thought she could hear the cries of the Royal Guard lost in the narrow trails, as well. She paid them no heed. There would be time enough for walking sedately through the castle halls and sitting patiently at court. This moment was for .…

Arms wrapped around her. Eric’s sturdy warmth bore her to the ground, twisting at the last moment to spare her the shock. The pair rolled over and over, her skirts twisting in his leggings. They came to rest at the crest of a small hill that overlooked a vast meadow. Drinking deeply of the still warm air, they watched the sun and clouds pace across the heavens in silence.

Eric’s hand held hers. The friendship offered a comfort to the upheaval of the past month.

“When is the wedding?” he asked.

Lavinia kept her eyes on the sky. It was easier to retain the detachment she sought from her impending vows. Swallowing she replied, “In two days.”

She felt him turn his head. Lavinia blinked and turned to meet his brilliant blue gaze. “And when do you leave?”

“In three days. The King wishes for his heir to remain with the Prince of Soth until he has a chance to beget a son.”

Lavinia sat up, wrapping her arms about her knees. She pulled a strand of hair from her mouth. “I don’t feel like a mother.” She looked back down at Eric, his blond locks disordered with bits of grass in it.

“I don’t feel much like a prince.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “But I suppose it’s time for all princes and princesses to grow up.”

Lavinia glanced down at her bodice. Her body was only just beginning to blossom. So much would happen to her in just two more days. So much more would be denied.

“Will you miss this?” she asked him.

Eric was six years older. Nearly nineteen. Maybe he really was ready to take on the responsibilities of a prince. Lavinia was not so sure about being a queen. She studied his grim face. Eric understood. There was so little time left of innocence and whimsy.

He cracked a crooked smile. “Miss what? This?”

Lavinia’s laughter rang out again as he launched a vicious tickle attack. She would miss this … and Eric’s friendship.

Chapter One

Six years later .

December 12th Castle Stilem

Lavinia stared at the heaving, bloated body of Harold, King of Stilem, wondering what would come next. She brooded as the priests went about their morbid business over the King’s bed, filling the air with the thick smoke of incense and the morose droning of their voices. Death clung to the royal bedchamber, ensuring silence from all else in attendance. She pulled her black fur cloak about her slim body as she shivered in the gloom.
The King’s Council stood in a grim row across the room before the diamond paned windows, the watery light of the winter’s day doing little to illuminate their closed expressions. Lavinia rather thought that the fastidious Exchequer, Lord Marsy, looked hopeful while Harold’s Foreign Minister, Lord Burghy, bit at his bloody fingertips. The Duke of Forell appeared bored. Well he might, Lavinia mused, as he was a man of war and General to the Army of Stilem.

Lavinia sighed, the waiting interminable.

“My lady?” Old Nurse Posset inquired from her post on a stool behind Lavinia.

Lavinia shook her head. “No, Posset. There is no problem.” Even after living six years in the land of Stilem, she still found the ways of the King and his court difficult. She eyed the curtained bed of her dying husband, wrinkling her nose with impatience. So much noise! So much agony. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything less,” she muttered to herself.

Harold was a bull of a man. He ruled his kingdom with an iron fist and stern voice. Absently Lavinia pulled at the signet ring on her left hand that bore the crest of the House of Stilem, a heavy reminder of her status and inability to take her place at the King’s side. In an effort to cement his power in her birthplace of the Royal Duchy of Hoke, Harold had taken Lavinia to wife as a child bride. The treaty he signed with her father, the Duke of Hoke, provided peace throughout his lands and offered the King one last chance to beget an heir of his own.

Little did he realize that the ravages of age had already stolen that opportunity from him. Not for lack of trying, Lavinia scowled in memory and pain. Then again, she doubted any bride of thirteen would have survived a night with the King without a few bruises. One night it had been. Just one, before Harold had discovered his infirmity.

Oh, there had been much bellowing the next morning so that blame would be properly placed upon the waif that bore the crown of the Queen. Bitterness tore at Lavinia’s soul as she contemplated Harold’s writhing hulk and the six years of shame she had endured within these castle walls.

What now? What would become of the Widow Queen Lavinia? With no royal issue to secure her place at court, she doubted the new King would remain grateful for her sacrifice that provided peace to his realm. How long did she have to build the kind of connections a foreign princess needed to remain in her adopted land as a welcome guest of the Crown? Or would her parents open their home to her, hoping that she might garner a second influential marriage? She was nineteen. A veritable old maid, but she did bring the cache of a royal bloodline to the table.

