The wooden crown, p.1
The Wooden Crown, page 1
part #1 of The Blackwater Chronicles Series
THE WOODEN CROWN
Book One
of
The Blackwater Chronicles
Paul Hewer
The Book Reality Experience
Leschenault, Western Australia
1 LETO
2 DARIAH
3 REGAN
4 LETO
5 OWEN
6 DARIAH
7 REGAN
8 LETO
9 CONSTANCE
10 LETO
11 OWEN
12 REGAN
13 OWEN
14 LETO
15 CEDRIC
16 LETO
17 REGAN
18 CONSTANCE
19 LETO
20 OWEN
21 CEDRIC
22 CONSTANCE
23 LETO
24 DARIAH
25 OWEN
26 CONSTANCE
27 REGAN
28 DARIAH
29 OWEN
30 DARIAH
31 OWEN
32 CEDRIC
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
For Mum
You will be missed
The Great Houses of Avaleen
He knew death was near.
He felt his life slipping away as he fell to his knees in an expanding pool of his own blood.
Go!
He reached up towards the gallery, arm heavy as iron, as pain shot through his chest.
He searched, but an ever-darkening mist clouded his vision.
They must not find you!
He tried to rise, but they kicked him back to the ground.
He propped himself up, but every breath felt like a knife in his chest.
Shadowy figures moved about, their muted voices taunting him.
Run!
‘Get away!’ he shouted, blood spraying from his mouth and nose.
He still felt pain, but from where he could no longer discern.
He coughed and slumped onto his back as they shoved him again, his shallow breathing now a series of short, wet gasps.
Get away…my boy!
He closed his eyes and surrendered to the darkness.
1
LETO
L
eto leapt from the wall to an abutting battlement and dropped to the rampart below, barely making a sound. He glanced over the edge at the rocky ground below. It was a long way down.
‘Damn you,’ Jacob said in a loud whisper. ‘Slow down!’
Leto grinned as his friend stretched his arms out for balance, took a few quick steps and jumped, landing next to him with a thud.
‘Quiet!’ Leto said, keeping his voice low. ‘Are you trying to get us caught?’
‘No, because if we’re caught up here again, it’ll be my head, not yours.’
Jacob was several years older than Leto, a couple of inches taller and, despite a more heavyset body, almost as quick and nimble.
Ten summers ago, Leto couldn’t tighten the girth on his saddle. The pony had puffed himself up, making the task difficult for a boy of seven. He continued to struggle until a tall, scruffy, dark-haired boy offered to help. Leto accepted in a heartbeat. The boy pulled the girth tight and kneed the pony in the side. The pony snorted in surprise and relaxed its chest. The lad pulled the girth tighter, waited a few moments, kneed the pony again, tightened the buckle and tied it off.
‘These ponies can be stubborn. A couple of good whacks usually gets them in line.’
‘Thank you,’ Leto said, embarrassed at his weakness.
From there, their friendship grew, and now they were inseparable. Being a prince made it difficult for Leto to make real friends. He’d lost his older brother, Conor, over ten years ago, so he clung to Jacob’s friendship. It didn’t concern Leto that he worked in the stables and Jacob didn’t care Leto was royalty. He treated Leto like a person, not someone special, and that’s all that mattered.
However, more than a few complaints had come from members of the household about their behaviour, causing friction with his father, the King. Ultimately, the King had made Jacob an offer he couldn’t refuse: to be Leto’s squire and bodyguard or get packed off to Anchorage and muck out the harbour stables. From then on, Jacob always prioritised Leto, and took his new position very seriously, often to Leto’s annoyance. He watched out for Leto, regularly preventing him from making foolish decisions. However, through no fault of his own, he was not always successful.
Leto loved him like a brother, but right now, Jacob would not be pleased with him. He wasn’t afraid of heights or of Leto injuring himself. They were both fit and agile and could make even the most difficult climbs. The cause of Jacob’s anxiety was Leto’s father.
‘He wouldn’t punish you too badly,’ Leto said with a wry smile.
Jacob rolled his eyes and shook his head in disapproval.
‘Don’t worry,’ Leto assured him. ‘He’ll only put you in the stocks for a day or so.’
Leto started towards the nearest tower.
‘You wouldn’t let him do that to me, would you?’ Jacob asked, following along.
‘I’d protest. You have my word.’
Jacob sighed as they approached the bastion. ‘I don’t doubt your sincerity, but he’ll do what he pleases.’
‘If it makes you feel any better, it would hurt me as much as it’d hurt you.’
‘I doubt it.’
They stopped near the tower opening.
Leto glanced at Jacob. ‘Are you scared of my father?’
‘Of course! He’s the king!’
His father’s rank, and therefore Leto’s position in society, was something of which he was acutely aware. He loved his father more than anything; he gave Leto all kinds of advice and life lessons to prepare him for when it was his time to rule, but Leto just wasn’t interested.
‘You do realise we could both avoid punishment if you behaved,’ Jacob added.
‘Are you saying I’m irresponsible?’
‘Extremely.’
‘You realise you’ve just insulted a prince of the realm.’
