Only the Worthy (17 page)

Genevieve walked
slowly with Altfor, arm in arm, across the wide marble plaza at the top of the
palace grounds, taking in the world of opulence. The marble stretched as far as
the eye could see and was interlaced with formal gardens, bubbling fountains,
flowering orchards—a true picture of luxury. Of everything her people had been
denied. She looked down at herself, dressed in the finest silks, wearing
precious jewelry, and was surprised to realize that she had become
indistinguishable from the royals. It made her hate herself even more.

What had she
become?

Ever since that
fateful night when she had gone to Altfor’s bed, had given herself to him, had
stopped resisting and had accepted her role as his wife, things had changed
radically for her. She had been showered with everything her heart could want
and more, down to the heavy jewels she wore around her neck. She had been
allowed to leave the castle grounds, to roam where she wished. She’d been
afforded the highest respect not only by Altfor, but by the entire royal
family, down to the castle guards. They all looked upon her, she could see, as
one of their own.

Yet the more she
was given, the more respect she was afforded, the sadder she became. She did
not want any of it. She only wanted Royce.

It was a funny
feeling. Her entire life she had been viewed as a peasant, like all the people
she had grown up with. As she walked the grounds and they bowed to her, she
felt uncomfortable; she could not help but feel as if they had her confused
with someone else.

What felt even
stranger than all of this was walking arm in arm with Altfor, the reality that
he was her
husband
. The word filled her with a sense of dread. She felt,
with every step she took, as if she were rejecting Royce. She told herself
again and again that she was doing this for him. This was the path to power,
she had to remind herself constantly, the only way to save Royce and her
people. If she continued to resist, she would be of no use to anyone.

She understood
it intellectually; yet in her heart, it was beyond painful to live with day in
and day out. She hated pretending to be in love with someone else. It was
contrary to everything she was, to the life she had led. Yet to save Royce, she
saw no other way.

What was worse
than all of this was that, as much as she hated to admit it, she did not feel
entirely uncomfortable in Altfor’s arms. As she settled into married life, she
could not help notice how easy it was, how comfortable she felt, how kind Altfor
was to her, how gentle his touch. He tried so hard to make her happy. He
genuinely loved her.

That, too, was a
funny feeling. She didn’t
want
him to love her. She wanted him to hate
her. That would make all this so much easier.

And while she
did not love him, she also had to admit to herself that she did not hate him,
either. There were much worse men in the world. And that feeling was what made
her hate herself the most.

“Do you see
this?” he asked.

She looked up,
startled from her thoughts, to see him waving gently out to the land before them.
She took in the vista, startled by its beauty. Here, at the end of the stone
plaza, looking out along the western orchards, leaning against the marble
railing, she saw the whole countryside spread out before her, a view she never
tired of. She saw the rolling hills of Sevania, the sun shining down on
glorious farms and vineyards. Fields of color bordered them, farmers tilling
the soil, collecting the flowers.

She squinted and
could just make out one of the distant villages dotting the landscape—hers—and
the thought filled her with longing. She missed her people dearly. She missed
her old, simple life. She would give up all of this in a heartbeat to be
farming. These, the trappings of wealth, brought her no joy. Only freedom could
bring her joy.

“It is all yours
now,” Altfor continued, turning to her with a satisfied smile. “I have been
appointed by my father on this day as Duke. As my wife, you are Duchess, and
you now own all of this land jointly with me. All you see before you, the
Western lands, I am giving them all to you.”

She looked back
at him, stunned. With just a few words he had given her more land than her
ancestors could have worked off in a lifetime.

“It is true,” he
said, smiling. “My father conferred the new title upon me this morning. I am
the chosen son now.
I
am the one who will rule all of this.”

He smiled as he
gently pulled a strand of hair back from her face and ran his fingers along her
cheek. She wished his fingers were not so smooth, his touch so loving. She
wished she could feel repulsed by him. And she hated that she did not.

“You are my
wife
,”
he said. “Anything you want, anything you see, is now yours. That vineyard
there; that orchard; those people’s homes; that entire village.
Anything
you want. I can build a castle just for you. I can have the peasants mine the
gold mines of Sevania, fashion you the finest jewels you’ve ever seen. It is a
prosperous land we live in, and it is yours for the taking.”

He smiled,
clearly thinking she would be impressed.

Yet she felt
only repulsion. She wanted none of it. Those lands he spoke of, as if they were
his private playthings, were
her
lands, her people’s lands. She had
worked them with her bare hands, had helped make them what they were—not him.
What gave him—or any of the nobles—the right to lay claim to any of it?

Inside, she
fumed. But she forced herself to hold her tongue. She reminded herself that he
meant only to express his love to her. He was ignorant of how she felt. And she
knew that to fight with him now would do no good. She forced herself to
remember what she really wanted: Royce, and her people, to be free.

“Tell me,” he
pressed. “What would you like?”

Genevieve took a
deep breath, a long, slow, sad breath as she turned and studied the
countryside. It was such a beautiful land, and such a shame that it was
controlled by so few. She wanted the people down there to be free.

“I ask for one
thing only,” she finally said, her voice soft and gentle.

“Tell me, my
love, what is it?” he said, pressing her hands. “Anything.”

She took a deep
breath.

“To give my
family, and my village, back what is theirs. To allow them to own their own
land and to no longer tithe to the nobles. They must give away most of what
they have and they often go hungry. Especially the children. Just allow them to
keep their own crops.”