Her eyes wandered from the midnight blue velvet bedding wrapped about Harold’s thrashing legs to the bare branches of an ancient tree that weaved outside the window. Would she be so lucky as to just be dismissed from the Court’s memory? It had been six years, after all. In all that time, few people at Court encouraged her participation or welcomed her presence at royal functions.

Not that Lavinia had tried too hard to be visible. She tugged at her black wimple, tucking the curl of black hair away that always escaped the encapsulating headgear. Even now, she hugged the shadows of the King’s bedchamber, displaying the proper amount of respect and silence his death surely demanded. Sitting here in the corner, wrapped in black and speaking little, she thought, perhaps, her plan just might work.

Perhaps she could slip away from the confines of court and discover everything that life offered.

* * * *

Prince Eric, the heir apparent to the Throne of Stilem, blinked as tiny Queen Lavinia glanced at him from across the royal bedchamber. It was but a moment before she resumed her silent study of the tree outside the window.

Eric rocked back on his heels, his restless hands clasped tightly behind him as the priests completed the Final Song over his dying uncle’s body. After the four men took their stinging thuribles and depressing eulogies out of the room, Eric looked toward the Council even as Harold continued to groan in his delirium. “How much longer?”

Lord Marsy, whose hair nearly matched his russet robes, winced before commenting in his baritone, “His Majesty’s physicians insisted he should not have lasted through the night. It is truly in God’s hands now.”

“What is the status of the Kingdom?” Eric asked confidently.

Marsy replied, “The treasury is full, the army is well-trained, and the borders are secure.”

Eric almost smiled at the news until he noted the frowns on each of the men’s faces. “What else is there? What news do you have that is not so pleasant?”

Lord Forrell gestured that Eric should approach him for a more confidential discussion. “While we are grateful that you are such a hale and young heir, the question of succession will be of utmost importance to the Kingdom in the coming days.”

Lord Burghy, Foreign Minister, added in a high, taut voice, “The alliance that Queen Lavinia provided was a boon to our security. But where she has proven barren and the King will shortly leave us without his guiding hands … bless his soul …,” The minister quickly made a gesture of piety before continuing. “... To come to the point, your highness, the Duchy of Hoke may provide a challenge to you and your future reign.”

Eric looked at the Queen again. She appeared to fold in on herself as the Council spoke of heirs and her infirmity. “What claim to the throne does the Duke of Hoke present?”

Lord Marsy swallowed as he pulled a small tome from the depths of his Robe of Office. In silence, he thumbed through several pages of vellum before finding the correct notation. “The current duke shares blood with the King’s paternal grandmother. Queen Hildeth bore two children as the Duchess of Hoke before being widowed and marrying the future King David of Stilem.” Marsy closed the book. “It is a strong tie, easily presented to our Lords as a viable option to your claim. After all, you are simply nephew and your mother was a dairymaid. Some might argue a lack of quality in your ancestors.”

“Some might argue a lack of support in my Council!” Eric stated before presenting Lord Marsy with a cutting glare. He took several deep breaths before continuing. “Forgive me, Marsy. I spoke too quickly. I should not deny honesty in my closest advisors.”

At that moment, Harold heaved himself nearly off the bed as he screamed his final breath.

Eric remained at the foot of the royal bed, presenting a stoic demeanor to all the notables that poured into the bedchamber. The pageantry began all around him. Priests knelt and began to repeat the prayers that would be recited over the King’s body until they buried him in the Royal Tombs beneath the Cathedral of Stilem five days hence. A woman began wailing, the King’s servants saw to the final preparations of the King’s body, bells began tolling in the courtyard and in the distance, Eric could hear the Royal Crier call out, “The King is dead! Long live King Eric!”

It was done.

For only a moment, he looked away from the carcass of his predecessor into the blank face of Queen Lavinia. He would remember the moment for many a week. All around the world heaved in protest as their monarch departed this earth for a better place. Lavinia sat as she had been sitting for the past hour or more.

Still, like a mouse awaiting the cat to pounce. Her eyes quavering with fear.

Eric knew exactly what she was feeling.

Their lives would never be the same. Her world would be ripped away from her. Eric would take all that she had simply because the crown would be placed upon his brow.

His shoulders sagged under the responsibility. Not just this woman’s future, he realized, was upon him, but the weight of each soul that lived within his borders. Such heavy thoughts drew him down into a pit of grief and despair. A tear traced his cheek.

The ladies of the court that attended the King’s bedchamber commented for days after that the handsome new King Eric bereaved for good King Harold as a devoted nephew ought. It was a good sign, they said, that the kingdom would be given into the hands of one so young who truly understood the gravity of his position.

Eric could not find it in his heart to agree with them.