The Golden Flower

It was a cold, stormy spring night when the royal procession passed through the deep forests near the edge of the Kingdom of Totresia. The rain had halted, and a fork of lightning cracked through the clouds, banishing the shadows that loomed among the trees.

Exhausted horses pulled carriages and sloshed through the deep mud, carrying heaps of precious cargo, Totresian nobles, and the King and Queen of Totresia on their way back from a dreadful meeting in Lyon, France.

“Oh, that man—” King Edouard seethed from inside his velvet-laden freight, struggling to hold his tongue in the presence of his ever-lovely, but easily angered, wife. “I almost wish Louis himself would have come.”

“Now, now, Edouard.” Clémentine set her fur-trimmed glove atop her husband’s knee, squeezing. “The envoy was cordial, you said.”

“Cordial—ha! Another word for disrespectfully pompous, you mean.” He sighed, removing his ruby-encrusted crown from his mane. “I’m sorry, dearest…I shouldn’t trouble you with this.”

“We will be home soon, and all will be—”

Their carriage jerked forward as it abruptly halted. Horses whinnied and shouts echoed out into the night. Distress seeped into the vehicle, and Edouard sat up straight, clutching his crown in one hand, his other lifting to the window flap.

“Edouard…” whispered Clémentine, gripping the edges of her navy skirts, hunching over. “Why have we stopped? Aren’t we in the middle of a forest?”

Edouard placed a finger before his lips and narrowed his gaze. “Let me listen.”

A weight lifted from the freight as the driver descended. Nearby hoof-beats trudged into thick mud, followed by a gruff voice; the Captain of the Totresian Guard. “Why have you stopped?” he said, passing the window and meandering towards the front of the vehicle.

“Because those in front of us stopped!” The driver’s irritation broke through the brisk night air, causing Clémentine to scrunch her delicate features and squeeze her syrupy eyes shut.

“Edouard.” She reached for his knee again, shaking him. “What’s happening?”

“Hush, I said!” He listened as the captain and the driver argued, their discussion fading as they distanced themselves from the royal coach. “They’re investigating. It sounds like…the head carriage came to an unforeseen halt, holding us all up.”

Clémentine attempted to pry the opaque flap from the window to catch a better view, but Edouard slapped her wrist. “But I want to see—”

“Wait, would you?” He frowned, pressing his ear to the cushioned walls, clasping her hand in his to stop her from interrupting him again. He cringed at the squelching footsteps, signifying someone approaching. “They…they’re returning.”

Moments later, the driver leapt up to his spot again, rattling the freight back and forth.

A knock on the door soon followed. “Majesty?”

King Edouard pursed his lips and lifted the partially soaked window flap, peering out to see his captain bowing, features sullen. Drops from his wet hair slopped down past his temples, his burgundy uniform stuck tight to his muscular frame.

“We have a problem.”

Edouard slipped his head out the window. “What is it?”

“It may be best said away from—” the captain jutted his chin towards where Clémentine sat.

“I’m right here!” She yanked the flap from Edouard’s hands as she sidled over from her seat to glare out at the captain. “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”

The captain gulped, his helm squeezed between his elbow and his burgundy uniform. “I…I don’t understand French, Majesty.”

“Captain,” said Edouard, snapping to get his man’s attention. “Speak freely in presence of the queen. What’s the matter?”

The captain winced, taking a single step forward, his boots sloshing into the mud. “I’m sorry, Majesties, but it seems we have stumbled upon an incident.” His horse ambled up behind him, nudging his shoulder.

Edouard groaned. A boom of thunder echoed within the woods, scaring him into releasing the flap. The lantern hanging by the window creaked as its flame flickered, sending shadows to dance across his wife’s paling expression.

“An incident?” Her tone quivered as she resumed her spot, doing her best to straighten her posture. Flashes of fear streaked over her features as lightning illuminated the woods outside. Remnants of her French accent trickled from her words, reminiscent of the day she turned up on Edouard’s doorstep, a maiden of sixteen in dire need of protection. Three springs had since passed, and she’d become a fierce queen, wise beyond her years; but here, held up in a wicked storm, unsure who or what surrounded her, her unease flared to life with every careful breath she took.

“Fear not, my love,” said Edouard, jaw clenched to conceal his own woes. “We’ll take note of the issue and fix it, and then we’ll be on our way.”

He wrapped his hand around hers, reveling in her warmth, and began to bring her knuckles to his mouth—but another crash of thunder startled him into a shiver instead. As if reminding him of the task at hand, and his captain waiting outside.

