Chapter 49: Parting Gift
1 December, 1358. Westerhaven Palace, Islia
Camilla watched listlessly as the army of servants started decorating the galleries and halls of the castle for the upcoming Christmas festivities. Gradually, there was winter greenery decorating the corridors and mantles of the many fireplaces.
Boughs and wreaths made of pine and red holly were strung throughout Westerhaven, scenting the crisp air. Her youngest maid Bonnie had even hung wreaths in Camilla’s presence chamber to make it look festive, even though the only people who were ever in the room were either her maids or ladies-in-waiting.
Camilla acknowledged she felt a little lancholic this ti of the year. She had no real enthusiasm for celebrating alongside the court. However, the pain of being an orphan wasn’t as acute as she was expecting. It was more of a constant dull ache instead of the crippling, stabbing pain she had feared.
Perhaps she had simply run out of tears to cry and her heart has beco numb to anything beyond the blandest of emotions. It was a grim thought.
Camilla walked along one of the arched stone colonnades that frad the south gardens, the skirts of her fur trimd gown swirling around her. She idly noted she was dressing a little more like an Islian these days, though she still preferred simpler dresses and shunned veils entirely.
Was she slowly losing her own identity? Who was she really, and where did she belong? Anyone who had ever truly loved her was gone. She was princess to a kingdom who didn’t want her and was now surrounded by people who would probably be glad to see her go.
Shivering a little in the cold breeze, she looked over the expansive gardens, dusted in snow. In a few months, the green tinge of spring would take hold of the land again. It would then mark a full year since she had been left Moraigth. It would be four whole seasons since she had seen her father and brothers, the familiar faces and warm, cozy rooms of Arlen Castle.
Would she ever feel like she belonged anywhere?
Suddenly a cluster of voices drew her attention. Across the lawns, Camilla could make out Prince William, walking alongside Sir Francis Lowell and Sir Richard Bentworth and talking cheerfully. The three n were dressed in mud splattered clothes and carried their hunting weapons.
She instinctively shrunk back into the shadows of the colonnade, praying the n wouldn’t notice her. While she liked Francis very much, she always avoided Richard where possible, never trusting the cold, cunning look in his eye.
She also tried to avoid the prince. Sotis he could be devastatingly charming and even sweet. Other tis, he treated her with callous disregard. She never knew which version of William she’d encounter to the easiest solution was to avoid him unless he wanted to approach her first.
Staying still as a statue in the shadows, Camilla was relieved when the young n turned a corner and disappeared from view. The wind was picking up again, carrying the crisp scent of pine with it.
Leaning against a stone column, Camilla paused as the mories of her last Christmas and New Year in Moraigth filled her vision.
- - -
New Year’s Day of the year 1358 had dawned cold and misty at Arlen Castle, the intermittent hail clattering against the stained glass windows. Sitting in the minor hall next to a roaring fire, Camilla had sat with her family, drinking her father’s favourite spiced wine and exchanging gifts.
She had laughed as her brothers had teased her and each other relentlessly about nothing in particular. Duke Robert had looked on at his children with indulgence. Camilla rembered thinking at the ti that nothing could ever break the bond between the siblings.
After all the gifts appeared to have been opened, the duke had quietly pulled out one more gift box and handed it to his daughter. With her brothers’ avid eyes on her, she had pulled away the silver tissue from around the box and lifted the lid. Inside had glead her mother’s favourite necklace. Camilla had gasped in absolute shock.
She rembered the wistful smile on her father’s face as she had carefully lifted the necklace from its box and held it up to the light slowly, reverently. The dainty, star shaped diamonds had sparkled in the light caught from the fireplace.
Her eyes had filled with tears as she rembered the wonderful person her mother had been. Not for the first ti, missing her mother had caused a physical ache in her chest.
"That necklace once graced the throat of the most beautiful woman alive. And from today onwards, it will continue to do so." Duke Robert’s voice had been tinged with sorrow.
Camilla had allowed her father to fasten the necklace around her neck, then turned to embrace him. He had hugged her back tightly, creating the sa feeling of utter comfort and safety that being in his arms had always evoked in her.
She had looked into his face and it that mont she realised that for the first ti, that he looked not only sad but also old. His face was drawn, with dark circles under his eyes and lines creasing his forehead. The grey hair that peppered his temples and ruddy coloured beard was suddenly more noticeable.
And yet this was the man who had no hesitation leaping on his favourite warhorse and leading armies in his typical reckless, fearless manner. His unflinching bravery had always drawn her admiration. Now it only made her fearful. She touched the jewels resting on her collarbone anxiously.
A sense of dark foreboding had then enveloped Camilla’s heart. She sensed sothing was not right in her father’s mind.
That had been their last New Year’s celebration as a family, though none of them knew it at the ti. Less than four months later, the Royal Army of Islia had crossed the border and into the Duchy of Arlington. They had joined the side of King Kenneth’s army and the combined forces had wreaked hellfire and destruction on the lives of Duke Robert and his children.
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