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A brief author's note: I wrote this for a writing class last year and the professor never gave me ANY feedback on it even though I turned in in a week early with the incentive that she'd write a full critique on it. She never did. I still have no idea whether it sucks because the only person to have read it aside from my former professor was Simon, and he thinks literally anything I write is, like, perfect. Onward!
Eleanor’s Tower
It was barely dusk when the pounding of hooves on the cobblestone road outside gave way to the pounding of armored knuckles on the door. Eleanor’s heart leapt in her throat and she said a silent prayer that the noise wouldn’t wake Father. He was still snoring in his chair a room away. Oh, thank gods. She rose from scrubbing the baseboards in the parlor and skittered to the door. Gingerly she opened it, being careful not to let the hinges creak, and nearly gasped aloud. There before her stood at least eight impossibly large men in matching steel armor. Eleanor curtsied clumsily, suddenly conscious of her tangled hair and thin, dirty cloak. Staring at a hole in the floorboards, she smoothed out her apron and barely whispered, “Hello, Sirs. What brings you to Villa Aldergrove?”
The tallest man unrolled a scroll and announced in a thunderous voice which made Eleanor jump, “Are you the Lady Eleanor?”
“Yes, Sirs.”
“And is the Baron Aldergrove inside?”
“Yes, Sirs, but you—”
The imposing figure brushed past Eleanor, and another man with a bushy red beard reached out to take her hand. Eleanor instinctively bristled. The guard was already pulling her outside. Two carriages stood waiting. One was lined with gold filigree, the other with steel bars. Eleanor tried to pull away. She dared to ask, “What on earth—? Why—Where—?” The man replied, cordially but stiffly, “My Lady, forgive me. I am not at liberty to say. If you would please board the carriage.” Eleanor dug her heels into the earth, yet found herself being dragged to the gilded coach nonetheless.
There was a crash. Eleanor jumped. Glass shattered. Somewhere, a strangled yell. Oh gods, they had Father! Eleanor wrenched herself away from the armored man’s grip. She spun around. Father was being led out the back door about 30 meters away, each hairy arm held back by a guard, with the larger of them pointing a sword at his back. Father was trying and failing to slam a broken bottle of mead onto his kidnappers' helmeted heads. She could just barely hear his usual yelling and swearing carried on the wind.
The guards, unflinching, led him towards the other carriage and threw him in. Eleanor shouted after him. “Father! Oh gods! Father, no, no no no, you can’t!” She tried to run towards her father, but was immediately restrained by the guard’s hands on her shoulders. She turned to him, eyes wide with fear, pleading, “Gods, where are you taking him?! Don’t hurt him! Why are you taking him?!" Eleanor struggled vainly. The man grabbed her waist, lifted her up, shoved her in. She craned her neck to see her father growing smaller and smaller as the carriages went their separate ways. “Father! I didn’t—I can’t!—No!” Tears pricked the edges of her eyes. The men rode on.
It seemed hours passed as the elegant carriage creaked and swayed in the night breeze in time with the steady pounding of hooves on stone. Eleanor sat in silence with her arms curled around her. She could hear her own heartbeat thrumming as fast as a rabbit’s in her ears. Her throat was too dry to speak, her eyes gritty with traces of tears. Nothing seemed quite real. Here, with the moonlight cascading past vague silhouettes of oaks and onto the plush velvet seats, the girl knew she would probably not be alone for some time. She did not dare open the curtains, as though they would somehow protect her from the two very strong men on horseback on either side of the carriage.
