Earning the Love of a Princess-Chapter 161: Last Stand

"This wasn’t the first night that I’ve awoken to find her gone from my tent." Tom rumbled. "I figured she was seeking out other men. I didn’t much care because I assumed they’d be Islian! But the fire last night got me thinking."

"You suspected her?" William raised his brows as events started to make sense in his own mind. Little coincidences and uneasy twinges he’d brushed off over the last few weeks.

"Well, it occurred to me that our enemy seems to know our plans and our camp layout suspiciously well. That has only really happened since Joan’s been with us." Tom smiled grimly. "Before then, when the Moraigthians attacked us you could tell it was guesswork. Now all of a sudden, they know exactly where we’ve grouped our supply wagons and how to avoid our night guards?"

"So you followed her here?"

"Aye. I pretended to fall asleep and waited until she left." Tom suddenly stopped walking, turned in the direction they’d left Joan and crossed himself. "I’ve never killed a woman before. There no honour in it." His face was no longer a cold mask. Instead, a worried frown now marred his features.

William crossed himself as well. "No, there’s not. You did what was needed. But sometimes, the right decision is still awful. May her soul find rest."

The two men stood in silence a moment longer, then William clapped Tom on the shoulder. "We should try and sleep some, brother. Tomorrow’s march will be brutal."

Tom nodded and, despite the distress still on his face, began following William through the blackened trees and back towards the camp.

- - -

The march was every bit as gruelling as William had predicted and more. Rising while the sky was still pitch black so that everyone would be ready to depart two hours before dawn, the army moved north at breakneck pace. They followed the River Caine upstream as they aimed for the edge of the valley Prince James had marked on the king’s nap with his dagger the previous day. The location was apparently known as the Field of the Fortunate. William didn’t know if that was a good omen or simply another instance of the fates laughing at Islia.

William had never been part of such a dispirited campaign. There was none of the usual banter between the soldiers. There weren’t even any grumbles over the punishing pace. There was only an eerie, mournful silence, as if every man knew he was marching towards his own funeral.

Wiping sweat from his brow, William surveyed the lands before him from atop his steed. The sky was streaked in shades of crimson and orange as the sun started to rise. All he could see for miles and miles was nothing but scorched, charred vegetation. What had once been productive farmland dotted with bustling little villages, was now abandoned and ruined. Everywhere they moved were the gaunt, unhappy faces of the peasantry.

Some of the common people doffed their hats when they realised the king was at the head of his forces, or called out prayers for an Islian victory. Other people though, just stared blankly as the procession of soldiers marched and rode past them. William suspected the people probably cared less about the politics of who ruled them and more about being able to fill their bellies.

It made him think of Joan, who had been willing to do whatever she needed to avoid starving. The northern provinces in Islia were typically the poorest part of the country but the people had still been at least fairly comfortable. Now, they were destitute.

The army stopped mid morning to rest briefly and water the horses. William let one of the squires take his horse away and lead it to the riverbanks, while handing his water skin to another squire so it could be filled. Sitting down on a large boulder and pulling off his helmet and gauntlets, William looked up at the sky, which was cerulean blue.

"Do you fear death, Will?" Francis Lowell’s voice jolted him back into the present.

William gave his friend a tired smile, watching as Francis took a seat on another boulder.

"Not so much for myself. I fear far more for those left behind once I’m dead."

Francis nodded quietly in understanding, pushing his shaggy, uncut hair behind his ears. "Before we departed I told Anne that if I don’t return, she should marry again."

"That’s mighty generous of you, Francis." William muttered. He knew he could’ve never brought himself to say those words to Camilla. Francis was clearly the more selfless man.

Francis looked back at him with sorrowful eyes. "We’ve only been married eight months. I can’t expect her to wear widow’s black for the rest of her life. I’d want her to find happiness again, and just remember me in her prayers."

"Never thought I’d find us in this situation, did you, Francis? Discussing what’s to become of our young widows?" William’s voice was gruff.

