The Lady Knight

I clasped my hands together and rested them on the table, waiting for the chatter to cease.

Even my most formidable captains, who could frighten almost any man into submission with a single gaze, simply loved to laugh and talk nineteen-to-the-dozen with one another, especially when they were all gathered together in one room like this. It was only during such meetings they could they ever find time to do so.

However, we had a problem at hand. This was not the time to chit-chat.

The noise eventually died down as my silence stretched on.

I shot them all a grim look once I had their attention. "Thank you, Captains, for realising so quickly that this is neither the time to laugh nor relax."

They had the grace to look abashed. "Our apologies, Ma'am."

"Apology accepted. Now, shall we address the matter at hand?" I gestured to the parchments strewn all over the table.

"All these are sketches made of the victims of the four murders in the last three months. This is the one of Lord Pierre, that one is of Lord Louis, the one beside that is of Lord Francois and the one on the extreme left is of Lord Lucas. Now, can anyone find any similarities among these sketches?"

There was a small beat of silence as the sketches were passed around the conference table for the Captains to observe. Murmuring broke out in the room, as they frowned over the sketches in concentration. My deputy, Lieutenant Raleigh, was quick to spot what the others could not at one glance.

"Aye, Ma'am," he spoke up, clearing his throat, "all four of them have a serpent symbol branded on their right shoulder blades." He pointed to the symbol, a double helix structure of two identical serpents entwined together, on one of the sketches.

I offered him a faint smile. "You are right, Lieutenant Raleigh," I nodded, "I think this symbol belongs to a particular illegal establishment, and serves to unite its members. By extension, I believe that these four men were involved in it. What do you all think?"

"I am of the same opinion, Ma'am," Captain Everard agreed, "and I am certain Lord Lucien is their leader - since he must have held some form of power over the four victims to dare murder them in their own homes. The question is, what had driven Lord Lucien to do so? Had they committed some folly to anger him?"

The others plunged into deep thought at Captain Everard's words, but Captain Dupont alone frowned in puzzlement.

I tilted my head towards him. "Is something bothering you, Captain Dupont?"

He turned towards me, his forehead creased in worry. "Ma'am, forgive me, but how are you, and the rest of the Captains here, so certain that it was indeed Lord Lucien who had murdered Lord Lucas and all those before him?"

There was a beat of complete, nonplussed silence at that.

Lieutenant Raleigh shot him an incredulous look. "We caught him with the knife in his hand, Captain Dupont! Dripping with his brother's blood!" he exclaimed, "you were there in Derelia, were you not? Enlighten me on how he could have been innocent of the crime?"

Captain Dupont ignored Lieutenant Raleigh, and focused his gaze on me. "Ma'am, you are aware I do not speak of anything without giving thought to it first," he told me quietly, "and I truly feel that Lord Lucien may have been framed for a crime he could not have committed."

I nodded, listening. "Please continue, Captain Dupont."

"If Lord Lucien had truly plunged that dagger multiple times into his brother's body as shown in these sketches, then he should have held it vertically when we burst into the chamber. But he was holding it horizontally - almost as if he had merely lifted it off the ground."

Lieutenant Raleigh still seemed incredulous. "But - "

"Also," Captain Dupont raised his voice to drown out Lieutenant Raleigh's, "judging by the state of disarray of the chamber, Lord Lucas must have put up a hell of a fight before he was killed. But Lord Lucien was barely, if at all, bruised. How is this possible?"

Hmm.

As everyone began to discuss among themselves, I sighed under my breath. This viewpoint - that Lord Lucien was innocent - was one that I had considered a thousand times, even before I had trooped down to Derelia with a group of my captains to apprehend him.

He was my childhood friend. I could scarcely believe it of him. But -

Shaking my head, I struggled to remain objective. "Your words hold much value, Captain Dupont. There are always two sides to a story, and I am well aware of it."

"But Ma'am -" Lieutenant Raleigh began, but I cut him off.

"However," I sighed tiredly, "at this moment, all the evidence points to him being the culprit. He was present at the scene of the murder, and he had been holding the weapon that took his brother's life when we caught him. Although it is possible that another person may have committed the murder, and placed the blame on Lord Lucien, there is no physical evidence at this point to support that theory."

"There is nothing else we can do but try to coerce the truth of that night out of him, and present his case at the Court of Lady Justice. This is our duty. Allow the judge decide whether he is guilty or not."