The carriage stalled. Eleanor could hear someone calling out in the distance, and then from immediately in front of her, a confident male voice replied, “We have the Lady Eleanor!” There was a pause, followed by another word yelled in the distance. The sound of chains and gears was followed by a heavy thud, and as the carriage continued, Eleanor at last drew open the curtain and gaped in amazement. This was the courtyard of the royal palace, lit with thousands of torches and flanked with gardens and gargoyles. She had never been anywhere near it but as an educated lady she knew its location and inhabitants by heart. Up close and in person, the palace seemed almost to stare her down, and Eleanor all at once felt very small. She dug her heels into the wooden floor of the carriage to stop her legs from shaking. What could she possibly have been brought here for? Had her father committed some sort of horrible crime? Oh, gods, that must be it. She must be here for his trial. She racked her brain for any possible explanation- embezzlement? Theft? True, Father was always a severe man, greedy with his food and his coin, and Eleanor daren’t even look him in the face most nights, especially when he’d been drinking. But he truly was a good man at heart, she knew. He was the only family she had left. To do something worthy of arrest? It didn’t make sense. Her wide eyes roved the exterior stone of the palace as she struggled to keep her breathing even.
The voice of the guard on horseback beside her broke through her astonishment. “My Lady, I now have permission to inform you that you are entering the residence of his Royal Highness Prince Alexis the Just. He has summoned you to meet with him.” Eleanor couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This had to be a very serious matter indeed. She clutched at her cloak, sure that her heart was going to literally burst. The carriage doors swung open and Eleanor stood, blinking away the black spots that swam in her vision. Unbeknownst to her, on a small balcony jutting out from the palace’s fifth floor, a brooding figure watched the tiny carriage as it made its way across the drawbridge.
Prince Alexis stood on the Yellow Hall balcony, peering down with the aid of the binoculars he had used to watch her so many times before. He had to remind himself to breathe as the carriage doors opened and he caught sight of a swirl of red fleece. And there she was. The Lady Eleanor, wrapped in a thick crimson cloak as a precious gem is wrapped in silk for safekeeping. Two guards took each of her hands and carefully helped her down the carriage steps. It may have been the torchlight, but Alexis swore that for the briefest instant he could see the glimmer of golden curls beneath her hood. She was a slight creature in general, but viewed from the balcony she was tiny, dwarfed by the sturdy palace walls and by the guardsmen in their armor. Even from such a distance she appeared to almost float as she glided towards the palace doors, red fabric billowing about her slender body. This girl was made of magic, he knew it. He stared openly, for once not fearing to be seen, and stayed there entranced until she was well out of his sight.
By the Divines, it was finally happening. Alexis had dreamt ceaselessly of this night since the very first time he saw her. He had taken his favorite horse out one afternoon for a jaunt through the forest, uncaring as to where and how far he went, and had stumbled upon a quiet country villa with a quaint little vegetable garden. It was being tended by the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She was attractively thin, and her long golden curls cascaded down her back. Her breasts were admittedly too small. But her eyes were large- enormous- the color of spring grass, with thick dark lashes. He’d yearned for a closer look, but she would surely have taken notice of his presence if he had dared come any closer. For the first time in his life, Prince Alexis had felt ill-at-ease. What could he have said to her? Courtly banter didn’t seem appropriate anyway. She was nothing like the fluffed-up noblewomen in their ridiculous court wigs. She had roses in her cheeks. None of the fat noblewomen in court had roses in their cheeks. He was in love. He had sped off for the castle, and had returned that night and every night thereafter with binoculars, relishing every moment he peered through her candlelit bedroom window. Gods, she was perfect, breasts and all.
The heavy stone doors slammed shut, and the resounding echo jolted Alexis out of his imaginings. It just didn’t seem real. He somehow didn’t think he’d ever actually reach this night, and all the tomorrows after it. In spite of the many, many months of meticulous planning- watching her, discovering who she was- he still didn’t know what to say to her. He hoped his careful ministrations would woo her so that he didn’t have to charm her with poetry or something after she actually arrived at the palace. He didn’t want to think about it. Not that he really had to think about it; everything was already arranged. This first night, the Lady Eleanor would be escorted to the main hall by the guards, where half a dozen of her new maidservants would take her the rest of the way to the Tower Suite. She would be bathed and perfumed with the finest scented oils and would rest easily for what was probably the first time in her life. The following morning he would propose and three days hence would be the Engagement Ceremony, a month after that the wedding, and finally their joint coronation as King and Queen of Virania. He would finally be king, and rule with the most beautiful woman in Virania at his side. Alexis chuckled at himself. All this worrying was absurd. He was heir to the throne; of course she’d love him. Wouldn’t she? He knew everything that was to be, so why was he so nervous? The future King is never nervous. The girl had positively bewitched him! He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. Fear was new to the prince, but like any kingdom or any woman, it could be conquered. Turning, he brushed aside the heavy velvet curtain and strode as confidently as he possibly could back into the palace.