Francis was cut off from replying by a loud call. It was Leo, bellowing out that the rest was over and all men were to continue the journey north again.

With a groan, William stood up and made his way over to where his steed was drinking from the river. Taking the waterskin handed to him by his squire, the swallowed a few mouthfuls, then tipped the rest of the water over his face, scrubbing at the filthy skin. Securing his helmet and gauntlets, William hoisted himself onto the stallion and positioned himself to join the column of mounted knights and foot soldiers that were already on the move.

During the rest stop, it had been decided by the king and Leo that Rufus’s most trusted scout - a scrawny, sneaky looking young man named Perris - would be the one to approach the Moraigthian army ahead of time. Perris would carry a parchment signed and sealed by King Edward himself, that declared Islia’s intention to engage in battle at the Field of the Fortunate, within the next two days. William watched as Perris cocked his head to receive last minute instructions from the king, before bowing deeply and departing on a grey horse.

Soon, his galloping figure had melted into the distance.

- - -

Camilla was sitting with her ladies in Elizabeth’s chambers, taking turns fanning each other, when a strange, tightening feeling seized her belly.

It wasn’t painful as such, just uncomfortable, as if her belly was being clenched by a vice. The sensation gradually eased, only to start again a few moments later. Placing her hand on her belly, Camilla noticed it was rock hard.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Elizabeth eyed her with concern.

Camilla spoke hesitantly. "I think so. For a moment though, it felt like my belly was squeezing itself hard."

"Does it hurt? Do you feel any pain at all?"

"No. It’s just uncomfortable." Camilla replied. The clenching, squeezing sensation started again, making her gasp. She rubbed her hard belly with growing anxiety. She wasn’t expecting her baby until the end of August. Was it possible she’d had her dates wrong all along?

Elizabeth spoke calmly. "I had the same cramping in the weeks before Kate was born. The midwives told me it was nothing to worry about, just my body preparing to eventually give birth. All the same, I think it best you go back to your own rooms and rest."

Camilla nodded and stood to leave, feeling somewhat soothed by Elizabeth’s words. Meg accompanied her back to the southern corridor. When she reached her apartments, she heard a hubbub of voices coming from her bedchamber. Meg looked at her in confusion, then strode into the room in her usual decisive manner.

"What is going on in here?"

"Her Majesty has confirmed it’s time for Her Grace to begin her confinement." a strident, unfamiliar voice replied to Meg.

"Confinement?" Camilla parroted the unfamiliar word as she waddled into her bedchamber. The room was dark as the drapes had been drawn tightly shut, despite it being late morning. Two new maids were hanging a heavy tapestry over the window to block out every single trace of light.

A third maid bobbed a bow to Camilla and explained, "It’s customary for a royal mother to lay and rest in her chamber in the last few weeks before giving birth. You’ll be allowed to leave thirty days after your child is born. Until then, everything you need will be brought to you, my lady."

"Why must the room be so dark?" Camilla looked around in the gloom, dread rising in her chest at the thought of being trapped in darkness for two months. "I’ve never heard of such a thing happening in Moraigth."

The maid sniffed arrogantly. "Well, it’s an important tradition in a civilised country like Islia. The queen herself followed it. Come, Your Grace. You must bid your usual ladies farewell."

"No." Camilla replied stubbornly. "If I’m to be shut away here for weeks, then I’ll have my friends visit me. I’ll go mad otherwise."

The maids’ lips twisted in disapproval but they didn’t argue further. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

Camilla whispered desperately to Meg, "Please promise you’ll visit me as often as possible! Ask Bess and Katerine as well. I don’t want to do this surrounded by only strangers."

"Of course, my lady!" Meg squeezed her hands in reassurance. "We’ll come by every day to keep you company."

As she dolefully watched Meg leaved the bedchamber, Camilla suddenly felt very alone. She sat on the edge of her bed, her hands twisting with nerves as the eyes of three maids, all strangers, focused on her.

There was nothing to be done but wait and pray.