He stood, caressing his wife’s cheek as he planted a kiss on her forehead, below her brown locks. “I will be right back.”

As he alighted, gasps and loud whispers echoed from transports on either side of his. Surrounding doors opened, followed by hushed talking as his nobles hastened near an area to his left, where most of his soldiers patrolled, clutching lanterns and torches to light their way.

“What are they doing out?” Edouard grimaced as his boots sank into the deep mud. “Escort them all into their coaches. We can’t dawdle here. I want this situation fixed.”

The captain whistled at several guards nearby. “Gather them up! I told you to permit no one outside!”

“Let’s hurry, then. What did you want me to—”

An ear-piercing screech disturbed Edouard’s sentence, turning him to stone.

The captain’s back arched as his bushy brows zipped up. “What in the Heavens—"

Queen Clémentine’s shrill timbre slurred out of the royal carriage. “Edouard, what was that?” She already knew the answer—having recently given birth to a boy who neared his first birthday, she’d have no difficulty recognizing a baby’s wail.

“Captain, investigate that sound at once.” Edouard peered at the growing assembly of noble onlookers clustering where the guards busied themselves searching through ruins of what appeared to be a vehicle wreck. Why had he brought them all along for this trip? “Must I do everything myself?” He cleared his throat, shaking the dampness from his hair as he bounced forward. “All of you! Return to your vehicles this instant!”

As he approached, noting his closest advisors and aristocrats of the Totresian court gaping at the scene with befuddled expressions, he was immobilized.

It’s worse than I thought.

Towering at a little over six-foot, taller than most men present today, he had no trouble gathering the situation by glimpsing over their padded shoulders.

Guards plowed through the wreckage, their torches revealing broken wheels, splinters of wood sprinkling the soil, spoiled carriage pieces covered in thick mud. There were bits of fabric and cloth soaked in dirt and blood, golden chests toppled over, coins and jewels pooling into the sludge. From what he could tell, there had been two vehicles here—as if one had slammed into the other at high speed. He saw no decaying horse carcasses, so he assumed they’d escaped into the woods.

“It appears there’s been an accident,” said one noble, his silk breeches caked with soggy mud.

“Two carriages…crashed,” said another, removing his hat and inclining his head in respect for those who might have perished.

“Shh,” said King Edouard, trudging up behind them, “we must lower our voices. We don’t yet know what happened.”

“Sire?” The captain sidled up to Edouard while he was busy glaring at his nobles, who barely accorded him quick bows and curtsies, too busy focusing on the wreckage.

“What’s the situation? Any survivors?”

The poor man couldn’t hold Edouard’s gaze and motioned towards the accident, past the crowd. “I beg that you come with me, Majesty…to identify the victims. We’ve found a few, but—”

“Say no more.” Edouard shook his head. “Show me.”

The captain clapped to garner everyone’s attention. “We haven’t yet assessed the state of things! It’s unsafe for you to be out and about!” A chorus of complaints and grunts burst out, but those did nothing to deter him. “The king commands!”

Soon enough, he prevailed; the area was empty but for the soldiers scavenging through the mess, swords and guns at the ready.

Edouard’s gaze fell on the site in its entirety and he had to hold in a gasp. The two freights had crashed into one another, triggering them to shatter. Several bodies piled on either side of the dilapidated coaches, a trail of rich crimson lining the steps the victims had taken in the sludge to escape the wreckage.

“And they’re all—” He fought a growing lump in his throat. “All dead?”

The captain slouched. “We don’t know who they are, Sire.”

Tree branches whipped above, threatening to break off and fall on the weather-battered carriage tops encircling the accident. A strong metallic smell drifted into Edouard’s nostrils and he gulped down the bulge clogging the top of his esophagus. Horrendous was the word that flashed in his mind, yet he couldn’t dwell on the sorrow caused by such a sight. As King of Totresia, finding a crime in his realm, he had duties to perform.

He kneeled next to what looked to be a carriage door, and brushed his fingertips over its surface, trying to gauge the sigil on it. Hardened blood smears cloaked the design, and no matter how he squinted, he couldn’t decipher the patterns, the words, or identify anything giving an inkling of who these travelers were.

“Well, they had sturdy vehicles, which makes such a collision puzzling…but is also a clear sign of upper-class, nobility. Aristocrats have these sorts of carriages, yes? Foreign and non?”