Arriving at his council chambers, he flashed a cordial but stiff smile at Lord Warren, who was leaning with both palms pressed against the table, a grim expression on his already steely countenance. Warren’s expression relaxed somewhat at catching sight of the Prince, who looked very much pleased at the bounty of paperwork laid before him. The dozens of stacked scrolls surely meant that the chamberlain had proven himself yet again successful in his quest.
“So Warren, what news?” asked the prince, smiling more genuinely and forgetting his nervousness as he anticipated the answer, confident that nothing involving the Lady’s arrival could possibly have gone awry. Prince Alexis helped himself to the wine sitting on the console table.
“Everything is in place, Your Highness, as per your decree,” came the chamberlain’s reply. He unrolled a scroll, glancing down at it periodically as he spoke. “Twelve bouquets of roses and twelve of lilies have been delivered to the Lady’s tower. The new lady’s maids have been instructed as to their duties…”
Warren was really only going over the massive checklist one final time for thoroughness’s sake. The two of them had spent two seasons checking and rechecking, making plans and putting them into action. His advisor’s attention to detail calmed the prince’s nerves. Warren and the many men and ladies under his command would ensure every detail of the Lady Eleanor’s life at the palace was paradise itself. First, the Tower Suite had to be refurbished; it was seldom used and therefore every room therein had to be thoroughly dusted and swept out before it could become the future Queen’s private chambers. He had chosen it especially for its large windows and sweeping views of the gardens below. New wall tapestries were hung, new furniture crafted and arranged, new linens purchased. Then of course came the servants- the Lady would have an entourage of guards, chefs, musicians, tutors, advisors, handmaidens, healers, and midwives at her beck and call. Every seamstress and jeweler in the capitol and surrounding provinces flocked to the palace to prepare a royal wardrobe truly fit for the next Queen. A dozen wedding planners collaborated to prepare for the most spectacular event of the century. There was absolutely no detail left unaccounted for. Everything the Lady could ever possibly desire, all there at her delicate fingertips. Every beautiful moment of their new life together in all of its grandeur lay mapped out in black ink.
After what felt like hours, Warren had finally crossed off every item on the agenda. He set his quill aside. The prince shifted his weight almost imperceptibly as his worry returned full force. “Warren…” he began,
“Your Highness?”
“What information have you acquired about the Lady Eleanor herself?”
Warren’s face turned grave as a shadow crossed his brow. “Your Highness, what we have here…” he motioned to the stack of scrolls upon the table “…are the testimonies of former servants of Baron Aldergrove’s household, many of whom maintained contact with the Lady Eleanor after their dismissal. They have all uniformly reported that Baron Aldergrove inflicted acts of unthinkable cruelty, both upon the late Baroness Aldergrove and the Lady Eleanor.” Alexis examined a scroll which rested atop the pile. He soon put it down again, shuddering. There were more than 30 names upon the parchment- friends of the household, merchants who traded with the Baron, farmers, servants, governesses who helped to raise the young Lady- each name bearing its own scroll, further detailing acts which ranged from drunken idiocy to the cruelest of abuse. Even the summaries, listed tersely and clinically, made him ill.
Baron Aldergrove treated his late wife horribly, and after the Baroness’s death three years ago, he had allegedly turned on his daughter. Eleanor’s father had stripped her of her every possession, forced her to sleep in the basement, deprived her of food, and treated her as a slave. She had been beaten, whipped, and worse. That his beautiful darling Eleanor, as innocent as an angel and with hair that glistened like sunlight, could be so horribly treated… it made Alexis feel sick. The young prince took a pull from his wine goblet for strength. “By the gods, why?”