A heavy, contemplative silence fell over the chamber.

It was soon broken, however, by the steadily increasing volume of the quadrille music from the ballroom above that pounded against our ears - in addition to the chatter and the high-pitched, hearty laughter of the guests above who had no care in the world at the moment, with the exception of furthering their social statuses.

I closed my eyes, feeling my head begin to throb with an oncoming migraine.

A collective groan went up among the men, and my own fists clenched. It would seem that Crown Prince Nicholas' welcome ball was in full swing upstairs, just as the King had informed me earlier in the evening.

I raised my fingers to my temples wearily.

"I beg your pardon, Ma'am," Captain Dupont huffed, "but it truly was a stupid idea to build our conference chamber right below the ballroom."

There was a series of nods in agreement from everyone in the chamber, myself included.

"The King would not allot me any other venue," I grimaced, "nor were there many options to begin with. Truly, I apologise for the inconvenience."

"It is quite all right, Ma'am," Captain Dupont sighed sadly, "I do believe we are fortunate to even have a conference chamber in the first place."

"But returning to the matter at hand, Ma'am," Lieutenant Raleigh interjected, sending Captain Dupont a sharp look, "how are we going to proceed with regards to Lord Lucien, and the string of murders?"

"I am hoping that the conditions in the Western Bordeux Dungeons would weather him down into at least breaking his silence in a few days' time - and tell us the truth of his crimes, or the crimes of another whom he might be protecting," I let out a sharp breath, "if not, we will have to bring out those instruments."

Some of them winced.

The instruments were, in reality, torture devices that only a rare few have been able to resist against. A couple of famous exemplars would include the Iron Lady, an instrument made of stone that could crush one to death in its embrace, and the rack, which could stretch one until he confessed all of his crimes, screaming out in pain all the while.

It hurt even to look at them, let alone be subjected to them.

"That sounds like a plan, Ma'am," Lieutenant Raleigh agreed, "would it be feasible to begin interrogations the day after tomorrow?"

"Aye," I agreed, "and you will all to report to the dungeons at 08 00 hours sharp, straight after dawn training."

The men nodded together, determined.

Sighing weakly, I clasped my hands on the table. "Good. Now, I am aware that you are exhausted from your journey to and from Derelia," I began, looking around at them, "and therefore, you may either choose to join the rest of your fellow army officers in guarding the ballroom upstairs, or you may go to bed. Should you choose the former option, you are not allowed to leave until the ball has ended. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" their eyes were alight with relief.

"Well, then," I cracked a small smile, standing up, "I will not keep you from your beds a moment longer. Dismissed!"

The noisy scraping of chairs could be heard, as they rose from their seats, and left the room in single file, each bidding me a mumbled good night. When the last of them had shut the door behind him, I plopped onto my chair, releasing a huge breath.

In this silence, where there was nothing but my own thoughts to deafen my ears, Captain Dupont's words from earlier began to play over and over again in my mind, like a broken gramophone, each successive repeat sounding louder than the previous.

What if he was correct?

What if Lord Lucien had not been the murderer? What if the true murderer was laughing at me this very moment, poking fun at my folly, at my wasting precious time on poor Lord Lucien while he was scot-free, and planning to murder another person for reasons I had still yet to discover?

Would all of this be for nothing?

At that moment, someone knocked on the door, snapping me out of my conflicted thoughts. I glanced up, as one of the guards who was stationed outside the conference room entered, and saluted before me.

"Ma'am, His Grace the Lord President requests an audience with you. Permission to allow him inside, Ma'am?"

Papa? What did he want from me now? He never sought me unless it was very necessary.

"Permission granted, Corporal Le Blanc," I nodded curtly.

Corporal Le Blanc nodded, and escorted my father in, before shutting the door behind him. Dusting my clothes, I stood up once more, squaring my shoulders. My eyes then fell on Papa's countenance, which was twisted in a scowl as black as an approaching thunderstorm.

As if it was my fault that he had to come here.

"Your Grace," I bowed deeply, "please, have a seat." I gestured him to one of the seats on my right.

Paying no heed to my words, he stomped over to my seat at the head of the table and sank into it, all the while muttering something along the lines of having to ask permission to come inside his conference chamber from a foolish, empty-headed woman.

I rolled my eyes, a wry smile fighting to pull my lips up, as I realised how much he resembled a small child throwing a tantrum at the moment.

