To Reclaim the Throne

By Anna L. Walls

How can one boy, loved by his parents and all those around him, grow into the most hated man in the land? Prince Andrew managed to accomplish that with the help of his mentor and cousin, Regent Castor Nestor. But one day, Castor changed, or well, he didn't change so much as he turned on the prince. He wanted the crown for himself, and it didn't matter how he got it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anna L. Walls
• Release date: Jan 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005415617

Anna L. Walls

I grew up a rancher's daughter hoping to inherit the ranch and run a riding school for city kids. However, my brother bought the ranch from our parents in order to avoid an inheritance tax and I ended up joining the army, marrying my fisherman husband and moving to the wilderness of Alaska where I raised two wonderful boys. One of them gave me an old laptop computer and now I'm a published author. Go figure.

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TO RECLAIM THE THRONE

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

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Dire Fortune

King Hadrian, like his father before him, would tour the country at least once, and sometimes twice a year. These tours allowed him to assess the state of affairs, and it allowed him to judge the people, both just to see how they were faring as well as to hold a type of informal court, usually in the inn where they chose to stop for the night. On these nights, people from all stations could approach the king and bring him their troubles. This too gave him an insight on how things were in the land.

Everywhere he went, people lined the streets, cheering and screaming. He could find bullies and beggars, of course, but they were part of the human condition. For the most part, the people were happy and in good health.

On this particular trip, he was bringing his wife. On this particular trip, there’d be no nights in some inn; they’d be going from capital city to capital city, and their nights would be at the district lord’s manor house. The inns were another measure of condition of the area, but it was only the very best for the queen. They’d been married for going on three years now, and this was her second tour. The first had been shortly after the wedding, to introduce the new queen. This time it was to let the people see that the queen was very pregnant. Boy or girl, there was no knowing, but other than wanting an heir, Hadrian didn’t really care. He loved his beautiful queen.

His father had arranged the marriage when he was just eight – she was six at the time. He met her for the first time shortly before the wedding. His first impression was – he was very impressed. She was tall – stately even – and so graceful it took his breath away. Then her hair cascaded far down her back in pale golden waves. Now it filled and coiled around her crown, something her women arranged for her every morning. By the time they were finished, only the major jewels twinkled amongst the curls.

Primping of the hair was not exclusive to the queen. The morning ritual extended to the king, and to most of his household as well, especially his guard. Ever since the first king – Hadrian’s great great grandfather – when he was carving out the kingdom of Frgia from the barbarians and needed to tie his hair away from his eyes. Someone had commented how his thick white hair had become like a banner for his people to follow – a flag to give them heart at the worst of times. Ever since then, the king has always worn his hair tied high like a crest of a horse. Even his helm and his crown are crafted specially to show off this feature. The elite military took up the style as well, though only the king had the thick white hair. When Hadrian and his twin sister were both born with very white hair, it became a sign of the true bloodline, proof that the inheritance was secure.

In traveling through the country, the queen and her women would ride in a plush covered wagon, but among people, even if only a nexus of roadways, the king and his lovely queen would ride in an open cart drawn by a white pony. If the weather happened to be wet, there was a canopy.

It was a tradition in the queen’s home country to seek out a fortuneteller and have a child’s future told in the last month before birth. Queen Jolene, therefore, requested this of her husband, and though it was not necessarily a custom in Frgia, he was familiar with the practice, so he relented to the wishes of his beautiful wife.

Late one night, the royal couple slipped away from their escort and approached an old cabin located back in the woods. I don’t like this, Jolene, said the king. There’s no light inside. If you’d only consent to one of the fortunetellers who were willing to call at the palace, we wouldn’t need to go through all this.

You just don’t like sneaking around in the dark, dear, replied the queen with quiet patience. You know those fortunetellers willing to call at the palace would say anything to make us happy. There would be no way to know if it was a true telling or not. At least coming this late at night, she won’t have any time to set up some show.

The king knocked solidly on the old door.

A few minutes later, an old woman opened the door. She was bleary-eyed from sleep, but her pale blue eyes widened in surprise when she identified the king and queen standing on her doorstep so late at night. There was no doubt who they were; everyone would recognize the king and queen.

