The Mad Queen

Chapter Eighty-Seven

My father stands in his room with a sword. All his furniture has been pushed to the side of the room. Another man stands with him. I recognise him as Sir Prowl. I watch as he trains my father.

"Come on, Matthias," he urges as he easily knocks the sword from my father's hand.

"I'm sorry," my father growls, picking up the sword again. He manages to hold his own for a minutes before Sir Prowl has him disarmed again. The man sighs.

"We'll call it a night, shall we?" he asks. My father nods and puts the sword away. Slowly, he sits on his bed with a sigh, his face wincing.

"I told you, this extra training wouldn't be easy. We should have a few days off. Give your body a rest."

"No," father snaps. "I need this. I need to be better than them at everything."

"Matthias," Sir Prowl begins. "If you want to get better, sometimes you have to give your body a break. Overworking can leave you as useless as not working at all. You will have two full rest days starting tomorrow and continue your regular training for the following week. For that week, we will stop this."

"It's too long," my father sighs.

"It will be fine. When we start back up again, you'll be fully rested and in the right mindset to learn."

"Okay," father agrees and lies down on the bed. "This is a secret though," he reminds sir Prowl. Sir Prowl chuckles.

"I know," he replies, walking to the door.

"I don't want them to know I am getting better."

"I understand young lord, you don't have to explain yourself to me," he chuckles and walks out. My father sighs and closes his eyes. I walk over to him and see his body. It is bruised and covered in cuts and scratches. I jump as he moans and sits back up again. Groggily, he walks to the desk. He pulls a blank piece of paper and then one with writing one. For a few moments, he analyses the written letter. I watch in amazement as he practices on the blank sheet of paper. Copying the handwriting that is on the other parchment. He does this for about twenty minutes before taking out a fresh piece of parchment. He begins to write, copying the handwriting on the other piece of paper.

"My dearest Yazmine," he begins and my heart stops. He's writing to my mother. I gulp and force myself to continue reading.

"I know that I am meant to keep an open mind when it comes to you and your sisters, but I can't. I really want you to win this Queen's Trial for you will be a spectacular leader. Together, we could rule side by side and do not worry about Leander. As soon as I am the King, I will make sure he never steps foot in this court again. I promise that I will never let him hurt you or our children. Once I am done with him, the Drake name will be nothing but ash. Worse than the Baylon's. They will be nothing. I'll be sure of it. Too long I have been his lesser. Doing every horrific thing he has asked. Pretending to be his friend. Not much longer until we are free of him.

Your love,

Lord Ivar Tonra." 

He closes the letter and melts some red wax over the seal. Finally, he takes out a stamp and presses it to the hot wax. It is the Tonra's house sigil. He holds up the forged letter and grins. Quickly, he grabs the Tonra stamp and darts out of the room. I follow him as he rushes through the corridors of the castle. Silently, he walks to another room. Pulling out a key, he opens the door. It doesn't creek or make any sound as it opens.