Careful to seem serious, I warily sat opposite him. "Why have you come to meet me at such an ungodly hour, Your Grace?"

He threw me a dirty look filled with distaste, as if the very sight of me repulsed him. At certain instances, like this very moment, I truly believed that the Crown Prince and my father had much in common.

"There is something I require from you," he began, his voice tightly controlled, "and I would appreciate it if you did not make my life anymore difficult than you already do, and accede."

Raising an eyebrow at his tone, I tilted my head at him. "Please state the point of your visit, Your Grace," I requested, "I am afraid I do not have all night to solve your endless riddles."

"I mean no offence to His Majesty, but I truly believe that he is out of his senses to think that you are capable of handling the security," he slowly enunciated, his glowering, dark eyes fixed upon me, "you are only a woman, and a weak one at that."

It was all I could do to remain calm upon hearing his words.

The King had given me the responsibility of handling the security of the Crown Prince earlier that evening - a responsibility that had once belonged to my father. I had been in charge of security around Bordeux Castle for a few months now, and even that job had once belonged to Papa.

He had not been at all happy by the transfer of power, but I had not realised then that he was saving his resentment and anger for a better time to unleash it.

"However, fortune seems to have favoured you," he continued in distaste, "and you have risen far in the King's favour. Too far than what you are worth, in my opinion."

Still, I kept my silence, trembling violently with the same childish indignation I could not seem to overcome over the years. Of all the instances of discrimination I had faced in the past, it was Papa's views on my capabilities that I found most intolerable.

He leaned over me now, levelling me with a cold, intimidating gaze that could have scared the hell out of anyone who had never seen it before.

This, however, I was already accustomed to receiving.

"Therefore, you will hand over all the plans, inform me of all measures you have put in place thus far regarding the Crown Prince's and the castle's security, and give up this responsibility at once." He paused for a moment, before continuing.

"You will tell the King that you are not ready to handle it, and suggest me for the job. There is a limit to childish stubbornness and this is it. I will not put the country's security at risk merely because of your immaturity and the King's mollycoddling of you."

That was it. He had crossed the line.

I stood up abruptly, knocking the chair over. "I beg your pardon," my voice was dripping with venom, "but I do believe this is none of your business, Your Grace." My fists on the table clenched until my knuckles turned white.

He jerked, startled by my sudden, harsh tone. It was not often that I yelled to portray my displeasure, but on the rare occasions that I did, I was told that I could be very intimidating.

However, Papa was quick to recover from the initial shock, and jumped up as well. "Dare not take that tone with me, young lady," he growled, "my patience is not limitless - "

"Neither is mine," I cut him off sharply, "and allow me to make one thing extremely clear to you now, Your Grace: I have absolutely no intention whatsoever of ever handing you those plans." With a scorching glare at him, I fixed my gaze to the door behind him with unmistakable finality.

"You disobedient, disrespectful wench!" he burst out in fury, as he impulsively raised his hand to swing out at me -

But froze before it could touch me.

As always.

I remained still and silent, as his wide, hazelnut brown irises eyes swirled with turmoil. His hand slowly returned to his side, and his tense shoulders slumped, his pent-up fury oozing out of him to be replaced by pained resignation.

"You look more and more like her with each passing day," he whispered, trembling, "it makes it so difficult for me to punish you when you disobey me thus." His countenance contorted with grief.

My body grew cold. Mama.

His countenance hardened, masking the brief moment of vulnerability. "You do not deserve to be her daughter," his gaze was cold and unforgiving, "in fact, you do not deserve to stand before me at all. I have no use for unfilial daughters, let alone ones that insist on disgracing the family name by attempting to be men."

With that, he turned away and strode out of the chamber, slamming the door shut behind him.

A rush of breath left my body.

He did not hit me. He had never hit me in all these years that I upset him by working in the army, instead of learning to manage the household and becoming a proper Lady of the Society as he wished me to become. He had never hit me in all these years that I upset him merely by existing, especially since it was my fault - solely and truly my fault - that I was still among the living while my mother, his beloved wife, was not.

He did not hit me. He had never hit me. But he might as well have.

I sank into my chair, feeling the brunt of his merciless words sting me yet again in this lifetime. You do not deserve to be her daughter. You do not deserve to stand before me at all.

Grief washed over me like a tidal wave, and robbed me of all coherence with its intensity.