She quickly invited them into her humble home, wishing fervently that her accommodations were better than they were, but there was no helping it now. What can an old woman like me do for you, Lord and Lady? she asked as she poked up the fire and added some wood and then lit the one lamp she owned with a coal from the fire.

Are you a fortuneteller? asked King Hadrian as he moved his wife closer to the fire; the night air was chilly and damp.

I am that, My Lord, among other things. Do you seek your fortune?

My wife seeks a foretelling for our child soon to be born. Can you do this?

I can, Your Grace, she replied with a small bow. My lady, please have a seat. The old woman offered the queen the only seat and pulled a crate out from beneath the cupboard for herself to sit on. My lord, I have nothing else for you to sit on, even my bed is on the floor.

The king was somewhat impressed with the way the old woman so readily handled the simple preparations for this ordeal, without making any attempts to set up any kind of stage or use any elaborate bobbles, but he was still very uncomfortable about all this; he never did like this mystic stuff. Never mind me. He was not interested in becoming comfortable.

The queen smiled at her husband as she took the offered stool. It was amusing to see her tall brave husband unsettled by this small, frail, peasant woman. She would have to tease him about this night many times.

The fortuneteller sat across from the queen and held out her callused hands. When the queen’s delicate hands were in hers, she closing her eyes, and with a deep breath, she rested her forehead on the table and searched for the future of this child.

Just as they were beginning to worry that the old woman had fallen asleep, she raised her head and spoke in a gravely, resonant voice that could not possibly have issued from the throat of the old woman. The news I have for your son is grave and troubling. Are you sure you still wish to hear it?

I do. Speak your news. I must hear it, said the queen as color drained from her cheeks.

Hadrian would have swept his wife away from here, but the words that followed froze him in his tracks.

Your son’s life line will be fraught with sorrow, anger, and danger. He will lose his father to death, his mother to fear, and treachery will haunt him like a rabid wolf. All of this will beset him before he comes of age. But there is still hope. There is one man who is close to you now; one whose loyalty to you will remain strong, despite all the evil he must see. This man will find your son and help him to see through his sorrow and bitterness. Much will depend on your son. If he has not become too lost, if he is not too bitter and angry, this man will be able to lead him out of his darkness. Only then will he be able to gather the people to him in a union that will surpass even his father’s. If he can do this, he will ascend to the throne and become a king far greater than any of his forefathers.

A son; we’re having a son, but how can my son become so lost? asked the queen.

The old woman opened her eyes at the question and the spell was broken. She heard the question though – she’d heard similar questions before, and it was her habit to try to answer them. To become lost is never an end; it’s only a distraction in the path of life, as long as your son continues to set one foot before the other, there is no choice but to continue.

What are you talking about old woman? growled the king, unwilling to admit how shaken he was about what he’d just heard.

Nothing, My Lord. It is merely my humble attempt to answer the queen’s question. Forgive me for speaking out of turn.

The queen held her hand up to stay the king’s words, and he turned to glower at the fire instead. Please explain further, if you can, she coaxed. The fortune of my son is dire, and I would like to understand more.

In truth, my lady, I cannot say more. I only heard your question and tried to answer it. Even if you told me your son’s fortune, I would only be guessing at a meaning. Does he die, become fey, or does he meet some other untimely trouble? The old woman was also quite shaken; that she told the fortune of the royal prince at all was astonishing enough, but that it seemed to be bad, very bad, was very frightening.

No, you said he would lose both of us while he was still young, and then you said he would become lost himself as well, but that he could ascend the throne and becoming a great king. Tears were already flowing freely though she refused to allow herself to sob openly.

The old woman was heartbroken at the sight of the queen’s tears, and she truly wished her words had been different, but when telling these fortunes, she did not choose the words she uttered; she could only hope to help make sense of them. That is indeed a rocky road for a child to follow, but if he becomes great in the end, what more can a parent ask for?

The queen found these words comforting, though marginally, and she rose to leave. Her movement caught her husband’s attention and he wrapped her cloak around her shoulders once more, keeping her in the protective circle of his arm until she was safely inside their carriage.

After the king had ushered his wife into the carriage, he turned to the old woman and pressing a full bag of coins into her hand. You must protect yourself from the events of this night. Should others learn of our being here and what was revealed here, there could be trouble for both of us. He didn't want her crowing all through the town about their visit in the middle of the night; one bad rumor could spark all manner of trouble.

