THE IMPALER'S WIFE

6 ~ ILONA ~

Summer 1464

Visegrád Castle, Hungary

Warm winds bring the fragrance of flowers and forest to my lofty perch atop Visegrád castle. I sigh, the quiet a brief respite from the constant conversation. This year Aunt Erzsébet invited a crowd of distinguished guests to summer with King Matthias. I have already dined and danced with foreign envoys, Venetian scholars, artisans from Florence, and one obsequious Niccolò Modrussa, a papal legate from Rome.

I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear and peer over the low stone wall to watch a lone figure striding toward the riverbank. I recognize the slope of his shoulders, the brisk bounce, and rhythm of his gait. It is Prince Vlad.

Though a guest, he must stay in King Solomon's Tower where other political detainees are housed. I learned from an earlier conversation with Niccolò Modrussa that Prince Vlad resided in the topmost chambers, which delivers a fine prospect of the Danube and a cool river breeze. When I had asked Niccolò Modrussa if the heaven-ensconced King Solomon finds it strange a prison tower bears his name, he replied that surely earthly concerns no longer mattered to the dead.

Gravel crunches underfoot, my happy solitude interrupted.

"Be careful, one slip and you'll fall." Margit bumps my shoulder. "Is that him?" She points to the figure at the river's edge.

"It is." I step away. Her arrival intrudes upon my shameful ogling of a man I will never have.

"Such a pity." Margit sighs loudly. "A handsome prince I will not be wedding anytime soon."

"Politics is a wind that changes directions." I spin away from the low wall when Prince Vlad turns around. Did he see me gawking? I hope not.

"That wind is not likely to change course. Matthias has no quarrel with Prince Radu." Margit's arm sways like a frantic pendulum as she tries to get Prince Vlad's attention.

"Then why is Prince Vlad summering here with us?"

Margit's head snaps around. "Us? You mean me."

I flinch at her sharp tone. "I did not realize Prince Vlad was transferred here from Buda for you."

"There's a lot you do not realize...or know." Margit smirks and sashays toward the vestibule. "Prince Vlad is attending the hawking party tomorrow. Did you know that?"

"Of course," I lie and wonder why I wasn't told.

At the vestibule's entrance, Margit pivots on her heel. "Did you know Prince Vlad swims naked in the river every morning?"

"You saw him?"

Margit throws back her head with laughter and disappears down the vestibule's steep circular stairwell. The echo sends a shiver down my spine.

***

In the misty gloom of dawn's half-light, our hawking party emerges from the narrow trail through the dark woodland into a glade of briars and small saplings.

"Lady Ilona," calls King Matthias from the front of the long line of riders.

I spur my horse forward, my heart leaping with surprised delight to be singled out to ride beside him. "Your Highness?"

King Matthias's gaze travels from my fashionable feathered riding hat to my sensible hawking boots. "I hear you've become quite the hawker."

I blush at his admiring smile. "I have meager skills, Your Highness." I flap my hand back and forth in respectful protest. "I am still learning my bird's temperament." Three years ago, Father gifted me a niais, a hawk stolen from its nest and trained by the Grand Falconer. Since then I had greatly improved my hawking skills. Practicing with a bird takes time and dedication.