The Book Of Kings
The year 1422 A.D. is inscribed in gold across the aged leather front. It is the year men of sovereign birth began keeping accurate records of their lineage and heirs. Valik's finger skims across the old books, soft yellowed pages, and fading black ink. The responsibility of his birth causes an uneasy shudder to creep down his spine.
They call this record The Book of Kings, and his name appeared at the top on the last scribed page. That thought leaves an uncomfortable feeling that weighs heavily against his chest.
The ancient book was scribed by the ecclesiastics of the church, more so because they were the only men to be trusted. With tedious care, they used long curling letters and elegant script, to Valik; it looks as if it would have taken the clerics a full day just to scribe a single page.
On the initial page, Lord Pudark William Massoulieu is the original monarch who created the book. He came into rule on The Isle of Harris by conquering King Adda Hensway Chornwallen, ending his family's regime of tyranny and treason that lasted over one hundred years.
Carefully turning the page, Valik studies the dates of over the next several hundred years and notes how The Book of Kings holds the names of over seventy-five sovereigns. Likewise, if necessitated, the names of their first and second-born sons. Adjacent to each name is the heir's birth weight, hair color, and eye color. In most instances, the Massoulieu heirs were black of hair and eyes of green.
Valik reaches up to touch his own hair. He recognizes he has his mother to thank for the blue eyes and slivers of gold peeking through his dark hair. He's heard the many tales of how King Olfred disliked his mother for her blonde appearance. But in the end, before his death, Olfred's respect for her had grown to a level that no one could ever have imagined. Not even him.
He skims through the many king names, and it is King Pudark's narrative that always catches his eye. His first-born son, Prince Romly, drowned at the age of ten in the Palace lake, which moves the title to his youngest son Prince Nikolas.
Prince Nikolas turned into King Nikolas at the young age of fifteen when his father died in his sleep at the age of forty-one.
With a severe passion for preserving his family bloodline, months before King Pudark's death, he chose a bride for his young son, and they married soon after the king's passing.
Jumping forward several hundred years, Valik turns the page to find his grandfather's name.
King Olfred Rikard Massoulieu, third of his name, father of two sons Rikard and Viktor, both black of hair, eyes of green. One daughter, Viktoria Elizabeth, black of hair, eyes of green.
Reading further down the page, his gaze skims over the minor details of Rikard's death. Accidental is recorded as the initial factor, but in parentheses next to it is the word poisoning.
Poisoned by his own wife, Celeste.
Below Prince Rikard is Valik's father's name, which translates as follows; Prince Viktor Nikolas Massoulieu - Black of hair, eyes of green, then highlighted to his present title, King Viktor Nikolas Massoulieu, second of his name, father of one son, Prince Valik Rikard Massoulieu. One daughter, Princess Lylianna Viktoria Massoulieu (Hawthorne) blonde of hair, eyes of blue, married to Sir Brydon Matthew Hawthorne - her daughter Miss Sylvia Marie Hawthorne, blonde of hair, eyes of blue. She and Brydon's newly born son, Lukas will not be included in the book until after his christening later this month.
Valik closes the book and settles his elbows against it, deep in thought. What if he never marries, and no lineage is ever added after his name? He sighs and shakes his head at the knowledge that his mother would never tolerate that to happen. Luckily for him, his father refuses to dictate who he marries, even though his mother made it her life's mission to discover him a proper wife and is always pointing out prominent young women for him to hopefully take an interest in.
Call it a rebellious stage, but he is only twenty-one, and he has no interest in taking a wife right now or any time soon, for that matter. For now, sneaking off to the local tavern is convenient enough for him. He isn't blind to his own good looks and has always been capable of finding a more than willing female for companionship, even if they didn't know who he was - which he preferred - woman seemed content when he offered his services towards them. He is clean and paid well. That's all the women required to put a smile on their faces, and they, in return, put a tremendous smile on his.
~~~
Valik stands at the Chapel's main entrance wondering why so many strangers would choose to come to the christening of an infant they barely know. But then, maybe that is the whole appeal for them.
