Earning the Love of a Princess-Chapter 329: Violet: Buried Alive

28 May, 1358. Magdaline Castle, Islia

Violet looked around Blanche’s presence chamber, utterly bored. Her sister-in-marriage was hosting a luncheon and because Queen Celia was one of the attendants, there was no way Violet to turn down the invitation.

She didn’t want to be there. The queen definitely didn’t want her there. But over the years, they’d learned well enough how pretend to get along in front of others.

Blanche’s apartments were decorated in shades of cream and pale green. Muted colours to perfectly match an insipid woman and her equally dull husband, Violet thought.

Blanche was being the perfect hostess as always, supervising her maids as they served wine and sweets to the seated guests. She exchanged warm words with the queen and the two women laughed together. Genuine laughter, not tight forced smiles.

As always, Violet felt like slapping Blanche’s lovely face.

She was only the second princess of Islia, fated to always walk in Violet’s shadow, especially after the birth of two sons to the Crown Princess. She’d never treated Violet with anything but perfect courtesy.

So why did Violet find the woman so infuriating?

Probably because Blanche had never shown even a hint of envy about Violet’s more exalted rank. She’d never seemed to crave anything that Violet had, actually. Instead, she seemed to bask in the happiness of her own marriage and her two small sons.

She was a celebrated beauty with an angelic smile. She’d kept her trim figure even after childbearing. Perhaps most insulting of all, her marriage was a genuine love match. Everyone agreed that James seemed to dote on her. There had never been a single word of scandal about their union or about James showing interest in other women.

The happy marriages of others made Violet want to gnash her teeth.

And now, much to Violet’s disgust, Blanche had gone and reached out to befriend the Moraigthian wench, as one might do with an orphaned puppy. The foreign girl - whose strange name Violet was always struggling to remember - had responded in kind and was now firmly under Blanche’s protective wing.

When the queen had asked Violet a couple of weeks ago if she’d consider inviting the foreigner as a guest into her silk pavilion for some of the spring jousting matches, Violet had been appalled. She would’ve preferred to have a jackal or a skunk as her guest.

She’d told her mother-in-marriage as much. Fortunately, Queen Celia hadn’t bothered asking again.

The chit had ended up as Blanche’s guest instead. And according to Leo, she’d unknowingly caused chaos between several young knights. Apparently the fools had argued amongst themselves over who would get to approach her and request a favour.

Every time Violet saw the barbarian princess, it would take her back in time to her own youth. To all those years ago when she’d arrived at court and taken up the role of a lady-in-waiting.

She’d started that season full of hope...

...only to find herself firmly pushed into the wings as her prettier, sweeter sister became the darling of everyone.

To be fair, the Moraigthian looked nothing at all like Ilse. She wasn’t as beloved by the court as her sister had been either. In fact, everyone watched her with suspicious glares. No Islian could feel any love for wild, feral northerners.

But it was the way almost every man at court followed the pagan princess with his gaze, even while they whispered behind their hands that she was likely a witch or her uncle’s spy. Perhaps both.

The way the all became sniveling fools around her, that reminded Violet so painfully of how her own twin had softened everyone’s hearts.

And for constantly reminding Violet of one of the darkest periods of her life, the Moraigthian had well and truly earned Violet’s enmity.

To her credit, the girl was either completely deaf to what was said about her or genuinely didn’t care. She never seemed to react to anything. And she always wore the same expression - a faint, polite smile.

Turning her attention back to the present, Violet was relieved to hear Queen Celia announcing she’d be retiring to rest in her own rooms. It was a signal for the gathering of ladies to come to an end.

Violet kept her face expressionless as everyone rose and started exchanging their goodbyes, but she sighed inwardly with relief. After all these years, she still felt like an imposter whenever the most noble ladies of the land would gather.

She’d be their queen one day and yet, she was still made to feel like she didn’t belong there amongst them. It was all very subtle of course, but Violet could feel the weight of their dislike and disapproval hanging over her.

