the haunted kingdom by Charles E.J. Moulton (snow like ashes txt) 📕

power over us anymore. These are empty threats. Goddamn it, it has to be.”
“Mom!” Belinda shrieked and rushed into her mother’s arms.
“Shhh, there, there now!” Sieglinde said, comforting her daughter. “My sweet, wonderful, daughter. We all love you so endlessly. God, you deserve a better life than this. Please don’t cry.”
“I am dying. My soul is in agony. I want these memories to stop haunting me!”
For an eternity the group of people sat there on the front porch of the palace and comforted a young woman wrapped in warm blankets, knowing that a family member in exile had chosen a victim.


Afternoon, Saturday, June 6th, 1422 A.D.

"Will you stay with me while I sleep?" Belinda asked.
"Of course I will, my dear!" Alexander said and caressed her cheek.
She smiled and hugged him. Although he spent most of the evening reading Prosperanian history to the light of four candles as Belinda slept the sleep of six sleepless nights, he occasionally looked up at the rising moon from his book knowing for certain that hard times were ahead. Not only for him. That worried him greatly. And he worried why Geena had lied to him about Belinda and why Theo had not told him about the carvings on the tree. While she slept, he looked at her with the greatest love that a father has in his heart. He read for a bit in his book “Travelling the Known World” by Hogiar Lindarus. Soon enough, Alexander, too, fell asleep.
Alexander woke up. The four wax candles were almost burnt out and the only thing left were stumps in holders. He had obviously fallen asleep, for the book was on the floor. The balcony door was closed and he had a blanket across his knees. Belinda was asleep. He stood up, stretched his old tired muscles and put the blanket on the bed. He put the book on Belinda's nighttime table, took a lantern, lit two larger candles and put them inside it. He sat down and began to pray: “Dear Lord! Help my poor daughter. Protect her, for she needs you. Amen.”

Sunday, June 7th, 1422 A.D. – 131 days left

Next morning, Steven called off a few meetings to sit by her bedside until Belinda woke up. Always an early riser, it was barely morning before Alexander sat reading outside Belinda's bedroom. Steven was called to an emergency examination and had not yet returned from his morning inspection of the stables, due to a sick horse. Alexander seeing to that Belinda's sleep was calm, when she had woken up three times crying, Alexander swearing eternal revenge. Lucinda had not only ruined his life but his daughter's sanity and he would never forgive her that. Sometime past nightfall into the morning her sleep came and he and Steven slept then as well. It worked like clockwork. When she was all right, they were too.
Also like a clock were the waking hours. Not long after the birds had risen had Alex stood up and gone down to the thermal bath. There he found Patrick, who obviously had a hangover, and spoke to him about wine tasting. Then he rinsed off, clothed himself, and sat down in his daughter's study with the book. The door was ajar and he could hear the gently breeze from the open balcony door and his daughter's gentle snoring and Steven turning a page in his book inside the bedroom. Alexander put the book down, rubbed his eyes and stood up.
He walked over to the window and looked out. The gardener Louis was already up tending to the trees. Belinda's windows were on the very side of the palace so the corner was calm. Louis had a chair and book with him so he sat down. He obviously had a pitcher of elder-juice with him. He made it, stored it, cooled it in the cellars and drank it in the mornings. Alexander often came during the early morning and talked to him there under the tree. Louis always sat there in the mornings, enjoying the breeze. He had done so for fifty years and would probably do so until he died.
He heard Belinda moving. On soft feet he walked into the bedroom and looked in. She was awake, with her hands under her head, in a foetal position, eyes wide open and watching the swaying of the trees. Steven had obviously left a minute ago. Belinda yawned sadly. Then she closed her eyes again and turned over. Before she went to sleep again she saw her father standing at the door. She smiled and gestured for him to come over. He came and sat down by her side.
“Have you been sleeping all right?"
She shook her head. She took her father's hand.
"You have always been stronger than the rest of us."
"I'm weak,." she said, gently, her thumb stroking the palm of her father's hand in hers. The look in her face worried him. “I’m an awful person.”
"No. Why do you say that?"
“I have never been so mean to my siblings and my family as during the last few months.” She looked at him, gently. He could see that she was looking for an answer. If there was a time to help her, it was now.
"I have never felt so weak.” Belinda moaned, sitting back on her pillow, supporting herself on her left hand against the side of the bed. “I hate being weak. I hate pacing the rooms puzzled over the why’s and the how’s and the when’s, and the where’s.”
"Don't be angry at yourself that you pace the room in the evening." He leaned over and caressed her cheek. She smiled. "You don't always have to be strong. Give yourself time. You’re a wonderful person. Let that be enough. Don’t do the mistake I did and try to be perfect. Just be you.”
She turned to her side and sighed.
“I need to be strong for the wedding and for my people.”
“You need to be happy, my love. Not strong. You need not to worry. You need to think of yourself. The way to do that is to take one day at a time. Just one day at a time. Let things go. Things are not where the real future lies. Even when things are connected to memories, what matters is your soul, your family. Don’t worry.”
Belinda embraced her father and wished for this embrace never to end. The truth in her heart was speaking to her. She longed for the freedom not to worry anymore, not to wake up in cold sweat. She longed for a celebration that wouldn’t end in a sorrowful note. She longed for epicurean bliss without sour spices. She longed to live again, free of fear.
She longed for a life where she could take a naked swim without having to worry what was hiding in the corners ready to jump out at her from the shadows.
Belinda had been wrong. Lucinda wasn’t just out to get her. Lucinda wanted to hurt her father by hurting her. What better way to get back at the person who had evicted her than to hurt someone he loved? Belinda felt there was more to this story than just revenge on family, but couldn’t think of what. Was that arrogant? No, it was realistic. As royalty, they had friends as well as enemies.
She would find the answer soon: within the sanctuary that protected the shadows of the realm.