Lylianna had moved across the sea to Lancashire, and now these multitudes of people are merely inquisitive. Either way, the day he had offered his sister to stand vigil and escort people to their seats has abruptly turned into a very fatuous undertaking. He doesn't recall Sylvia's christening being so hampered by onlookers and he speculates whether it is due to Brydon and Lyli's second child being a boy. His mouth draws into a flat line working to hinder his discontent at the thought of it all. Lukas Viktor Hawthorne is to be christened as the second heir to the throne. Of course, that's assuming Valik never has a son of his own.
"Don't you look handsome, Prince Valik," an older woman grins at him, intruding into his private thoughts. "You are a dashing young man just as your father... and uncle Rikard, but I'm positive you don't remember him. The poor man passed away at a very young age. Way before it was meant to be."
Trying not to retain his rigid smile, Valik bows before the elderly woman. "I'm sorry," he feigns. "I wasn't born at the time of his passing. Therefore, I never had the honor of ever meeting him."
The woman waves her hand dismissively at him and a rosy hue flashes across her cheeks. "Oh, you are perhaps right," she declares, suddenly appearing flustered. "I forget you are still just a young lad, practically a baby yet. Too young to remember all of that tragic nonsense."
"I am twenty-one now," he corrects her. "I think that permits me to rise above the baby status."
The woman chuckles and reaches up to pinch his cheek. "I know how old you are, and I recall the announcement of your birth like it was yesterday," she beams. "Such a proud and noble day for your family and the city. We gained another prince that day and our future king."
Valik shifts his gaze out the door at the crowd forming outside on the chapel stairs. It both astonishes and dismays him. He peers beyond the woman wondering if the line will ever end. "Thank you for the praise," he states, trying to move her along. "My family appreciates your steadfast loyalty."
Releasing a nervous giggle, the woman adds, "Now we all wait for you to marry, my Prince," she declares, with genuine pleasure. "So, you can father the next heir. I hope we don't need to wait overly long; I am getting long in the tooth; I can only hope to view upon the next young prince's beautiful face before I die."
Valik's brows jut high on his forehead, and he can't help but chuckle. "I don't have any marriage prospects in the immediate future," he responds with brutal honesty. "But I am certain you have a few good years left. So, don't worry, you should be perfectly fine."
A sound similar to a ticking clock clicks from the woman's lips as she shakes her head with disapproval. "What a shame," she fusses. "You're such a handsome young man and a Prince. Women should be tossing themselves at your feet and begging for your attention. I know if I were the proper age, that's precisely what I would be doing." She winks.
Peering up at the ceiling, Valik rolls his shoulders, working to mitigate the stress forming around his neck. He wishes he could escape this burdening crowd of people and the company of this overly attentive woman with whom he isn't familiar with. "Well, when I ultimately do marry," he divulges in an amiable tone trying to not sound agitated. "The whole city will be invited. I am confident you will attend and hopefully approve."
She reaches up and tweaks his cheek again. "You're a proper lad... a wonderful prince. It's so nice of you to be aiding your sister this way," she grins, then shuffles away.
Valik turns and watches her waddle down the aisle knowing he should have escorted her to a seat, but then he would most likely not have experienced any part of his nephew's christening himself if he had.
"You were incredibly rude to her," a young woman suddenly chastises him from the line. "Mabel was merely just wishing you well. You should have respected her praise and regarded her with kindness."
Valik shifts back around and confronts the unfamiliar young woman. "My apologies if you feel I sounded rude-"
"No need to atone to me," she ridicules, with discerning eyes. "It is Mabel who warrants the apology. And you didn't just sound rude, you were rude."
The corner of his mouth ticks upward as he assesses the young woman standing before him. She appears affluent, with stylish clothing and auburn curls peeking out from under her well-coffered hat. Her vivid green eyes hold him prisoner for a moment until he holds out his arm, waiting for the young woman to accept it so he can escort her into the sanctuary. "Since it is very evident that I am extraordinarily busy at the moment," he defends. "An apology will have to wait for another time." He gestures again for her to take his outstretched arm. "May I?"
