Chapter I

Jonathan stood amidst the crowd of onlookers, trying to see the wide street that cloudy autumn morning. The parade went on and on! It was so boring, watching nobleman after nobleman pass by with their wives, on horseback, in a chariot or borne on a litter. Jonathan had helped to carry a litter once, when one of the bearers had sprained an ankle. That was how he had come to work as a stable boy for Sir Steven, as the litter had belonged to Sir Steven's lady.

Jonathan really was grateful that the Lady Steven had insisted that all of the servants be given today off, as it was a national holiday, the princess' birthday. She had even been so kind as to to take any of the servants who wished to see the parade with them! So, here he was. He did not really care to see the parade, but it was that or stay at Sir Steven's stables all day. It would have been nice to spend his holiday with his family, but they lived on a village farm which was several days' hike from Cavelnar, the capitol city of Bellen, where Jonathan lived, and he had to work tomorrow.

Jonathan was a young man, of about nineteen years, with thick, black hair and hazel eyes. He had been born on a small peasant farm on the outskirts of Cavelnar. When his father became ill with the plague, they feared he would die. He did not die, but, like all those who lived through the plague, he was too frail and weak to do much, and could no longer work the farm. Without him, his sons could not keep the farm going, and his family had been forced to move to his brother's farm, out in the country.

It must have been almost a year ago when Jonathan had decided the farmer's life was not for him. It wasn't like he had a choice, since his uncle, having no sons and only one step-daughter, Berta, was leaving his farm to Jonathan's older brother, Henry, who was engaged to Berta. So, he had left, one crisp autumn morning after the wedding, headed to Cavelnar, to seek his fortune.

Jonathan watched the parade from the side of the main road that runs through Cavelnar, with all the other loyal citizens who wanted to catch a glimpse of nobility. Normally, this road would be a mass of people, all trying to go to all of the places that they needed to go, beggars on the street begging for money or food, and peddlers trying to sell you anything they could find.

Not so, today; for today, the street had been cleared; and noble men and women passed by, aloof to the unworthy peasants who gazed at them in awe, toward the royal palace, where a banquet was being thrown for their princess' birthday that evening.

Now came Eric II, king of Bellen and High Duke of the Western Islands. He was a short, round, balding, little man with a bejeweled golden crown that seemed much too big for his head. He rode his white war stallion, Copper, with his attendants and advisers riding alongside of him, all of them dressed gaudily and impractically. King Eric II had ruled for as long as Jonathan could remember. His Majesty was not very intellectual and spent most of his time banqueting, sporting, and just having a grand old time. He truly spent very little of his precious time ruling his country. His wife, Queen Abigail of Duqair, had done most of the ruling for him, that is, before she died of the plague.

Since that tragic event, more than three years ago, the country had almost completely fallen into ruin. While Jonathan was comparatively ignorant of most politics, their effects on the lower classes were something he knew about first hand. His family and other farming families around them were having a difficult time, trying to make ends meet, now more than ever. They earned less and less on their crops and livestock, yet the prices of the supplies they needed continued to rise. Worse still, the king was confiscating crops to feed his soldiers on the battlefront. It was truly crippling, though, for those whose sons were drafted into the king's service, to fight his war. Since he had moved to the city, however, he had truly come to see just how terrible the situation was. In the past year he had lived in Cavelnar, he had personally witnessed the amount of crime, which had been great before, grow in extreme ways. So many were without work, without homes, without food; yet the king was doing nothing to remedy the problems he had caused with his wars.

There had been relative peace, while the queen was living. Without her presence in the court, there was no one to pull back on the reigns of those who wanted wars. It wasn't long after her death, that they came up with an excuse to start a war against Slorania. Jonathan couldn't remember, now, what the reason had been for starting this war, years before, but he was sure that it wasn't worth it anymore, for them to keep fighting, when they were starving back home, and the plague continued to spread. Regardless of the suffering of his people, the king threw banquets at every opportunity, and spent gold as though it grew on trees, while the royal treasury grew dangerously low. The only person there who seemed to have enough sense to rule was the princess.

Here came the princess now, the one and only Iris Abigail, sole heir to the the throne of Bellen and, it was said, the most beautiful maiden that had ever lived. She sat upon a litter borne by four honored guards, surrounded by her attendants and protectors. Her Highness turned to her subjects, smiled, and waved to them. The crowds cheered wildly, making a truly deafening sound.

She really was rather lovely, a tall woman with long, brown hair all piled atop her head in a bun, and crowned with a tiara. She was clothed in a long, royal purple gown and draped in a red velvet cape, her blue eyes shining in the autumn air. Today, she was turning eighteen, and soon must marry, whether she wanted to or not. It was not proper for a maiden to be so old without a husband!

Just then, quite suddenly, three of the princess' armored guards, at least, he thought it was three, turned on the others! Pandemonium broke out within Her Highness' attendants. One of the assassins was felled, but the princess’ guards could not hold off all three. Hidden archers quickly shot down any guards that the traitors could not kill, injuring the litter-bearers, who then dropped the litter. Then, the remaining two assassins turned on the princess.