CHAPTER FIVE: SANCTUARY

Thursday July 2nd, 1422 A.D.

The discussion with Archbishop Bernardus Paul had again been about divinity and why God allowed suffering to occur. The distinguished gentleman also nodded calmly every time she thanked him for being able to smuggle her anonymously inside the Cathedral of St. Raphael in order to heal her own suffering. Belinda was blissful that he let her wander free as a citizen undisturbed to think and pray inside the cathedral without having to arrive as a guest of great honour. He was one of the few who knew she did this at all.
Steven knew. Her parents knew. But that was it. If it came out, that would be the end of her peace. The people would be alert, waiting for her to appear.
She needed the peace these visits gave her and she needed it badly.
In spite of all this, Belinda felt as if she had insulted Steven. He had only tried to cheer her up, but to no avail. His wit had been responded by glum smiles. The theological discussion with the archbishop on the other hand had been responded with contemplative effort. He realized there was no hope of any fast recovery and left her alone. She had turned from a self-confident prize lioness into a reindeer scared into seclusion by a herd of buffalo. No, that was wrong. One buffalo. Lucinda.
Belinda was hurting, that was all. She knew that her aunt was out to cause her pain.
The last weeks since the incident by the waterfall, Belinda had spent a lot of time praying here in the castle chapel. She had, after the catharsis of the Nina Ray experience, decided to be true to herself and not be used or abused by memories. The signs on the tree, the note with the poem, it had all been destroyed. With it her peace was gone as well. In her heart was a vow not to destroy the memory of why and understand what it all meant. She wanted to remember never to forget.
She had changed, most certainly. Grown softer, sweeter, calmer, more controlled. Coming face to face with the reality of why Lucinda was here in the first place – why Lucinda had actually attacked her and why she had told her father what she had told him so many years ago – was something that scared her and made her wonder how she should act in the future. Nina Ray had been nothing but a name back then and now she was the starting point of something else, but what?
Belinda’s eyes turned to the lovely statue of St. Michael that dominated the altar’s right side. It reminded her of the good things that were kept alive in here. Thinking of all these things and what they might mean to her, she realized that, although Lucinda was bad and evil and maybe even a practitioner of black magic, she had only guessed a future daughter’s eventual wedding. Maybe Lucinda had disguised herself as Nina Ray. Could be. Maybe she was her invention. Maybe her sick mind came up with a long-term joke to feed her bored temper. With prayers and love she would heal the wound. She had after the Nina Ray inquiries been clear about being happy and true to herself. The Winsletennas had won before. They would win again. That much was sure. But that was a lie.
Belinda prayed the Lord’s prayer once more, ended with an Ave Maria and walked up to the statue of St. Michael, kissed his feet and walked solemnly out the door, determined to spend the following Sunday in the Royal Cathedral of the Blessed St. Raphael in Clurafar in disguise, praying again, hoping to convince herself that all was well, that nothing was so perilous that it could hurt her.

Thursday, July 16th, 1422 A.D. – 89 days left

Belinda had dressed up in the large blue robe customary for the clerical women of the cathedral. It bore the traditional white cross in the back and came in courtesy of Archbishop Bernardus Paul so Belinda could mingle freely in peace. Belinda fled the stress and escaped to the only place where she knew she would find peace.
The cathedral was a