The chamberlain gave no reply. Alexis was lost for words. He didn’t know what to say in the face of such horror. His Eleanor, his bride. What sense did it make to torture her so? Warren continued. “Further, Your Highness, it would appear there are over a dozen accounts of fraud and embezzlement attributed to Baron Aldergrove. He has swindled at least five local merchants, stolen from the temple, and has been bribing the Treasurer so as to evade paying taxes.”
The prince heard none of this. Sparks flickered in his eyes, magnified tenfold by the many sconces lining the walls. He stared at the wall as though he intended to burn a hole through it. His voice was as cold as iron. “Send for the executioner.”
“My Prince?”
“I said, send for the executioner, immediately.”
“But Sir- Your Highness” faltered the chamberlain, “At this hour?”
“Baron Aldergrove will be put to death.”
“My Prince, forgive my impertinence, but I wish to remind Your Highness that-”
Prince Alexis’s tone was edged with quiet resentment. “Your impertinence is forgiven. Go and fetch the executioner at once.”
Warren bowed stiffly and turned on his heels. Years of working beside the young Prince had taught him better than to argue further.
Fifteen minutes later, Prince Alexis was pacing the floor so intently that the bear-head rug beneath his feet almost appeared to be in pain. At long last, the chamberlain returned with a rather disheveled-looking executioner. Alexis ceased his pacing and looked up, and in spite of himself, a smile tugged at the edges of his lips. The usually menacing executioner looked almost comical in his robe and nightcap, his pointed nose making him appear rather like some sort of skinny, disgruntled bird. Adopting his usual serious air, the prince stiffened as both men bowed before him.
“Baron Reginald Harrow of Aldergrove has committed high treason and shall be put to death before sunrise tomorrow. This I declare as the sovereign ruler of the land of Virania and the Eastern Provinces,” he commanded, trying his utmost to sound calm and authoritative. Warren stepped forward slightly as though he had something to say, and Alexis had to remind himself that royalty are always gracious, fair, and kind.
“Your Highness,” Warren began, “before sunrise? It’s after midnight. Will there be no trial?”
Alexis sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
“You heard the witnesses’ accounts yourself, Warren. What the Baron has done is unpardonable. It’s a capital crime!”
Warren shrank a little as he spoke.
“Yes, Your Highness, so the allegations say. But without a trial and a full investigation of the property, we cannot know for---“
“He assaulted the Lady Eleanor! He struck the future Queen of Virania! That is death! He should be placed in the rack, have his hands cut off, be tied to a tree and whipped!” Alexis was pacing again, his voice rising in pitch and volume. He halted, suddenly observing the nervous expressions of his two subjects, ran his fingers through his hair, and took a deep breath to collect himself. A prince must always deport himself with grace. “There is no need for a trial, gentlemen.” The statement sounded a little more forceful than the prince had intended.
The scrawny executioner spoke next, his voice gruff but decidedly lacking in its usual menacing sternness, “M’lord, if I may, assaulting a member of the royal household is a capital crime, but not until ‘e or she’s been crowned. Otherways the punishment is the standard seven years’ imprisonment.” The prince gaped in total exasperation, picked up his goblet, and drained the contents in one swallow.
“Seven years? Seven?! That’s not good enough!” He threw the goblet at the wall, where it fell with a clatter upon the wooden floor. Again he paced about the room, snarling like a caged beast. Did either of them understand nothing of honor? Of chivalry? Of valor?
“That man- that monster- has hurt my bride, and for that he will die! Do I make myself perfectly clear? I want that bastard dead before dawn!”
Prince Alexis stopped to regard his subjects, standing tall and domineering. Warren stepped forward about an inch. The prince swore under his breath.
“As you command, Your Highness,” replied Warren. But if I may, My Prince, the escorting guards reported that the Lady Eleanor asked for her father to be kept safe.” Alexis glowered, his face twisted in rage. He struggled to keep his tone low and even, and his words were edged with fire and steel.