‘A real prince wouldn’t be scrambling over castle roofs in the middle of the night against the express instructions of his King.’
Leto chuckled, even though his friend spoke the truth. His father had forbidden them from climbing onto the roofs of Riverview. It was too dangerous, apparently, but court life was boring. He just wanted to have some fun.
‘Did I tell you I’ll make you a knight when I’m King?’ Leto asked.
‘I thought you didn’t want to be King?’
‘True enough.’
‘So where does that leave me?’
‘An excellent point, Sir Jacob.’
‘You are unbelievable,’ his friend said, shaking his head in mock frustration.
Leto leaned through the battlement, peered over the edge, and smiled. The guards were standing just where they should be.
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ he said, turning to Jacob. ‘My betrothed arrives today, or tomorrow, I forget which. Anyway, I plan to produce a son or daughter as soon as possible, and they can rule the kingdom and leave me out of it.’
They continued past the tower.
‘I hope she’s pretty,’ Leto added.
‘Are you stupid?’ Jacob said. ‘They don’t betroth princes to ugly girls.’
‘I suppose you’re right, and maybe I should begin acting more like a prince,’ Leto said. ‘I don’t want my future wife to think I’m a childish brat.’
‘No one would want that.’
Leto grinned.
Jacob’s eyes narrowed. ‘Assuming you mean it, of course.’
‘I do. I really do,’ Leto said and stopped, and glanced over the wall again. ‘I’ll start tomorrow.’
He scrambled over the battlement, lowered himself to the apex of the adjoining roof, and began making his way across, taking care with each step.
‘Damn it!’ Jacob said, rushing to follow.
They moved along the roof, climbed down to a walkway and burst into a run towards the other side of the castle.
‘Where are we going now?’ Jacob asked, climbing after Leto onto a roof below.
‘You’ll see.’
Leto moved across the roof to the second storey of the timber building in front of them. He inched across the edge of the roofline, stepped to the adjacent balcony and climbed up to the next roof.
Jacob pulled himself up from the balcony. ‘Isn’t this the ser –’
Leto silenced Jacob with a finger to his lips and pointed at some broken wooden shingles a few yards from where they stood. Leto crept over, lay face down and beckoned to Jacob. With the utmost care, he pushed aside one of the shingles and peered inside.
The small room below contained an old wooden bed, a lighted candle and a chair with a dress draped over the back. Leto was thinking it much too fine a garment for a mere servant, when a murmur from the bed caught his attention. The blanket was pushed aside, revealing the face and arm of a gorgeous fair-haired girl. She rolled over towards the middle of the bed, dragging the blanket and exposing her naked body. The candlelight flickered off her porcelain buttocks.
Leto grinned and glanced at Jacob, who stared transfixed through the other broken shingle.
The girl whispered something that Leto couldn’t make out as she moved across and sat astride her lover, her body obscuring him from view. Whoever hid under the blankets was a lucky man, Leto thought, mesmerised by the beauty straddling him. She glanced at the table where the single c andle burned low.
‘We don’t have much time left,’ she said, her voice soft and melodic.
She bent down and kissed her lover.
‘Of course, one more time, my lady.’
What? Did he hear correctly?
The young woman shuffled backwards, pushing the blanket down the bed, revealing the girl’s lover. Leto’s eyes widened. The lover was another woman, but not just any woman. It was Lady Lennane Greythorpe, wife of the Governor.
A stunned Leto watched as she knelt between the older woman’s legs and buried her face between her thighs. Leto was captivated as Lady Greythorpe moaned at the girl’s ministrations. Her whimpers of pleasure increased in volume, and her breathing became more rapid.
Leto shuffled around to find a more comfortable position without success, his arousal beginning to cause discomfort. He ignored it and continued to watch one of the highest-ranking women in the aristocracy being serviced by one of the servants.
‘Yes!’ Lady Greythorpe’s hips began to move around.
Leto heard a crack, like that of breaking timber, but he ignored it and continued to stare.
‘Don’t stop,’ she breathed, clutching the girl's head as her hips bucked.
Another crack, louder this time, as the roof under Leto began to cave in.
‘Help!’ he cried, forgetting all thoughts of being silent.
He scrambled to get up as the roof began to give way. The women screamed as Leto fell into the room, preceded by a pile of timber debris and dust that hit the floor near the bed. At the last moment, Jacob grabbed Leto’s right hand and halted his descent. He dangled in the space for a few moments, swinging back and forth, then got his bearings and glanced down at the women now covered with the blanket. A flash of recognition crossed Lady Greythorpe’s face.
Jacob strained hard, and Leto could feel his hand slipping out of his friend’s grasp; he reached up with his free hand. After a few attempts, he managed to find a hold, and with Jacob’s help, he pulled himself back up onto the roof.
Leto lay on the roof breathing deeply.
‘Let’s go!’ Jacob said and helped Leto to his feet.
They descended to the balcony, crossed the roof of the adjoining building, scaled the wall and ran off into the darkness.
2
DARIAH
S
he waited.
Her mistress paced around the bedchamber, oblivious to everything else. Dariah had become accustomed to being ignored. As a servant, she came when ordered, was diligent with her assigned tasks, and didn’t look for any appreciation, but this time she needed a response.
