Chapter 51
Breakfast
The next morning, Elizabeth was awoken in her tent by a maid bearing a large mug filled with a strong herbal tea. She levered herself out of her cot and sat on the edge of it while she sipped the stimulating concoction. Knowing that their lady was awake, the rest of her maids swept into the room and went to work on getting her ready to meet the day. Breakfast
After she had finished her tea, and was just being dried off after a quick standing bath in a small portable tub, Elizabeth tried to think of what dress she was going to wear today. She wanted something really nice because she had invited Max over to meet her officers while he shared breakfast with them. The problem was, she had only ordered a collection of very basic dresses to be packed when she left home, since she had just been thinking about traveling with the army, so she didn’t think she’d have anything to wow her prince with.
But Elizabeth hadn’t considered the devotion and craftiness of her maids, who had packed a wide array of her more flattering dresses for her just in case. Of course, their ‘just in case’ had meant the chance of her meeting up with her beloved Sir Zan, as her love for the newly-minted knight had been an open secret in the Parker household by the time she left on this trip.
The morning was cool, verging on cold, just one more difficulty for the wounded to deal with, especially those who couldn’t move and generate some heat of their own. As small as Elizabeth was, she had to bundle up somewhat to keep from getting chilled. Her maids were a practical sort, and she always gave them a fair amount of leeway when it came to making suggestions. In this case, they quickly talked her into wearing the boots and leather pants she’d worn during the battle the day before, as her normal velvet slippers would be ruined in no time and the pants would shield her against cold drafts shooting up whichever dress she wore.
On top of the pants and boots went several layers of shifts, before the bright yellow wool dress itself was pulled on. And to finish things off, the maids had a reasonably thick, tastefully embroidered long brown wool coat with fur trim on standby for their lady, just in case the weather became colder.
Finally ready, and more than eager to get outside to where a somewhat informal breakfast was going to be served, Elizabeth grabbed a thin pair of white gloves, tucked them into the sash of her dress, and left her tent. A couple of her father’s meanest looking veterans followed her, making sure no one treated her in any way other than what a lady of her station deserved, but after her heroics the day before, the men of her camp had nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for their very own ‘battle maiden,’ and woe betide any man who disrespected her in even the smallest way…including the prince himself.
That prince was at his tent, a couple of miles away, wanting to dress down for his breakfast with Elizabeth. Just a fine white shirt with billowing sleeves, a pair of close-fitting black knee breeches, and a pair of knee-high black boots were all he wanted, but his valet pointed out that Lady Elizabeth had invited him to eat with her and her top officers. While she might be more than pleased to just meet Max, the valet believed her officers would be expecting to meet the prince, and as such, Max had an obligation to show them what they expected to see, so he pulled on a fresh uniform jacket. This one was royal white, pure as new fallen snow.
It was the first time since Max had left the Summer Palace all those months ago that he’d pulled on the white and gold of the royal family. It was rather formal in most circumstances, but almost required in military affairs. Seeing those colors on his body made him wonder about his sister Isabel and his parents.
Max had been avoiding dreamwalking his parents and Isabel, but knew he wouldn’t be able to put that off much longer now that the war was over. He’d been avoiding his parents because he knew it was always easier to seek forgiveness than to gain permission. As for Isabel, he avoided her dreams because he knew her safety might depend on no one knowing just where she was. He hadn’t wanted to learn her location on accident during a dream talk.
Max took a look at the brand new military jacket that his valet had somehow managed to put together for him under field conditions. Like his other military jackets, this one had plenty of gold brocade on the chest and forearms of the jacket, but the short, stiff collar was plain, so there would be no way to mistake the black and gold dragon’s head pin that denoted his rank. His white sword belt was the last thing he pulled on, before he headed outside to meet with Michael and the rest of his bodyguard for the short ride to Elizabeth’s camp, which was a couple of miles upstream.
Michael had been amused to find himself wearing white also. It wasn’t the white and gold of the royal family, but the white jacket with black trim and black knee breeches of the Royal Household Guard. When he’d asked Max about the clothes that had been waiting for him that morning, the prince claimed ignorance, and then the valet spoke up and said, “You are the crown prince’s chief bodyguard. As such, you are a member of the Royal Household Guard and entitled to wear the white and black. If I had enough cloth and another two or three decent tailors to help me, I’d have those other ten men in white and black also.”
“There is a whole array of court protocols that you are in imminent danger of being required to learn, Michael,” Max said with a wicked grin as they mounted their horses. The prince looked over at Michael’s jacket collar, curious to see what rank his valet had assigned to him, mostly since he didn’t have an official rank yet. “Wow. You have made quite an impression on my valet, Michael.”
“How so?” the older man grunted.
“He had no idea of your rank, and guessed you were a major of the Guard. Impressive.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. That high of a rank is not normally obtained in the guard until a man is forty or so. You are a good ten years early.”
“So? We both know the rank is just a goof by a glorified tailor.”