Oh, Mama, I thought with despair, he has yet to forgive me for what I did to you in my youth, and I do believe he never will. Not as long as I remain alive and well, right before his eyes, while your gravestone stares up at him through his bedchamber window every day. Not while I continue to disobey him to do my duty to my country and my King.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had blindly reached out to grab the nearest, biggest crystal vase and smashed it against the whitewashed walls with tremendous force, breathing deeply and raggedly.

Why? Why was it that he insisted on belittling all of my hard work?

Was it solely because I was a woman? Or was it because I defied his wishes to follow my dreams? Or was it because I was not supposed to be alive in the first place?

Or was it because of all these reasons?

I pounded my fist against the walls, feeling the glass pieces prick my fingers.

I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

Nay, you do not, another voice, a softer version of mine, whispered in my ear. You love him. You want him to love you. You want to be a great Commander General just like him. It is why his opinion matters so much to you.

I snarled out loud in frustration.

The door flung open just then, and I heard quick footsteps behind me, before I was roughly turned around by my shoulders, only to have my injured wrist lifted and cradled gently in someone's huge hands.

All in a split second.

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" a deep, familiar voice scolded, "this is no way to vent your anger!"

I stared at the man before me for a long while, mute, as my heated turmoil slowly morphed into a comfortable warmth that slowly spread through me, like the calm after a heavy storm.

"Brother-mine," I could hardly believe it.

My elder brother, Lord Maximillian Van Helsing, had travelled with the Crown Prince's entourage all those years ago to Osterlund. It was indeed very dense of me not to have remembered that he too, would have returned to Monrique when the Prince had.

A gentle smile tugged at the edge of my lips. The lanky, awkward teenager who had left the shores of Monrique all those years ago due the decision made for him by our father, had clearly grown into a self-assured young man.

Max looked up from my wrist at the sound of my voice. "Julie," he smiled faintly, "I would have said that it is wonderful to see you in person after all these years, if not for this." He pointedly stared at my bloody hands, before shaking my right wrist with great caution.

My brother hated overly affectionate welcomes and farewells. A simple handshake conveyed all that needed to be said, according to him. Unfortunately, the current state of my hands made that rather difficult.

I looked around at the broken shards of glass scattered around me. "My apologies," I sighed, "I do not know what came over me all of a sudden." I shook my head, pulling my wrist from his grasp.

"Was it our father?" he queried quietly, as I began to sweep up the mess I had made.

I kept my silence.

"I heard him from outside," he added, staring hard at me.

I shrugged. "He was not making much of an effort to lower his volume."

I concentrated hard on the bright red glass pieces, meticulously pushing each and every one of them onto the dustpan.

His sharp gaze was quick to be fixed on my countenance. "There was not an ounce of truth in his words. You know there was not."

You do not deserve to be her daughter. You do not deserve to stand before me at all. My mask of indifference almost crumbled, but I swiftly composed my expression before he could catch my lapse in control.

But he did.

Quite abruptly, I found my broom snatched out of my hands. Before I could snap at Max for interrupting my attempts to clean up the mess, he had pulled me into his embrace, cradling me as if I were a delicate poppet.

I blinked, shocked.

"Julie, Mama loved you," he whispered, trembling with emotion, "she would have been so proud of you for all that you have accomplished thus far – as I am. Not many women have the courage to go against convention, their society, even their own family to achieve what you have."

My throat clogged up. Hearing that from him meant more to me than I could ever tell him in words.

"Brother-mine - "

"And I hate it that Papa does not see that," he continued bitterly, "I hate it that he still treats you as horribly as he did when I had left, if not worse. Worst of all, I hate it that I am unable to do anything about it for you." The self-disgust in his voice was almost painful to hear.

I returned his hug, patting his back awkwardly. "It is all right," I whispered, "you are here now, and that is all that matters to me."

I was never any good at offering emotional support, even for my brother, but I did not need words to let him know how deeply I cared for him.

He knew.

He pulled away now, and gently tilted my chin, smiling faintly. He had done this on several occasions during our childhood, whenever I came crying to him after my father had yelled at me for one unreasonable thing or another, to encourage me to always keep my chin up no matter what happened, and strive on.

Truth be told, I had quite missed him. I was glad he had returned.

I chuckled weakly up at him, the years that I had spent alongside Papa without him fading away like a nightmare.