The Eye of the Wolf (24 page)

Behind the Princess Royale
walked her children. The Crown Princess Victoria drooped her head, avoiding eye
contact with all those around her. Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, dotting
the color of her suit. Her fine navy suit clung to her various curves, and she
knew the French chignon in her hair was very becoming of her. Her small
pearl-ladened tiara was nestled in her hair, glistening in the sunlight,
reminding the world that she had lost a grandfather, a person very dear to her.
Her grandfather was gone, and now, the world was changing. Amor was ceasing to
be the fairytale that once had existed, lost in the Mediterranean where lost
Crusaders had sought shelter on a stormy night and instead had found a home.
Her home. She sniffed and pressed the lace hanky she clutched in one hand as
her other hand groped for the man beside her, her twin brother, the Crown
Prince William.

Mikayla allowed her eyes to
take in the royal family and to feel their loss. She knew what it was to lose a
grandfather who had been the center of life and family. It was a loss that a
person never recovered from. It was a loss that could strike through the heart,
leaving a gaping wound. The Dauphin and Princess Royale, the future monarchs of
the island stood tall, reminding the people that the civilization of Amor would
continue on, uninterrupted as it had for the previous 900 years. The Crown
Princess walked slowly behind her parents, her grief overwhelming. The face that
had laughed and befriended Mikayla just days before was contorted in pain. It
struck through to Mikayla’s very heart to see the woman she now thought of as a
friend in such pain, suffering from such obvious grief. Her eyes followed
Victoria as she reached for the tall man before her, held his hand tightly in
her own and wiped her tears.

Mikayla looked to the man
beside Victoria, tall beside his tall sister. His sandy blond hair blew into
his face in the light ocean breeze. His looked down at his shoes as he walked
slowly, holding his sister’s hand, saying nothing. Then, as he rounded the bend
and neared the spot where Mikayla stood, he lifted his head and pierced her
with those stormy gray eyes, drowning her with one glance.

Will.

Mikayla sucked in a breath. Her
notebook fell to the ground unnoticed, and the world moved in slow motion as he
walked by, holding her gaze. Pleading for forgiveness at the deception. Begging
for understanding. Conveying his grief that had brought him to her the night
before.

Mikayla staggered back,
clutching her chest as a pain ripped through her. She couldn’t breathe. There
was no air. The masses of people closed in around her. Sweat broke out on her
brow and her mouth was dry. “No.” She whispered but it was a cry that echoed in
her head. She pushed at the people around her, moving them aside in her need to
be free. She pressed through the crowd until there was a break. The ocean was
there, just across the beach, beckoning as sunlight glinted off of the waves
rolling into shore. She wanted to run to that sea and get lost in it. To go
back to the night before, when Will had lain in her arms. Loving her.

She combed a hand through her
hair as people began to move past her on the sidewalk, heading up the curving
street to the cathedral just outside of the Secluded City. How was it possible
that she hadn’t known? How was it possible that she had failed to see what
every shred of evidence had pointed to?

Mikayla began to move up the
hill with the observers. Despite that she was still reeling from being played
the fool, she had a job to do. She was hired to cover the history of Amor. The
funeral of the most recent king was definitely history, and it should be
included in the book. She straightened herself and adjusted the jacket of her
suit. She was a professional, and she was going to act like a professional.

Mikayla followed the crowds of
mourners through the city streets, past her small house on the beach, and up
the hill to the cathedral that loomed large over the people and even dwarfed
the gates of the Secluded City. Gargoyles and flying buttresses pierced the
sky, leaving the crowds who would have to wait in the street in shadow. Its
gray stone was cold and unwelcoming. The stained glass windows looking out on
the street depicted each of the knights who had arrived with King Henry on
Amor. They stood tall and angelic in the windows that streamed full of light.
Halos circled their heads as angels floated above them. Their faces were turned
to Heaven and streams of light surrounded them.

Mikayla stepped up to the side
entrance of the cathedral. People pressed in against the ropes all around her.
She held up her royal pass and was ushered through the doors by a member of the
Royal Guard. The guard showed her to a seat along the side of the cathedral
where she could see both the royal family and the priests who would preside
over the Catholic ceremony that would give guidance to the soul of the departed
King James as he sought redemption in the next life. Angelic music floated
through the air from the choir loft high in the cathedral. Voices blending
together in harmony, rising and falling like the tides of the ocean. Murals of
conquests and peace danced across the ceiling, gold-leaf wearing away with age.
Joseph and Mary, the Holy Family, looked on from beside the altar rails, sad
and joyful at the same time. Jesus hung upon his wooden cross along the wall of
the altar reminding the believers that he had died for their sins.

The St. John’s Cathedral was
full, people from around the world who had come to say goodbye to a monarch who
had reigned peacefully for forty years. The royal family of the United Kingdom
bowed their heads in sadness as another of their elite group passed from this
world to the next. The President of the United States and his wife sat
silently, hands clasped. It was an impressive display of respect for a man who
had lain in his bed for the last two years, struggling with the last stages of
lung cancer. It was a display of respect for a man who had managed to remain friendly
with all countries around the world while still remaining apart, preserving the
history and culture that was uniquely Amor as blending of cultures became more
evident around the world.

The Cardinal and his bishops
walked sedately up the center aisle, bearing the gold cross of Christ. Their
long robes trailed the marble floor of the cathedral. The King’s casket was
born to the front of the cathedral by the Royal Guard, draped in its royal
flag. Behind the casket came the family of the King, heads bowed. The family
took the seats at the front of the cathedral, beside the casket.

