3 May, 1358. Magdaline Castle, Islia
Camilla sat in the window seat, gazing at the setting sun. She was dressed and ready for the king's banquet, or at least she thought she was. The maids who attended her disagreed and had been scandalised when she again refused to let them braid her hair and cram a veil on her head. She had held firm, seeing no point in dressing as someone she was not. Everyone knew who she was - not just a prisoner but a pariah in both Islia and Moraigth. A gauze veil wouldn't change anything.
In the end, she has grown sick of the maids' pleas and sent them out of her chambers so she could have a few moments of quiet.
Camilla leaned back and closed her eyes as she waited to be escorted to the banquet hall. It had been another long, lonely day. All she felt like doing was weeping for her family, but she was intensely uncomfortable grieving openly in front of the maids. They hovered around her but had treated her coldly from the moment they discovered who she was. The most senior maid treated her with thinly veiled contempt. Camilla didn't have the energy to challenge her.
She needed to hold her grief in and lock it away in the deepest recesses of her heart. She'd find no comfort at this court so it would be easier for her to pretend to feel nothing. She would trust no one in this castle full of vipers.
King Edward had treated her unexpectedly well so far, but she knew there had to be a reason behind his generosity. Camilla has witnessed enough of the backstabbing and deceit that took place within royal families to know that no one harboured a refugee simply out of kindness.
No one else visited her rooms apart from Prince William, whose behaviour she found impossible to understand. There had been a couple of rare flashes of kindness but the rest of the time he seemed to be either secretly laughing at her or simply staring as if she was something odd and hideous.
She sighed. She had no patience for the man. His smugness didn't help and neither did the fact that smug or not, he was the most beautiful young man she'd ever seen. He knew he was stunning, of course. It was obvious in the way he carried himself, much to her distaste. She was determined to keep her distance. Couldn't King Edward have assigned someone else to be her guide to the Islian court?
Her thoughts drifted back to her family and she willed her tears not to fall. Showing up at the banquet with red eyes would make her even more of a laughing stock. But amongst her crushing sorrow, a flame of anger had also started to burn. She didn't want to admit it but she was angry at her brothers and most of all, at her beloved father.
His actions had led them all here. What had made him think he could challenge his king and win? Why did he think he could bribe enough tribal lords to take on the royal army of Moraigth?
Most importantly, why had he been willing to risk his family's future for a crown, when the consequences of failing were so disastrous? Did he not care for his children as much as she had always thought, or was his lust for the throne simply stronger?
She cast her mind back to the weeks before the uprising and the constant hushed, excited discussions between her father and his most trusted soldiers. Men had come and gone from Arlen Castle in an endless stream. Caches of weapons and provisions had been smuggled in, avoiding the king's spy network.
Duncan and Daniel had both been eager to fight for their father's cause and had spent hours alongside Duke Robert, discussing strategies and poring over maps. When she had expressed fears about them fighting against their king, both had simply laughed and ruffled her hair as if she was a child to be humoured.
"War is no topic that a girl like you should spend time worrying over." Duncan had told her in his warm, booming voice. "Just think about what things will be like once we're victorious. Imagine yourself as the daughter of the king and not just of the king's brother. What a grand marriage we'll be able to negotiate for you!"
Camilla had no interest in a grand marriage or in being's a king's daughter.
Her youngest brother Malcolm had seemed more hesitant. Only three years older than her, he was the brother Camilla was closest to. Sometimes she thought of them as twin souls. Malcolm had dutifully joined all the meetings and training drills he was summoned to by the duke, but Camilla could tell his heart wasn't in it.
One night when she couldn't sleep, she had slipped out of her bedchamber window and onto the castle ramparts. As she walked slowly around, she noticed her most beloved brother sitting on a section of the ramparts, tucked next to the south tower. This had been a favourite hiding place of theirs since they had been children, where they had often snuck off and hidden to eat hot bread rolls they stole from the castle kitchens.
Malcolm looked up and smiled as she tiptoed next to him, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. She took a seat and they sat quietly together for a few minutes.
That is what she loved best about Malcolm - he never pushed her for her thoughts, instead allowing her to voice her opinions and questions in her own time. She felt completely safe with him, knowing he'd never betray her.
Finally, she spoke. "You don't agree with what Father is planning, do you?"
"No." His voice was low but had no hint of hesitation. "I can't see this ending in anything but bloodshed and ruin." He ran a hand through his rust coloured hair, a habit of his when he was anxious.
"Then why don't you speak up and tell Father you want no part of this? Ask Duncan and Daniel not to-"
"I can't do that, sister." Malcolm had sighed in frustration. "My duty is to stand alongside my family and fight for their cause, whatever that cause may be. It's what a knight does. Besides," he had chuckled grimly, "What other option do I have? To turn my back on our family and beg our loving uncle to let me join his side?" Malcolm tipped his head back and looked at the waning moon. "Our uncle may be a terrible person but he is still our king. We all swore undying fealty to him. If we break those oaths now…what's to stop others from doing the same once Father wears the crown? If you topple one king, you just make future kings unsteady."
"Why can't our brothers see things the way you do? If the three of you could join forces, perhaps you could plead with Father to avoid conflict."
Malcolm shook his head. "Our brothers are blinded by visions of defeating the king and what it will mean for them. Of course Duncan in particular is a slave to the cause. If Father wins the throne, Duncan immediately becomes the heir and Daniel will be his deputy. They can't bear to think what losing means."
Malcolm suddenly faced her with a fierce expression. "Promise me that when the fighting gets close, you'll flee Arlen."
Camilla shot him a confused look. "And go where? Isn't this the safest place to be? Arlen Castle has been unconquerable for centuries. And Arlington is the best defended province in Moraigth."
He shook his head stubbornly. "Just promise me you'll sneak out before the fighting reaches the village outskirts. Leave the duchy if possible. Head north."
Malcolm had been right in the end about the rebellion against King Kenneth ending in ruin. The only thing he'd been wrong about was the timing of that ruin. The Duke and his sons had expected the attack on Arlen to start at least three days later than it did. Little did they know that their own spies had been bribed to switch sides and feed them lies about the movements and locations of the king's forces. It was only when Arlen village had been overrun in an unexpected dawn raid that they realised too late that the enemy was upon them. It was too late for Camilla to flee. All she could do was find somewhere to hide in the castle and pray. How she had prayed that morning…
The door of her bedchamber suddenly swung open, rousing Camilla from her dark thoughts.