The rumors couldn’t have traveled that fast. They passed other Royals, and while most ignored her, two more couples pulled to a stop and either bowed or curtsied, as was correct. Hannah heard a commotion behind, the squealing of young girls. One shouted, “There she is.”
Yes, the rumors were already flying. But from her time in the palace years ago, she knew the King’s private chambers were near. They continued down the wide hallway as more doors opened and people rushed out to see what the commotion was about, or to catch a glimpse of Hannah.
The guard paused at the door, his hand near the latch. He glanced at her. “Are you sure?”
She nodded.
He threw the door open, stepped inside ahead of her where two more palace guards stood, and shouted, “Princess Hannah to see the King.”
“He’s not here,” one of the guards said in a hushed voice.
Their guard, older than the others by a decade, drew himself up and shouted louder, “Then send someone to fetch him. The Princess and her High Knight will wait on the patio. And bring them wine and snacks.”
The two guards in the room stood at either side of an empty throne, yet the room was barely ten paces in either direction. This was the small chamber, where the King transacted private business. A small sitting room lay beyond the next door, and outside, a private, walled patio.
Hannah remembered it all well. She barely watched as one guard departed at a dead run. The other stood aside as she entered the sitting room and then went to the balcony. After taking a seat, she pointed to a chair and glanced at Brice. “Did I ever tell you about that one?”
“The old King made it with his own hands but could never get all four legs the same length. He kept it to remind him of his failings.”
“I guess I’ve told that story a hundred times.”
Brice stood beside the door, at near military attention. He knew the King would enter at any moment. “You’ll keep it here, won’t you?”
“I can think of no better chair to sit on.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Four palace guards ran onto the patio, out of breath, with drawn weapons. Hannah recognized one of them from her earlier trip to the throne room. He said, “It’s her, alright.”
They surrounded Hannah in a circle of protection before either she or Brice could move. The guard she recognized hissed in her ear, “There’s an uprising in the palace.”
“Take me to the King.”
“He’s in his bedchambers, but he ordered you taken there.” Even as the words left his mouth, he took the lead. Two guards fell in behind Brice, who followed Hannah, and the others, now five in all, moved in front with their weapons ready.
They didn’t move fast, but they moved steadily, keeping the loose formation intact. All were prepared to fight, and Hannah decided the King’s private chambers were nearby. A guard fell, an arrow in his chest. Another arrow struck the head of a guard.
They surged ahead at full speed, their feet pounding on the stone floor. Hannah hadn’t even seen the archers and wondered if the arrows had been enchanted. Her anger grew with each footfall. Both of those arrows were probably aimed at her. If not, they flew because of her or Princess Elenore. Two women fighting over power.
They turned the corner and ran into five swordsmen, all wearing black bands on their upper arms. One of them attacked and lost his sword as a palace guard nearly cut off his arm. As the loyal guards fought the attackers back, Hannah reached down and grabbed the fallen weapon. Brice was suddenly at her side. She felt better. Complete.
Moments later, all of the attackers sprawled on the floor either dead or wounded. The group continued moving as a unit down the hall, reaching a large, heavy door that may have been hanging in the original King’s Palace over five hundred years earlier. Black iron bands held the thick boards against each other, and two horizontal bands had rivets as large as Hannah’s thumb. The older guard identified himself to whoever was inside.
An arrow shot from behind her struck Hannah high on her shoulder, and she spun around in response to the pain. Eight or nine men wearing black bands ran out of a nearby door, shouting, screaming, and waving swords. But one with a triumphant face lingered behind, a bow in his hand. She recognized him instantly. Jam. Her old enemy.
He stood and gloated at his success in putting an arrow in her. His evil grin told her he was responsible for both the attack and the arrow in her left shoulder.
However, her right shoulder was fine, and already her hand reached for the new throwing knife nestled between her shoulder blades. Her fingers touched it, then grasped the hilt as she’d done so hundreds of thousands of times. Every day. Day after day. Never thinking about it anymore. Her mind took in the distance, her arm didn’t hesitate. The knife flew. Jam never saw it coming.
A look of surprise covered his face, followed by shock as his head fell forward to stare at the hilt of the knife protruding from his chest. His hand let go of the bow, and he reached for the knife. He pulled it out, and red blood poured out in a flood.
Meanwhile, her protectors had already defeated the other attackers. More palace guards poured from the open door to the King’s bedchamber and ushered them inside.
A physician stood beside a massive bed, but when he saw the arrow in Hannah’s shoulder, he ran to her aid. Working together, he and Brice placed her on a couch, and the physician pulled out the arrow. It had struck high up, in the outer portion of her shoulder, where the bone was hard and thick. Soon, four physicians were examining a wound she didn’t think required a bandage.
While lying face down in her new blue dress, she heard someone say, “After she was shot she pulled out a knife and threw it?”
“Never flinched or hesitated,” another voice responded.
“Where’s Brice?” she moaned.
“Right here,” he answered. “I want you to know you ruined the new dress I picked out for you.”
“I killed Jam.”
“He deserved it,” he said roughly.
She tugged free from the probing hands and rolled over. She saw Brice standing between her and the door, as she expected. “Jam. He was here with Elenore. I heard there’s an uprising or some such.”
“Fighting all over the palace, from what I hear,” Brice said. “But that can wait.”
“Wait?”
He pointed to the bed. Off to one side lay a man so shriveled and tiny she hadn’t noticed him. Pillows propped his head up, and he smiled.
“Uncle?”
“I knew you would come home to wear the crown.”
“I never wanted to be Queen.” She stood and made her way to his side. He was old in body, but his eyes were young and fierce. He reached out to her. She took the bony hand in hers.
He said to a guard, “Make them be quiet. All of them.”
The room hushed. His eyes searched those in attendance, and he pointed to a scribe sitting on a three-legged stool with his ink and pen near the paper over his knees. He said, “You there, list the names of everyone in this room. Record what I’m about to say and make six copies. Deliver them to the vaults.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“I am too old to rule Wren in the manner it deserves, so I abdicate my crown and authority as of this morning at sunrise, including any aspect of the throne. The next in the Royal Line of Succession is Princess Hannah. Long live the Queen.”
The voices in the room repeated the last phrase over and over, but she wasn’t listening to them. She heard the sounds of fighting in the hallways. Fists banged on the door. Then the butts of weapons, and voices demanded entry.