The Cardinal’s voice rose in
Latin, echoing through the cathedral, asking for the Lord’s blessing on the
kind soul of the King who was now before Him in heaven. Mikayla tried to focus
on the mass, but her eyes were drawn to the back of Will’s head where silky
hairs were neatly arranged on the back of his neck. His head was bowed, and his
arm cradled his sister close. He whispered softly to Victoria and Mikayla could
almost hear his words in her head, the soft British accent from years of living
in London rolling over her.

Watching him, tender with his
twin sister who wasn’t so much of a twin, brought tears to Mikayla’s eyes for
she suddenly understood what inner turmoil had brought him to her bed the night
before. It hadn’t been that he had wanted her; it had been a need to run from
the pain of losing a loved one. Perhaps it had even been because of the
knowledge that following today, he would never live his life in secret, hidden from
the press again as he had done for the majority of his life. The last picture
that had been published of Crown Prince William had been when he was fourteen
and heading to Britain to go to Eton College. There had been no other photos,
no other ways to watch him grow, even following his graduation from Oxford.
There was sweet irony in the knowledge that he lived as a photographer even as
he hid from the press.

Mikayla watched as Will stood
from his seat next to his sister and made his way to the altar. He climbed the
steps to the lectern and adjusted the microphone. He looked down at his family
briefly and then raised his head, looking out at the people gathered to mourn
the King’s passing.  His clear voice rang out, echoing in the hallowed
stone walls.

“King James wasn’t just a king.
He was a father, a grandfather, a husband, and a friend. He was likeable for
the laughter he brought to a room, always the one to tell a joke in the most
unlikely time. He worked hard to bring respect to this small nation that has
shunned attention from the outside world for so long. He created alliances with
some of the most powerful nations in the world, simply by being a great man.”
Will paused and gripped the lectern beneath his hands. A tear rolled slowly
down his cheek. “He volunteered with the British Royal Air Force during World
War II, the first member of the royal family to do so. He fought with bravery
and compassion to bring an end to the tyranny that held Europe in its grasp. He
convinced his own father that it was necessary for Amor to shed its
isolationist beliefs, if only for a short time, to help the Allies free Europe.
And once the war was passed, he married a young woman who had climbed the steps
to the Secluded City to beg for forgiveness of the late taxes that plagued her
family.”

“As his grandson, I learned
that to be a king, a person must not only understand his place in his country,
or the world, but he must also understand the people who live in that country.
Those people are not subjects, but members of a world that is vastly different
from everywhere else. He saw Amor as a small family that would continue to grow
as the seasons change and to adjust to the world beyond our shores, but also
remain the fairy tale it is seen as.” Will locked eyes with Mikayla, holding
her gaze with his own. Infinite sadness shining through the gray and paralyzing
her. “Amor shall never be the same again as she passes from beneath the reign
of King James, but his light, the light that has called us all here today will
continue to shine, brighter with each day as we hold the memory of him within
our hearts. He would not want us to mourn. He would want us to laugh and enjoy
our own lives as he enjoyed his own. He would want us to seek out the love that
is ours to find and to revel in the fairy tale that he worked hard all his life
to preserve.”

Will paused and glanced over
the heads of the people gathered. Then, his eyes returned to Mikayla’s, but she
could no longer look at him. Anger, resentment, sadness, and longing burned within
her.

“He was a native to this land
who traveled the world seeking adventure and freedom for all. We shall remember
him always simply as James.” Will bowed his head and moved from the lectern to
the seat beside his sister. All was silent in the church except for the faint
echo of feet shifting along the stone floor.

The man next to Mikayla
sniffled and wiped his tears with a worn handkerchief. His knarled hands
smoothed the ancient handkerchief on his knee, knuckles swollen from over use.
The faded blue forget-me-knots embroidered so carefully years before were a
symbol of an old lover who was not forgotten. He sighed heavily and shook his
head. He murmured to himself that things would never be the same now.

Mikayla swallowed stiffly. It
was hard for her to imagine that the death of a man who had been sick for a
very long time would affect the people so deeply. She knew that the death of
the President of the United States would not affect the American people as
deeply as the death of this king, except perhaps for President John F. Kennedy.
She suddenly understood the difference between the ancient culture of Amor and
the relatively new culture of America. It wasn’t a sense of independence since
the people of Amor were free and had the same rights that Americans held so
dear. It was the sense of belonging to something greater than what they were
individually. It was a sense of pride in a nation that could withstand the
world that was constantly changing around it. It was humbling to realize just
how strong the people of Amor loved their leader and their island nation.

Will looked down at his hands,
clasped tightly in his lap. His heart was heavy with the loss of his
grandfather, but more than that, it was the weight of the crime his own hand
had hidden. He stretched his hands out in front of him, looking at the long
fingers, unadorned, nails cut short and stained from the chemicals he used to
develop his pictures. Tanned, they were not the hands of a future king, but
they would have to be since he was a future king of Amor. He sighed heavily,
wishing the burden on him was less. Wishing, for just one moment as he had done
so often in the last three days, that they could go back in time to that awful
day when Jonathan had been swept from the deck into the roiling waves. Wishing
the clock would stop and would transport him back in time to right before he
made that fateful decision that could never be erased. Wishing that they could
go back in time to prior to his grandfather’s death and stop this horrific
crime that had been committed against his family and against the people of
Amor. A single tear coursed down his cheek, defying the solid exterior that had
carried him through the day.

Mikayla watched Will from her
seat. She could see the back of his head, the fine hairs disarrayed after
walking in the afternoon breeze outside. His head was tipped down, and he did
not raise it, even when he stood for the final prayers and for communion. His
broad shoulders, normally so proud, were slumped in defeat. Despite her internal
anger, Mikayla felt sad for him. She was angry with him for lying to her about
who he was, but her heart had opened enough to him in the two months of knowing
him that she could feel sadness for a family member. She understood what it was
to lose someone she was close to, even when it was expected. Somehow, a piece
of her knew, he had never lied.