“Stand up for yourself. Never give any one permission to abuse you." Lailah Gifty Akita

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Chapter Twenty – Two

Elena’s parents were, as usual, sitting in the throne room before their noble subjects. Elena knew that her father enjoyed sitting above the dons. He revelled in being feared.

As they entered the throne room, the entire Court bowed and curtseyed. Elena, Joaquín, Carlos and Marisol all walked up to the King and Queen. Juan seemed curious at their sudden visit. Lupe merely looked reserved.

Elena noticed all the dons and ladies staring at her, wondering at what she would do next. It was before these people that she had embarrassed Carlos as a ten year old child. Personally, Elena could not think of a more boring way to occupy her time then by standing in a throne room, listening to a king preaching about his wealth and victories.

“Your Majesties,” greeted Carlos respectfully as he came before Juan and Lupe.

“Prince Carlos,” said Juan, smiling down at who he believed would be his future son-in-law. Juan did not have friends, nor people that he liked. Instead, he had allies. He saw Carlos as an ally, a mere asset to Spain. Elena knew that Juan wanted to have the assurance of a Portuguese army should he ever need the aid in a campaign.

“Might we have a word in private?” asked Carlos quietly. “There is something that we must discuss immediately. It is of the utmost importance.”

Juan nodded once, his eyebrows furrowing. He looked up to his Court and barked, “Everyone get out.” Juan was not one to care for polite dismissals, nor was he one for idle chitchat. Once the Court dispersed and they were alone in the throne room, he asked, “What is so important?”

Elena, Joaquín and Carlos stood side by side, while Marisol waited behind them. Until she was introduced as Carlos’ bride, and the future Queen of Portugal, she could not stand level with royalty. Juan did not acknowledge her, either. He thought it below his station to look a servant in the eye.

Carlos took a deep breath and began to address the King. “Majesty, I have been honoured by your hospitality and the welcome I have received from your country.” Elena thought his approach good. Juan enjoyed flattery and being told just how wonderful and brilliant a king he was.    

“Anything for our Portuguese neighbours,” replied Juan, clearly sounding like he was enjoying the compliments.

“Pardon me, my King,” said Lupe quietly, “but Elena must be separated from Prince Carlos as of this moment. There must be no intercourse until the wedding.”

Juan nodded, accepting his wife’s suggestion. “Yes, Elena, go with your maid,” he instructed. “I do not want to see you until you are in the church.”

Elena was trembling. Marisol, who stood behind her, put a calming hand on the small of her back, rubbing her softly.

“That might be an issue, Majesty,” replied Carlos.

Juan eyes widened. Juan was used to having his way. There was not a man in Spain who would dare defy their King. Aside from Elena, of course, and now Carlos. “Why would that be an issue?” he asked icily. “The bride and bridegroom are separated before their marriage. Thousands of Catholic unions have occurred the exact same way.”

Elena closed her eyes. She could not look at her father when he learned she was no longer Catholic. Of course she was, but Juan could not know that. Juan’s religion was of the utmost importance to him. While he had not been present for nearly any of Elena or her siblings’ milestones, he was present and devoted at their christenings and their confirmations. Those events had been the only times that Elena had seen her father behave with even a moderate sense of paternal instinct.

“Princess Elena and I are unable to partake in a Catholic union, Majesty,” bravely said Carlos, “because Princess Elena’s faith no longer lies with the Catholic Church.”

Elena exhaled after holding onto a breath for nearly a minute. She dared to open her eyes and cringed when she did. She had seen her father furious. She had seen her father ropable. But she had never seen her father look this way. He looked utterly betrayed. He stared at Elena as if she was suddenly alien to him, as if they were no longer the same species.

There was silence for a long time. Even though Elena’s faith was still with the Catholic Church, she felt guilty for hurting her father in this way, which was completely ridiculous as Juan had hurt her tenfold.

Before anyone spoke, there was movement. Juan rose from his throne and descended the few stairs that the thrones were set upon. He came to stand before Elena, to impose his large stature upon her. He was trying to intimidate her into submission. “You have betrayed your faith,” he spat accusingly.

Elena nodded, accepting this. “Yes, Padre,” she replied quietly.

“And where, pray, does your faith now lie?” prompted Juan.

Elena chewed on her bottom lip. “My faith now lies with the Church of England.” She attempted to sound strong and firm, but her tone was pathetic and weak. Her father had a way of making her feel as though she was three inches tall.

Juan scoffed, “Protestantism? You are a Protestant?” He sounded absolutely disgusted.

Elena bravely nodded. “Yes, Padre.”

“You will confess to your sins,” decided Juan. “We shall go to the church this minute and you will sit in confession and be forgiven by the priest. You will then consent to converting back to the Catholic Church.” His tone was forceful and indignant, as if he was unwilling to accept his daughter’s change in faith.

“No, Padre,” Elena replied quietly, “I shall not consent to anything, and I shall not confess. I am a Protestant. I have attended services and I believe in the faith.”

She gasped when she saw his hand fly up. She closed her eyes again and prepared herself for pain. He was going to strike her. After several seconds of waiting, she opened her eyes and saw that Carlos had intercepted Juan’s hand. He was now holding Juan’s struggling hand as he tried to strike Elena.

“You dare touch the King?” Juan furiously asked.

Carlos looked very angry himself. “If you still want to have the terms of the marriage contract honoured, then you will never strike Princess Elena or any of your children ever again.”

Juan’s eyes flared. He turned his back on Elena and he stalked back up the stairs to stand beside Lupe. He turned around and glared at Elena. “You disgust me!” he exclaimed. “You despicable, abominable, abhorrent child!” he bellowed. “You are an abomination! You are insidious! You have betrayed your King! You have betrayed what defines you. You have betrayed your only worth!”