“Not anymore,” Max said, before shifting from a normal speaking voice to one more suited for a royal herald. “In the name of the king, I, Crown Prince Maximilian of Alemannia, do hereby elevate Sir Michael Guerin to the rank of major in the Royal Household Guard for services rendered to the royal family during the just ended rebellion.”
Max looked over at Michael, who looked as if he’d just been poleaxed. “What do you think about that? It is official now. I will get some clerks to start the paperwork once we get back to our camp. That is mostly so you can start to collect the new, higher rate of pay to which you are now entitled.” He looked behind them toward his other ten guards. “Do not worry about them either. They are all retired from the service and will be receiving huge additions to their retirement pay if they survive protecting me.” Max’s eyes turned forward and locked on his distant destination, thinking of the small, vibrant woman who waited there for him. “The crown always takes care of those who render it valuable service.”
Anxious to get to his lady love, Max set a brisk pace, allowing his horse to canter along once the party had left camp. In no time, the twelve men had reached Elizabeth’s camp and were being directed to her small collection of tents. When they arrived, a slew of younger soldiers, acting as horse grooms, rushed out and took the horses as the men dismounted. No one was foolish enough to get in the way of the prince and his hard-eyed escort. In fact, a wide path opened in front of them, as if by magic, as they approached the Elizabeth’s horseshoe-shaped collection of tents and the makeshift courtyard in the midst of them.
A number of men were standing there milling around and talking. Most were soberly dressed, but Max’s eyes quickly picked out the bright yellow full skirts of Elizabeth’s dress. Seeing her was like feeling the first ray of sunshine on a cold, blustery day. As he watched her circulate amongst her men, stopping here and there to make sure she spent some time with everyone, he noticed how the men perked up during their brief time as the focus of Lady Parker’s attention. Here she was, a seventeen year old woman, legally still not an adult, and she had these men, who ranged in age from their early twenties to their mid-sixties, hanging on her every word.
Max wondered if Elizabeth knew just how natural she was when it came to working a crowd. It was a highly prized political talent, one he’d seen his parents use time and again to work a roomful of their supporters and yet make each person feel as if they had made a personal connection with the king or the queen.
Max waited at the entrance to the courtyard for his lady to recognize him and invite him in, as if he were nothing more than a messenger she was waiting on. Elizabeth had been checking the entrance every few minutes ever since she had left the relative comfort of her tent, but when her prince did finally show up, she didn’t see him until someone pointed him out to her. Hoping she hadn’t kept him waiting long, Elizabeth summoned all of her reserves of strength and willpower, just so she wouldn’t fall into Max’s arms on the spot, and walked over to greet him properly before introducing him to her men.
Elizabeth stopped just in front of Max and flashed him the most brilliant smile, one which drew a helpless grin in return, before taking a hold of her skirts and dipping into a very low curtsey. “Welcome to our humble camp, Your Highness.”
Max responded by honoring the heroine of yesterday’s battle by bowing as low to her as she had curtseyed to him. “No camp is humble when it is graced by your presence, Milady.”
As they both straightened up, they could hear the murmurs of approval from her men, who had been concerned the prince might not give their lady the honor she was due. Max took the chance to whisper, “You look…gorgeous today, Elizabeth. Spectacularly so,” which caused her to smile wider still and bite the corner of her lower lip.
“You are looking rather handsome yourself.” She eyed the ducal signet on his hand and knew there was one thing he was missing from his princely outfit. Hidden from her men, who were all behind her, she gently lifted the chain from under her dress, which allowed the prince to know where his royal signet had been residing ever since she had received it.
Max’s mouth went dry with desire as he realized his ring had been spending a lot of time in between his lady’s breasts…a place he privately admitted he was dying to go to himself. “Keep the ring,” Max said quietly, “you are not done acting as my representative quite yet. And besides, knowing some part of me is with you always has become increasingly important to me.”
As Elizabeth stepped back and waved the prince into the courtyard, she tried to take her formal position one step behind and to the side of him, but he wouldn’t allow it. To the amazement of all present, except possibly Michael, Max stopped, took her by the hand, and pulled her up to stand by his side in the position of an equal. That drew more than just a few murmurs from the small but select crowd, as they knew the prince was all but declaring a personal interest in Lady Elizabeth.
The men had already drawn themselves into a long line, with those of the highest rank in front, and Elizabeth spent the next several minutes holding Max’s hand as she introduced everyone to him as they walked down the line.
Lord Howland, the Count of Albemarle, was in front with an arm in a large sling, the result of a sword slash across his bicep. Eyeing the old man, who had always slightly intimidated the few times they had met during his childhood, Max asked, “What are you doing fighting these days, Howland? I honor your steadfast service, but a man of your experience might have served better by being at Lady Parker’s side yesterday.”
“I’m just restless, Your Highness. You’re too young to have come to this conclusion, but sitting around at home while waiting to die doesn’t appeal to me. I want to live the last years of my life, not merely watch them pass me by.”