The same silly, shallow bitches who’d served Her Majesty as young ladies-in-waiting and had sneered at Violet for her poverty, still hovered around the queen. Older of course, and most of them now married to great lords of the kingdom.

Lady Maisie had grown fat after bearing three daughters for an earl. Lady Giselle’s singing voice was still as beautiful as her face was unpleasant. Lady Kathryn was no longer around though, having died in childbirth two summers ago.

How dare those women still try and make her feel like their inferior?

Once Queen Celia had left for her own apartments, Violet departed as well. Years had passed but she was no closer to understanding the truth behind all of the queen’s ailments. What the devil was always causing that woman to have to retire early from events and always need so much rest? Or maybe it was all an excuse and she was just terribly lazy?

I’ll bet that simp Blanche knows the truth, Violet sulked. Trust the queen to confide in her and not in me.

She walked down the quiet corridor, still getting a small thrill whenever a guard or courtier saw her and hastily bowed.

When she passed the ornate doors to the chapel, Violet paused.

There was a small, locked collection box outside the doors to collect alms. Seeing it would always bring a sad little pang in her heart.

She knew the alms were distributed to poor abbeys and monasteries throughout Islia, particularly those located far from the royal palaces. The kind of poor religious institutions that Violet had seen around Orravalo while growing up.

The kind of place where Sancia was now confined.

It had been almost four years since Violet had set eyes or heard anything more about her spoiled, reckless younger sister. Her name was never spoken out loud, it had become a byword for overweening ambition.

It was as if she were as dead as Ilse.

Sancia would be hating every moment of her life as a nun, Violet was sure of that. The girl had complained bitterly all her childhood about never being included in anything fun and always being trapped at home. Once she was finally freed from the shackles of Orravalo, she only got to enjoy a few brief weeks of freedom before being pushed into another prison.

Violet could barely write and Sancia could barely read, so they couldn’t exchange letters. Even if it were possible, what would she write?

I told you so? I warned you to not allow yourself to become Mother and Father’s pawn? Why wouldn’t you listen to me?

It was a moot point. Written communication between the nuns and the outside world was strictly forbidden.

Nunneries were how you killed and buried a woman without actually having to lay a finger on her. Sancia was as good as dead to the rest of Islia.

Violet couldn’t forgive her parents for locking their youngest daughter away like they had. Sancia had been terribly stupid but if she deserved such punishment, then Lady Thierre should’ve also joined her in taking the veil.

How many Sancias were there trapped in Ilslia’s abbeys? How many other daughters had been buried alive behind cloister walls once they’d no longer been deemed useful to their kin?

It was a question that troubled Violet often.

She had no power to change such things.

All she could do was secretly slip a ducat or two into the chapel collection box every day. She told herself the gold might help alleviate the poverty of a few reluctant nuns, even just a little.

Violet listened to the sound of her coin clinking as it hit the bottom of the alms box. Then she quietly opened the chapel doors and slipped inside, intending to say a prayer for her silly, misguided sister. The chapel was virtually empty at that time of day, which is exactly how she liked it.

Until a head of dark hair came into view. Loose, glossy, unveiled dark hair because certain barbarian women thought it was acceptable to walk around with their heads scandalously bare. Even in a chapel, apparently.

Aren’t the Moraigthians supposed to be a godless people, Violet asked herself? That’s what her husband had told her.

So what was the chit doing sitting in one of the pews, head bowed?

Then again, Leo wasn’t exactly an authority in every subject, despite his own opinion.

Violet crossed herself as she entered the chapel, then moved stealthily towards the girl. Camilla didn’t move or react when Violet sat in the pew immediately behind her. Her head remained bowed and her prayers continued uninterrupted.

All thoughts of her own prayers now forgotten, Violet listened as the girl whispered names of unfamiliar men in her strange, lilting accent. Robert of course, for her slain traitor of a father. But who was Daniel? And Malcolm?