“Do you dare disobey a direct order from your future King?”
“Never, Your Highness.”
“Good,” came the prince’s steely reply. He produced a clean piece of parchment from his desk, hastily wrote out the royal edict, signed, and stamped it. It was surely the swiftest decree that had ever been sent out in Virania’s history. Baron Aldergrove would be burned at stake; beheading was too good for him. There would be no prayers, no speech, no fanfare, and no mercy. “Go now and carry out your task, both of you. Out.”
Both men placed their right fist to their heart, bowed in unison, and exited the council chambers. Prince Alexis sighed, becoming aware of the tension in his shoulders. He massaged them and reached for the pitcher and another goblet. He was going to need more wine.
Some hours and a few glasses of wine had much becalmed the young prince. He sat in his private chambers, still in yesterday’s evening suit, on a cushioned chair with a roaring fire before him and what remained of the wine on the elegantly carved table beside him. The prince had given up attempting to sleep hours ago, and dawn was softly streaking the sky with pastel purples, pinks, and oranges. Through the window, the celestial scene silhouetting the formal gardens below was resplendent. He was considering ringing one of the servants for mead or champagne. The joyous occasion which would unfold on the morrow called for something light and sweet and delicate. Just like her. His Eleanor. She had been so ill-treated. The poor little thing feared her father’s wrath so much she tried to defend him even en route to the palace.
But there was no more need for fear, she would soon learn. Never again. Now, his beautiful angel would know nothing but perfect peace and contentment, living every passing day in the luxury and prestige befitting a Queen. The pain of the past was at long last banished. She would be waking up in merely a few hours. Alexis tended to arise shortly after dawn, but she would probably prefer to take as much rest as she could, particularly after her tiring journey. He could picture her, in her chemise, soundly asleep beneath mountains of furs and atop a dozen feather pillows, basking in a warmth and comfort she had never known before. A smile played on the Prince’s lips as he imagined her, delighting in the opulence of her new chambers, giggling ecstatically as young maids are wont to do when presented with silken gowns and jewels and finery.
He had never been close enough in observing the Lady Eleanor to hear her voice, but sometimes on the wind he would catch the melodious sound of her laughter. Her laugh rang like little bells, and how his heart thrilled at knowing he had the pleasure of hearing it every single day for the rest of his life. Everything was simply perfect. His Eleanor, her eyes meeting his for the first time. Eleanor, forgetting courtly decorum and throwing her arms around her savior. Eleanor, in a white gown and a long flowing veil. Eleanor, kneeling before the High Priest to accept the crown. Eleanor, bearing their sons. Eleanor, Queen of Virania and Queen of his heart. His Eleanor, forever.
Alexis was about to send for breakfast, picturing his bride-to-be doing the same, when his daydream was broken by a frantic rapping at the oaken door of his chamber. Without even waiting to be invited in, two serving maids barged through the door, hastily curtsying to their Sovereign. Annoyance turned to worry as Alexis regarded their pale and terror-stricken faces. They looked as though they’d seen a ghost.
“Ladies, what is the trouble?”
“Your highness,” gasped the wispy brunette on the left, “It’s the Lady Eleanor. She--- she’s unwell, Your Highness, she…”
“Unwell? What is it?” replied Alexis, concern pricking at the edges of his heart. The second servant, a plump old maid with dark hair, spoke up as the first stopped to catch her breath.
“My Prince, the Lady Eleanor took ill last night. She’s exhausted from the night’s travels. She begs your highness to---”
The chambermaid stopped abruptly as Prince Alexis shoved past them and strode towards the door. “Is she alright?” His voice rose in alarm.