Appointing him a suspicious gaze, she hesitantly threads her arm into his, granting him to guide her to a seat. "As a sovereign, you should be kinder to the people who live under your rule," she charges, monitoring her steps. "They will always remember your kindness with kindness and likewise your disdain with disdain."
He chuckles and pauses at the first open pew. "Thank you for your words of wisdom Miss-"
"Sophia," she finishes for him.
"Sophia?"
She peers up at him for a moment and her face flushes red. "Just Sophia," she counters, then turns into the pew, away from his eye.
Before he can stop himself, he reaches out and seizes her arm, allowing his gaze to search her face and that's when he notices the fading greenish bruise above her left eye. It triggers a memory from a few years ago. He believes this same young woman was likewise at Sylvia's christening and the only reason he recalls this was because of the bruise. She had one that day too, but only on her hand and she so desperately tried to conceal it. But there is no masking the one today. "Have we met before?"
She instantly abandons her gaze to the floor. "N-No, I don't think so. You must be mistaken."
His brows draw in and he nods his head. "Yes, I remember you from Sylvia's christening, but I have never encountered you here before around the Palace - or for that matter...any time after."
Her green eyes suddenly flash with heated disdain. "As usual, I seriously doubt a man of your stature goes to any lengths to try and recall all the people that reside here on the Isle of Harris, Prince Valik. I'm not even from here and yet I recognized Miss Mabel Duncan whereas you did not." She eyes him with contempt before she reaches for his right hand and places a kiss on the stone centering his sovereign ring on his forefinger.
He understands without a doubt it is a mocking gesture on her part.
"Now... may I please observe your nephew's christening in peace... Prince Valik?"
It isn't often that someone stuns him into silence. He pulls away from her and moves back to the entrance ready to escort the next person to their seat. Over the next several hours, his gaze often strays back to Sophia but never once does she look his way. He doesn't know if this intrigues him or indeed angers him. Either way, he now has an overwhelming compulsion to know everything about her.
~~~
After the christening, Valik goes outside and leans against the building. He regards the dispersing crowd in the hopes that Sophia will leave the chapel and perhaps unknowingly wander his way.
A kindly elderly gentleman holds the door for her, and she steps outside the sanctuary, slowly slipping her gloves onto each hand as her gaze searches the street below. She remains alone, and it appears to him that she is looking for someone, perhaps a carriage to pick her up.
He watches her walk casually down the chapel stairs and stands at the end of the walkway looking both ways. She doesn't talk to anyone, and no one speaks to her. To him, she seems slightly annoyed and somewhat agitated. He surmises it's from her having to wait for whoever was picking her up.
That's when he determines to make a move. He briskly walks up beside her and grips her by the elbow pulling her along with him. "Come with me."
"W-What?" she stammers, struggling both to keep up and pull her arm free. "Let go of me...what are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he challenges with serious eyes. "I merely wish to offer you a ride home." He drags her to his waiting carriage, whips the door open, and forces her inside before she has time to object.
Right behind her, he pulls himself up into the carriage and he notices as she slides across the seat and springs for the opposing door. In one quick motion, his hand covers hers, stopping any attempt at her opening it.
Sophia pushes her back flush against the seat and glares at him with wide questioning eyes. "What are you doing, Prince Valik?" she charges, her voice spikes with both panic and dismay. " Do you take satisfaction out of accosting young women off the street?"
Unable to help himself, a chest rumbling laugh spills from his lips. "As a matter of fact," he admits. "You should be utterly pleased because you are indeed my first attempt at accosting someone."
"Pleased?" she jeers, allowing her gaze to wander over him. "Pleased is not the correct word I would have chosen." She grasps hold of the seat when the carriage starts to move. "I demand that you stop this carriage. I didn't ask for your services, nor am I in need of them."
Ignoring her charge, a crooked smile curves his lips as he appraises her with a roving gaze. "How old are you?"
Her eyes narrow. "Why?"
He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees. "You seem very angry. Have I offended you in some manner? Or are you always this hostile towards others you have just met?"
She assigns him a passive stare before malevolence springs into her green eyes. "Maybe it has something to do with being forced into your carriage, Prince Valik." She recites his name as if it's a curse word. "If you crave to see compliance, then stop this carriage and I will be the most cooperative woman you have ever met."