Elena’s mother was motionless, silent. She did not meet Elena’s eye.

“It is treason!” Juan spat. “Treason!” he shouted again. “A crime punishable by death!”

“Calm down, Juan,” whispered Lupe. Elena had never heard her mother say anything during one of her father’s rages. For good reason, too.

Neither Carlos nor Joaquín were close enough to stop Juan from striking Lupe. He slapped her across the face with such force that knocked her to the ground.

“Madre!” exclaimed Elena, though she did not dare approach either one of her parents.

Lupe slowly got to her feet, nursing what would be a throbbing cheek. She kept her eyes to the ground and she did not speak again.

“You will not strike the Queen, nor anyone of your children again, Majesty!” exclaimed Carlos. “Do so and the contract between our countries will be worthless. I am still willing to take a Spanish bride so long as Elena is permitted to go free!”

Juan stopped his verbal rampage and stared at Carlos. “My only other daughter is already married,” he said slowly.

Elena held her tongue. She wanted to say that Gabriela had converted to Lutheranism upon her marriage to Prince Christian. She then realised that her father’s response would have been that she did so for the good of her marriage and the relationship between Spain and Denmark. As far as Juan knew, Elena had converted to Protestantism for no other reason than to spite him.  

“Portugal will still abide by the contractual agreements if Señorita Marisol Fuentes is permitted to take Princess Elena’s place,” Carlos said coolly. Carlos invited Marisol forward to stand at his side. Nervously, Marisol did so. “I understand she was the daughter of your late trusted adviser.”

“Padre, this is a generous offer. I think you should take it. Marisol will remain loyal to Spain,” Joaquín interjected.

Juan was visibly shaking with rage as he came to a decision. “There must be a marriage,” he said after a while of silence, “and your father was a good man, Señorita Fuentes. I will consent to the marriage which will still go ahead on Sunday,” he decided. For the first time since Marisol had been brought into the palace as Elena’s companion, Juan met her eye.

That was indeed good news. Elena knew that her father only desired the alliance. The identity of the bride did not matter much. Marisol was a worthy bride anyway, and Portugal would be blessed with such a kind and just queen. Elena truly believed that Marisol would be a superb queen, much better then she could have ever been.

Juan’s gaze drifted to Elena. His dark eyes immediately hardened and he sneered. “If I am unable to lay a hand on you, girl, then you will remove yourself from my sight. I will not ever see you again. I will not have your filthy, Protestant ways poisoning my Court,” he seethed, shaking with rage once again.

Elena did not know whether to be happy or ashamed. She was no longer betrothed to Carlos, and her father had effectively freed her from any obligation to marry any other royal match, but she was also now to be expelled from her home.

Before Elena could even verbally accept her father’s decree, Juan gasped and clutched his chest before collapsing. Before their very eyes, the King fell down the steps onto the marble floor, unconscious.

“Guards!” shrieked Lupe as she raced to her husband’s side. “Guards! Call the doctor! A surgeon, quickly!”

Elena gasped as she, too, knelt down on the floor next to her father. “What happened? What is wrong?” How had he just collapsed?

Guards burst through the doors in response to the Queen’s cries.

“Fetch the doctor!” exclaimed Lupe. “Get the doctor here immediately!”

Carlos went with the guards to fetch the palace doctor while Marisol knelt down next to Elena. Like Elena, she did not know what to do.

Lupe fussed over Juan as her cheek swelled where he had struck her. She loosened his collar and allowed him to lie flat on his back. “Find some employment, Joaquín!” she cried.

Joaquín did not, though. He merely stared at his father on the ground with a slight sense of satisfaction, as if Juan was getting what he deserved. Elena could not help but agree with him, though feeling as though she was dreadfully sinning at the same time. Juan had been a horrid human being throughout Elena’s life. He had gleefully watched as she had been lashed. He had struck her countless times and had no qualms with behaving barbarically. It was only so long before his sins caught up with him. Elena could not help but feel as though she would soon be kneeling before Joaquín, uttering the words, “Long live the King.”

“Is he dying, Madre?” asked Elena as Lupe pulled open

“And the priest,” whispered Lupe, “fetch the priest as well. He must have the last rites.” 

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Sorry about the wait everyone. I honestly just haven't felt like writing after what happened in Sydney. It's just shocked everyone because we don't have that stuff happen here. We've had one massacre in my lifetime, in 1996, and then we had the massive gun bans and it hasn't happened since. And this tragedy has happened and it's just so sad. Martin Place in Sydney is just filled with flowers. Check out my Instagram as I've uploaded a picture. RIP to the poor hostages that died :(

In other news I've decided on how I'm going to handle any whingers on my new netball team next year :P If you don't know, my netball club has asked me to coach another team next year which I've happily accepted, but the previous coach has told me that most of the girls like to play Goal Shooter or Goal Attack. Those two positions are what I call the "glory positions" and everyone likes to play them because you get to score goals. Speaking as a primary defender, my work and efforts in defense have scored just as many goals :P So it's my pet peeve when kids whine at me to go in shooting. The coach told me that "Oh, she's a good shooter, she's just not very accurate." Well that means she's not a good shooter then :P I've decided to sit them down at the start and say "Dress for the job you want, not the job you have." If they want to be a bloody shooter, don't whinge at me, practice practice practice and show me you can shoot :P When my dad still lived in Melbourne he used to come home from work and he'd take me out the back and I'd shoot 100 goals, not 100 shots, 100 goals! If I got 10 in a row I got $10 :D 

Anyways, it's 3:15am. Sleepy time :P Vote and comment!