The captain stood by him, on alert. “Most likely. Those we found all had velvet cloaks and their clothes were silk and brocade and lace, but…their sigils were also impossible to read, Sire.” His hand rested near the hilt of his pistol. “I will send men to Mara, to find out if anyone is missing.”

Edouard rose, sensing the mud starting to pierce through his breeches and stick to his skin. “Yes, do that. And speak with the Marquess of Mara, too. In fact, summon him to the castle, would you? This forest outlines his city, and things like this shouldn’t occur under his watch.”

Another soldier, less experienced, lumbered up to the captain and whispered in his ear, too quiet for Edouard to hear. Concern grew on the captain’s face as he mumbled.

The elder officer cleared his throat. “Majesty…my men think this was an attack, not a simple accident.”

Edouard stepped backward. “An…an attack?” He put a hand over his heart. “But how? Who?”

Shoulders raising, the captain side-glanced at the body of one vehicle a few feet away, its doors ripped off and its wheels cut in half, but somehow sitting upright. Blood dripped from the lower part of the door-frame, and a coppery stench of death tinged the air. “It’s unclear, Majesty. But the wounds on the victims…they’re not accidental. Throats slit, bullet holes in chests…and odder still, the attackers left all valuables. Whoever they were, robbery doesn’t seem to have been their motive.”

King Edouard clicked his tongue. “A strike on Totresian soil, in the heart of the night?” He sent a fleeting glance towards the halted carriages of those who had accompanied him on this excursion to Lyon. All were men and women he trusted—but were there some who didn’t trust him? “We don’t plot nighttime murders of the innocent. We must have this investigated as soon as we get home. Totresia is a peaceful kingdom—”

Whimpers discharged from the door-less carriage near them, cutting off his speech. The captain stilled, and peeked at Edouard as if he’d never heard such a sound.

“It seems you missed one victim,” said the king, straining not to belt out insults and hammer his favorite soldier with cruelty. “A baby. Didn’t I ask you to locate it?”

The captain hurried to the spot the sobs came from, Edouard at his heels. As they arrived, both fitting their heads through the wide passage that was once a carriage door threshold, they looked left, then right—and stopped breathing.

Blood. So much blood. Overflowing, glistening in the lightning.

And an infant, stuck in a man’s arms, wriggling and wailing for freedom.

“Majesty—”

A presence behind Edouard prompted him to remove himself and let the captain analyze the damage and pry the infant out. He pivoted to find Clémentine plowing through the muck, staring at them.

“Is it a baby, then? Is it all right?”

At the sight of her, satin skirts soiled and cheeks reddened with emotion and cold, he yearned to embrace her, reassure her as he had three years prior, when overcome with pity at the sight of her begging for aid from those who hunted her. But he couldn’t afford such vulnerability.

“Get back in the carriage at once!”

The queen crossed her arms. “I won’t! Not until I bear witness for myself that we’ve saved this innocent child!”

“We’re working on that, but I would feel better if you—”

“Do you recognize the insignia, Edouard?” Clémentine’s nostrils flared as she meandered closer. “Who are these people?”

He recalled the carvings he’d seen in the carriage door, their indiscernible motifs, mottoes damaged beyond recognition. “I don’t know. I don’t recognize anything.”

She uncrossed her arms as she pushed up to her tiptoes and tried to peer over his shoulder. “What do you suppose might have happened to them?”

Edouard put his arms out to halt her progress. “Please, return to the carriage, Clémentine. It’s not wise for you to be out. For any of us to be out, in fact.”

Her ice-coated glare zoned in on him, sharper than a sword, darker than a night’s sky. “Fine.” She twirled on her heels and dragged herself towards the coach. “But bring me that baby.”

Muffled sniffles and tiny hiccups coming from behind him brought the king’s gaze to the splintered vehicle once more. The captain had emerged, holding a small figure that he’d wrapped in his own cloak, swaddling it as it cooed. A glossy mane of gold threaded down the sides of its face, and tears still ran down its cheeks, mingling with splatters of blood; it was otherwise unharmed.

“I think it’s a girl, Majesty.”

King Edouard pushed past the captain and snuck a last glance inside the carriage. A man sat on a cerulean-cushioned bench, a large slab of wood smashed into his face, making him impossible to recognize. Scarlet blemishes drenched the padding beneath him, and his neck was sliced, oozing with blood that had dried onto the sash around his ebony suit. All insignia on his garb appeared scratched out or burnt, which implied the captain’s theory about an ambush might be correct.