It was a warning the old woman didn’t need; if anyone were to find out that the king and queen had come to her home, no matter the reason, everyone would be hounding her with every little problem, and she would be unable to help all of them. If there were too many failures, the villagers would be likely to stone her for her efforts. She would keep the coin and use it only when she needed to. There was enough to take care of her for many years if she was careful.

The Hated Prince

Two weeks after returning home, a fine strong son was born to the royal household, and they named him Andrew. Prince Andrew was the pride of the royal family and loved by everyone in the palace. He grew quickly as young children seem to do. When he escaped his nurses, he could always be found among the guards. One of them made him a toy sword complete with a belt and sheath to fit it. Another made him a small shield. He would imitate them in everything they did, and they loved to teach him and watch him struggle to do it himself.

But even as the young prince grew and flourished, his father withered and wasted away until he was a mere shadow of his former size and strength. By the time young Andrew was six, his father no longer had the strength to get out of bed.

One day, he called for his son. Andrew, my son, come sit by me and tell me about your day, he said, when he saw the uncertainty on his son’s face.

The boy marched forward bravely and climbed up onto the great bed beside his father. He told him about all the things he did all day long; about the new foal in the stable, about the funny dressed man who wanted to see his mother, about the guard who almost cut his thumb off, and about how the cook thought the catacombs and dungeons were haunted. But through it all, the boy couldn’t ignore the fact that his father looked so frail. So, with a child’s innocence, he asked about it. Father, what makes you so sick?

Hadrian didn’t like talking about his sickness; he hated being so weak, but his son’s question needed an answer. The doctors don’t seem to know what it is, but it happens sometimes. I have seen it before. Then he thought for a moment before continuing. He searched for a way to prepare his beloved son for his death; it was the reason for calling him here. He’d had a nightmare; a horrid dream where his son was cast adrift in a small boat during a terrible tempest. He’d tried so hard to reach for him; he had things he needed to say, but the tiny craft was swirled away and gone. Listen to me, son. One day soon, I am going to die, and when I do, you will be king. But you are not old enough or strong enough to be king on your own, not for some time yet, so I must pick someone to be regent in my stead until you are. A regent will protect you and hold this country together; he will protect everything that will be yours and he will make all the decisions needed. When you are older, he will teach you how to make these decisions as well, and then, when you come of age, you can be the best king possible. Do you understand what I’m saying?

Yes, father; I think so. But why don’t you let mother be regent? She sits in your chair every day. She talks to people all day long; it doesn’t look that hard.

The king smiled fondly at the idea, and he wished that it could be so simple. Your mother cannot be regent; she’s a woman and she’s not strong enough to control the people she would need to control. But you listen to what she says, she’s very wise, and she’s a good judge of those same people. She has enabled me to be a much better ruler than I could have been without her. Listen to her. Take her advice every chance you can, and always remember what she tells you.

"But father, she is strong. No one fights her."

"Your mother is a strong person, but that is not the strength I’m talking about. No one fights her because I am strong; my men look out for her because of me. No, though she is the most valuable person in my staff, she cannot protect you and all this that will be yours when I am gone. He cupped his son’s cheek with a trembling hand. Don’t you worry, she’ll help me pick a strong man, and when you are twenty, it will be you sitting in that chair."

Twenty. Will I be old when I’m twenty? asked Andrew, his young mind moving on to less complicated matters.

No, son, said the king, chuckling, but you will be old enough, and if I choose the right regent, you will be strong enough too. Send your mother in now; I’m growing weary and we have much to discuss.

I will be strong, just like you, father, promised young Andrew as he squared his shoulders to emphasize the remark.

The king smiled and nodded, and then he gave his son what turned out to be the last hug he was strong enough to give anyone.

The man they decided on for regent was the king’s cousin, a man by the name of Castor. His relationship was distant enough that he held no official title, but he had a sizable holding that was well run and his loyalty was unquestioned. He had a reputation for being shrewd and firm, though some whispers said he was also greedy. All the other candidates they considered had declined for one reason or another.

At that first meeting, the queen was immediately uneasy, but they’d agreed that he was the best man for the job. By all appearances, he was proper and cordial; there was no reason for her discomfort, so she dismissed the feeling as stress and some jealousy. He would never be the man she’d married.