The handmaids followed swiftly at his heels. “We’ve sent for the healers, but they don’t know what to do either. The physician said she’s only in need of further rest and treatment for her injuries, but we think---”
“Injuries??” The prince instinctively sped down the corridors heading towards the Tower Suite. Left, right, another left. The familiar hallways seemed somehow longer than usual, even as fast as he was carrying himself. It seemed almost like a nightmare. Taking the tower stairs two at a time, he raced towards the Lady Eleanor’s private chambers. Throwing open the door to her great room, he was greeted by a handmaid, who curtsied more out of anxiety than respect and only made the prince’s heart pound louder in his ears. “Where is she?” he barked at the nervous young woman.
“The Lady Eleanor- she is indisposed, Your Highness,” stammered the maid. “She has taken to bed, My Lord. If you will follow me.” She started towards the door on the left and the prince followed, trailed by the other two servants. They passed through her private living room, study, and sitting room, silent as the grave. Unconsciously, he picked up his pace as did the woman in front of him and the two behind. At last they stopped at a closed door. From within, the faint sound of weeping could be heard. Alexis’ heart tightened in his chest. Cautiously, slowly, he reached for the door handle and gingerly opened it. His heart fell through him as he examined the scene within.
The east-facing window was shattered, and tiny shards of broken glass lay scattered on the floor amid broken statuary and pottery. A mahogany table and the vase of flowers resting upon it had been overturned, scattering calla lilies about the room. A string of pearls laying on the vanity- whose mirror was also smashed- had been broken, the ivory beads strewn across the wooden floor. Lying face-down on the large canopied bed was the Lady Eleanor. Her chemise barely hung on her too-thin frame. Her golden curls trembled slightly as her body shook with silent sobs. Handkerchiefs littered the bed, one clutched tightly in the Lady’s hand.
Horror gripped the prince’s heart as he saw the dried blood which lined the hem of her frayed and torn chemise. Small gashes covered every visible inch of her legs and the soles of her feet. A healer at the foot of the bed dabbed at the wounds with a handkerchief soaked in warm water. Though some of the cuts looked deep and painful, Eleanor didn’t seem to notice the healer’s touch. On the opposite end, a lady’s maid caressed Eleanor’s shaking shoulders, stroking her hair as she sobbed into the pillows. For a long moment silence permeated the room as the two attendants looked up at their prince. They did not dare move from their positions to regard him, and merely nodded in respectful greeting, their eyes wide with worry.
The silence did not last long, for soon her Ladyship too turned her head to observe the presence in the doorway. Her cheeks were flushed and wet with streams of tears, her eyes red and puffy. The prince’s chest ached with unbearable concern as he realized she had been in tears for hours. And he had not known. Seeing Prince Alexis’ face seemed to revive her strength slightly, for when her raw, bloodshot eyes met his worried ones, she gave a small shriek and buried her face in her handmaid’s lap, thin hands clinging with white knuckles to the maid’s apron. The Lady Eleanor’s weeping amplified, fresh pain tearing through her fragile body. Terrified whimpers and choked sobs rattled through her and resounded around the small room. The miserable Lady began to shiver violently as the handmaid tried to soothe her, while the healer gently but firmly grasped her ankles so she could continue tending to the wounds thereon.
Prince Alexis stood silent in petrified surveillance of the nightmare before him. He felt weak and placed a hand on the doorframe to steady himself. He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. He had been through royal military training. This was not the first time he had seen blood and chaos. But this was a horror completely new to the prince. Words utterly failed him, but he had to say something. In a tremulous voice that totally lacked any of its usual princely authority, he managed to choke out, “What—how— what in the name of the Gods has happened here? Who is responsible for this—this madness?” He protectively took a step towards the terrified Eleanor, his thick boots unheeding of the broken glass as the Prince searched the faces of the distraught women for anything resembling an explanation. When his eyes met the healer’s with a questioning gaze, she silently nodded and hastily bent over a desk to scrawl something on a piece of parchment. When she handed him the slip of paper, his stomach turned and his knees gave way. He stumbled backwards and fell into a chair, his own hands shaking as a horrible chill gripped his every nerve. He stared sightlessly ahead at the sunrise through the broken window.
The Lady asked us what had become of her Father.
We had to tell her.
She tried to jump.
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