Max nodded his head. “Rare is the warrior who wants to die of old age…but it looks like your skills have kept you alive to fight another day.” Then a smirk rolled across Max’s face. “Maybe you need a new wife to keep you busy.”
Howland grinned, not daring to even venture a look at Lady Parker now, not when she so clearly had the prince’s favor. “Second best place for a warrior to die, Your Highness.”
“Where is that?”
Howland started to speak, eyed Elizabeth once, and thought better of what he had been about to say. Instead he smirked, “I forgot you are still unmarried. Otherwise you would not need to ask.”
Once Elizabeth had introduced the prince to everyone present, the array of cooks that had been drafted for this meal presented their simple but hot and delicious fare on a few collapsible camp tables to one side of the courtyard. The food was served buffet style, with everyone waiting on the prince to go first; he in turn signaled for Elizabeth to precede him in line. It was a gesture that was perfectly normal for a gentleman to make toward a lady, but for a prince to allow someone of her rank to go first was another honor; a definite mark of his esteem. Max left it for the crowd to decide whether it was his official approval of her or his personal approval. The correct answer, of course, was that it was both.
Breakfast was spent rehashing the previous day’s events, as everyone came up to Max and Elizabeth in small groups to chat about their part in the battle. Accounting for the fact that most people tend to slightly over-inflate their own roles, Max was able to gain a clearer understanding of exactly what had happened on Elizabeth’s end of the fight.
When he’d learned enough, he begged for some privacy and pulled Elizabeth to one side. “I am so proud of you and what you accomplished yesterday, Elizabeth. But if you ever ride out into the midst of a battle like that again…” Max ran a hand through his short, straight chocolate brown locks as he tried to find the right words.
Elizabeth knew what he meant, and before he could say anything more, she replied, “Then make sure I never have to.”
That caused Max to stop for a second and then breakout in a big grin. “I shall do my best.” His grin, however, faded as he went on. “I thought I was going to just die when I saw you ride down that ridge yesterday.” His hand reached up just enough for his index finger to trace the line of her jaw from her ear to the tip of her chin. Elizabeth unconsciously fluttered her eyes closed and leaned into his touch. “They say you never know how important something is to you until you are about to lose it. You scared me, Elizabeth, scared me to death.”
She drew in closer, raising a hand to clasp the hand of his that had just been touching her face, and looked up at her prince. “I am sorry, Max. I truly am. I did what had to be done, and I am not apologizing for that, but I know it had to be scary for you. I never meant to cause anyone any pain, you least of all.”
“I know you did not.” A range of thoughts whirled through Max’s mind just then, all of them having to do with Elizabeth. “I wonder if you know how much your life has changed in the last day.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yesterday, at this time, you were waiting in the pass to help ambush Lord General Khivar, and now Khivar is dead, and you are the biggest hero of the entire war.”
“Ehh…no one will believe it. Knowing the way our people are, they will assume some man did the big deed, like whoever it was that killed Khivar.”
“Au contraire! Word of something like this will spread like wildfire, with each retelling of the story being a shade more outlandish than the last one. Within a week, people three hundred miles of here will know your name, but they will swear you killed a dozen knights all by yourself, in addition to having changed a rout into a winning counterattack.”
Appalled, Elizabeth said, “You have to be kidding me.”
“No. Not at all. And not only will they inflate your deeds, but they may inflate your size. They may add half a foot to your height and fifty pounds to your weight, just to make the story of you killing all those knights sound more plausible. People will be singing the praises of the Warrior Maiden of Roswell from one end of the kingdom to the other in no time.”
“Now you are just making fun of me,” Elizabeth said, as she clearly didn’t believe Max’s story of her impending fame.
“I may make fun of you from time to time, and you will likely do the same to me, but right now I am in earnest. You will be the most famous woman in the land before the end of the year.”
Not quite ready to become a household name, Elizabeth tried to latch onto anything Max had said that could redirect their conversation. “Y-you…I…I heard you say that Duke Khivar is dead. How did that happen? Who did it? I thought he was supposed to be this great warrior.”
Max nodded sadly. “He was…once. In his day, no one could hope to match him with a sword in his hands. But yesterday, he was older, slower, and when the battle was lost, I believe he wanted an honorable end, wanted to ‘die with his boots on’ so to speak, sooooo…he sought me out.”
“Wait a minute,” Elizabeth said, “you mean to say you killed Khivar in single combat?” She sounded pleased, even proud, that her intended had been the one.
“No, not me. Sir Michael intercepted him and finished him.” He decided to not mention Michael’s Antarian abilities, as it was his business to decide who he tells.
“What?”
“You heard me,” Max replied. “And while we are on that subject, I need you to do something for me.”
“Name it,” she said simply.
“Give Michael the benefit of the doubt,” Max said quietly. “He is not the evil creature that rumor makes him out to be; he is just a rough man doing a rough job. He doesn’t deserve your fear or your disgust.”
Elizabeth looked down at her toes, wondering how much damage she and Tess might have caused with the way they had felt about him. However much it was, she knew she had to make it right. She needed to apologize to Sir Michael.