He blinked,
clearly stunned.

“I should be
surprised by your selfless request,” he said, “yet I am not. It is in keeping
with your nature. Your heart is truly pure. You are unlike anyone I’ve ever
met.”

He smiled and
nodded.

“Your request
shall be granted. Your people can keep whatever they want.”

She felt a huge
rush of relief. She marveled that she had just achieved more than an entire
army could. Perhaps Moira had been right after all.

“And what about
you?” he pressed. “What can I give
you
?”

She shook her
head.

“I want
nothing.”

He clasped her
hands.

“Surely, there
must be one thing?” he pressed.

Suddenly, it
came to her. There was one thing.

“There is,” she
said. “Royce’s brothers. They remain in the dungeon. Yet they harmed no one. I
would like them to be free.”

Slowly, like a
dark cloud moving in on a summer day, his face darkened.

“You still dream
of him, don’t you?” he asked, his voice dark. It came out as an accusation.

She looked away,
hoping he would not see the expression on her face.

His face
darkened even more, and after a long silence, his jaw clenched.

“No,” he said,
harshly.

With that single
word he turned and strutted off. She could see how much she had angered him,
and a new sense of dread filled her. She wondered what vengeful act he would
take.

Would he have
them killed?

Royce,
she thought, as
a tear fell from her cheek, studying the distant horizon,
come home to me.

*

Genevieve walked
quickly through the castle streets, on urgent business, the villagers all
bowing their heads dutifully as she passed, as if she were royalty. She did not
realize how elegant her dress was until she saw the faces of all these people
getting out of her way, bowing, saying, “My lady,” from every direction. It was
not long ago when she would herself be the one to be hurrying out of a noble’s
way. It was unnerving to her. She wished they wouldn’t look at her this way.
She wished they would just accept her as one of their own, as they used to.

Genevieve walked
quickly, trying to ignore all the attention, forcing herself to stay focused as
she hurried to where she needed to go. As she thought of her destination, she
felt a flurry of anxiety in her stomach. It might not go well. And it was very
risky of her to even try.

She crossed the
castle courtyard, bustling with people, horses, dogs, chickens, keeping her
head lowered, trying to stay inconspicuous, until she passed through a low
stone arch. She turned, passed through an open-air corridor, and stopped before
a thick, oak door.

It was blocked by
two royal guards, and they stared back, puzzled.

“My lady,” they
each said.

She nodded back,
her heart pounding inside, trying to keep her cool as she stared back at the
entrance to the dungeons.

“I have come to
see Royce’s brothers,” she said.

They looked her
over skeptically.

“On whose
authority?” one asked.

“The Duke’s,”
she lied.

A long, tense
moment of silence followed. Her heart pounded, as she was flooded with anxiety.
What if they denied her access? What if they told the Duke?

They exchanged
another glance, then finally, to her immense relief, they stepped aside and
opened the door. She breathed deep inside. Clearly her appearance, her dress
and jewels, carried more authority than a letter from the King himself. It
amazed her how people always judged on appearances.

Genevieve walked
in, heart pounding, knowing each step was getting her deeper into trouble. She
was, after all, defying the Duke’s command. She could only hope that word would
not reach him.

It was dim,
cool, and damp in here, and Genevieve shuddered as she walked quickly down the
bare stone corridors, escorted by one of the guards. He led her down a twisting
set of spiral stairs, claustrophobic, getting darker as they went. Soon the
only light to see by was from his flickering torch.

Genevieve could
hear the squeal of rats in the darkness as they reached the lowest level. They
marched down another stone corridor, until finally they came to a heavy iron
gate. As they did, the guard marched away, leaving her facing two new guards.

They unlocked
the cell and stepped aside and Genevieve entered, her heart breaking to think
of Royce’s brothers—who had been like brothers to her—down here. She walked
slowly, cautiously, passing rows of cells, desperate faces staring back at her
solemnly in the darkness.

Finally, she
stopped before the final cell. She turned and peered into the darkness and
there, her heart fell to see, were Royce’s three brothers, all sitting on the
stone floor, dejected. They looked back up at her like cornered animals, eyes
wide with surprise—and all at once they stood and hurried across the cell.

“Genevieve!” Raymond
exclaimed.

She could hear
the relief in his voice, as he rushed forward and grabbed the bars, his
brothers beside him, hope slowly creeping into their faces. Seeing them made
her think of Royce, and she felt her heart tear with emotion. She felt hope for
the first time since this ordeal had begun, yet she also felt a wave of guilt.
She hated herself for not coming here sooner, but this was the first time she’d
been afforded the leniency to travel freely.

“What has
happened?” asked Raymond.

“Where’s our
brother?” asked Lofen.

“Is he safe?”
asked Garet. “Have you heard anything?”

That was so like
them. Here they were, sitting in a dungeon, and all they cared for was their
brother’s safety. It deepened Genevieve’s sadness and made her hate herself
even more. While these fine men were all suffering, she was enjoying the
luxuries of living in the castle—and in the enemy’s arms. The enemy they had
risked their lives to free her from.

“I have heard
nothing,” she replied, a tear falling as she did.

Their faces fell
with disappointment.

“I pray for him
every day,” she added. “And watch for him every night.”

Raymond suddenly
had a new look to his face as he slowly looked her up and down, recognizing her
garb for the first time. A look of disapproval—and then of suspicion—crept over
his face.