He pushes up and leans his back against the cushioned seat, then casually crosses his leg over the other. "I wish to deliver you home," he confesses, with one brow raised. "Because I desire to learn more about you." He watches a cloud of panic slowly sweep over her eyes.
"N-No," she stammers, shaking her head. "That is not necessary. Besides... I believe that I have already told you I'm not from here-"
"Oh, that's right," he admits, pointing at her. "You did mention that to me." He wavers and allows his gaze to wander down her body in appreciation. "Where are you from?"
She squirms in her seat and peers nervously at her hands. "I will apologize now for my rudeness, but I have other plans and I am needed elsewhere. Besides, it's none of your business where I am from, Prince Valik."
One brow lifts as he balks at her answer. "Why are you being so obtuse?" he snorts. "Most women would be delighted to have the attentions of a prince."
"I'm not most women," her eyes flash. "Now do I need to keep repeating myself? Or are you going to stop this carriage and allow me to get out?"
"You said your name is Sophia, I wish to know your surname?" he inquires, disregarding her rant.
Lifting her chin, she purposely turns her attention towards the window.
He tries another tactic. "How did you get that bruise above your left eye?"
Her hand immediately shoots to the bruise as if seeking to conceal it. "That's also none of your business," she asserts in a heated voice. "Are you suddenly bored with your own personal life, Prince Valik? Or is agitating young women now something you do for fun in your free time?"
The hostility in her tone startles him and his hand gestures at his sides. "What is your problem?" he challenges. "I am simply trying to be kind to you and all I am receiving back is anger." His eyes fold with a state of confusion as his gaze floats over her again. "I'm not stopping this carriage until you give me your full name."
"You can't force me-"
"I believe that I can," he asserts with a knowing smirk. "In fact, I just did." He watches her green eyes turn into liquid fire and it fascinates him more than he was willing to admit.
"Once I tell you," she fumes. "You will stop the carriage?"
He places his hand over his heart in an auspicious gesture. "I swear it."
"Sophia McNeely," she snaps.
"From?"
"That wasn't part of the compromise," her voice pitches. "I told you my full name, now honor your part of the deal."
McNeely. The name isn't local, and he searches his brain trying to figure out where he's heard before. "How old are you? Are you spoken for? Or are you a Lady of the court?"
Her eyes narrow and her mouth falls agape. "So, you are not an honorable man? Is that how this is? Are you truly not going to stop this carriage?"
Exhaling his exasperation, he doesn't like that she's so brazenly challenging his character. "I am a very honorable man," he defends. "And I would guard my tone if I were you."
"Or what?" she confronts with a chuckle. "Are you going to throw me into the dungeons at the Palace? Or try to ruin my good name?"
To him, her animosity suddenly sounds personal, and he recalls how earlier she had kissed his sovereign ring. "You sound like someone who genuinely dislikes me," he voices his observance. "Or is it just my whole family you despise?"
A coldness settles into her eyes. "Go home to your Palace on the hillside, Prince Valik," she declares, her tone spiked with bitterness. "That way you can continue to look down on people who are significantly less fortunate than you."
His gaze roams over her attire, studying her more carefully this time - her dress is created of fine silk, but it is likewise worn and frayed around the edges. "Has your family fallen on hard times? Is that what this is about?"
She surrenders a not so jovial laugh. "Please spare me this fake facade or concern for my family's wellbeing," she hisses. "False empathy does not look good on you Prince Valik."
The hostility of her words affects him almost like a physical blow and he can't recall another time when someone seemed to despise his family so much. Without saying a word, he slides the narrow door open to communicate with his coachman. "Can you stop the carriage, please? Miss McNeely wishes to get out."
They both feel the jolt of the carriage coming to a stop and once it does completely, he opens the door and leaps to the ground. He extends his hand and assists her down until her feet rest firmly on the pavement. "I would like to say it was a pleasure," he chortles, lifting her hand to his lips. "But I would be lying if I did." He steps away from her to pull himself back up inside. "I do hope you can find your way home from here, Miss McNeely." Without a second glance, he closes the door.