‘My lady?’ she prompted.
Lady Lennane Greythorpe stopped her pacing and glared at Dariah. ‘What?’
‘Do I have your leave to visit the Abbey? I promise I won’t be long.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘After last night, I just need to think about …’ she lowered her eyes, ‘… about what happened.’
Dariah’s mistress eyed her for a few more moments, her gaze severe.
‘What we do is not wrong,’ she eventually said with a touch of annoyance.
Before she had come into Lady Greythorpe’s employ, the closest Dariah had come to any form of sex was with the son of a drunken merchant. While working in her uncle’s tavern, he tried to kiss her, groping her breast and pushing his other hand under her skirt. Uncle Leon and her cousin, Edmund, had come to her rescue and gave the young man a sound beating and threw him out onto the muddy street, threatening him with castration if he ever showed his face again.
As arrogant and self-righteous as the rest of the nobility, for some reason, Lady Greythorpe had taken quite an interest in Dariah. At first, she had reservations, but her mistress encouraged her, and the things she did to her, she had never experienced anything like it and made her feel wonderful.
‘Most men don’t think of a woman’s pleasure,’ she had said to Dariah one night as they lay entwined in her bed. ‘They just want to stick their cock inside you, usually before you’re ready, then thrust away, and before you know it, it’s over.’
Dariah wouldn’t know, but it certainly wasn’t like that with her mistress.
‘That’s not what I meant at all, my lady,’ Dariah said. ‘I enjoy our … err … intimate encounters immensely. I only hope the prince finds it in himself to keep our secret.’
Lady Greythorpe approached her.
‘The prince won’t be telling anyone.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘He’s been in trouble many times for being in places he shouldn’t. He won’t say anything.’
This made Dariah feel a little better about last night’s incident, but she still needed to get to the Abbey.
‘I’m going to see my husband soon,’ Lady Greythorpe informed Dariah. ‘You can toddle off to pray then.’
Before Lady Greythorpe’s interest in her had grown, there were more opportunities for Dariah to get away from the castle, but recently it had become much more difficult. She had even resorted to slipping out after everyone had fallen asleep. At least this time, she didn’t have to sneak out.
‘Thank you, my lady. You are most gracious.’
‘Yes, yes,’ she said and waved her hand dismissively. ‘Now I must pick a dress. Something not too revealing.’
Lady Greythorpe had been trying to regain her husband’s favour since before Dariah had arrived, without success, and more often than not, took her frustrations out on the servants. Not even Dariah was immune to her tantrums, and there was never an apology afterwards; not that she ever expected one.
Her mistress turned and contemplated her image in the nearby the wall-hung crystal mirror. The undergarments and corset she wore did little to hide her curves.
‘He should take me seriously,’ she said, turning side to side, hands on hips.
‘One of the blue ones, my lady, with long sleeves and a high neck,’ Dariah said. ‘No ruffles.’
‘Excellent idea. The sky blue, I think.’ Her mistress began to play with her hair, continuing to study herself in the mirror. ‘Up or down?’
‘Definitely up.’
‘Yes, up. You have a good eye. We’ll make a lady of you yet.’
Dariah didn’t know what to make of that last comment. She came from a frugal farming family, and her father always looked down on those who thought themselves better, calling themselves lords and ladies. Did her mistress want Dariah to become a lady and be more like her? She pushed aside the thought and rushed to the next room where Lady Greythorpe stored her favourite clothes. Scores of gowns, in assorted styles and colours, filled the room. Dariah knew the exact location of the suggested dress, so it took her only moments to return to the bedchamber with it in her arms.
‘This one, my lady?’ Dariah said, holding it up for her mistress to view.
‘Perfect,’ Lady Greythorpe replied, briefly glancing at the dress before looking back at the mirror.
Dariah carefully laid the dress on the bed, relieved her mistress hadn’t changed her mind and scolded her for bringing the wrong one. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
‘Actually,’ Lady Greythorpe said, ‘call in that young girl, Gretchen? She can help me dress. You can go and pray but be back by midday. I may need you afterwards.’
Dariah welcomed her mistress’s capitulation.
‘Yes, my lady,’ Dariah said and hurried out of the bedchamber.
She found Gretchen in the nearby common room. The petite but plain girl of fifteen years sat next to Hilma, engrossed in being instructed in the proper repair of her lady’s dresses by the old woman. Dariah ordered her to attend Lady Greythorpe at once and gave her strict instructions on dressing their mistress.
‘Take Hilma with you,’ Dariah added.
The old woman had been part of the Governor’s household longer than Dariah had been alive. She couldn’t move very fast but listened well, had a good memory, and could help Gretchen if required. Dariah shooed them out and hurried out of the castle, stopping off at her room to retrieve her shawl.
She made her way through the east gate into the city. The air still carried a chill despite being mid-morning. Dariah clutched her woollen shawl around herself as she navigated the crush of people and carts that occupied the streets and laneways. At least the rains had not yet set in. Most of the streets were unpaved and would turn to mud in winter, making travelling through the city on foot a very unpleasant experience.
