Chapter 3
An Unexpected Messenger
It had been two days since Olivia and her companions’ arrival, and
the buzz of their coming had taken its toll on the young lady. She sat beside a
window, her emerald eyes turned out to the unfamiliar horizon. A lazy wind
brushed her cheeks and loose hair, the locks crowning her in threaded gold. She
had succumbed to the longing of freed hair and undid Krea’s work that morning
of braiding and looping and fastening. Though unpinned hair was unladylike for
a woman of Olivia’s position, the risk was worth it. Her shawl slipped from her
sage green dress’s shoulders as she plucked a fiddle laying on her lap. Her
fingers skipped from one string to another and created a thread of notes
knotted together until it was a balled mess.
She was in a silent passageway between the Lesser and Greater
Halls. An unlit torch rested in its sconce on the wall behind her, and the
occasional pitter-patter of servants’ feet broke the silence. Olivia had been
with Countess Primis and the other ladies of the house for the retelling of Sir
Garen the Brave and his valiant adventures.
It had not taken long for Olivia’s worries to return upon hearing
Sir Garen’s so-called knightly stature; it reminded her of the strange man who
was to call her his wife. She could not sit there and listen to such outlandish
acts of love and of men of valor, always true, always noble. Chivalry. What
does that even mean? Memories of Earl Quinn proved that not all men were as
the stories portrayed.
Haunted by questions, Olivia slipped from the room of women and
found the lonely window to sit by and think. She knew Countess Primis would
scorn her, but a moment’s peace was worth it. Her thoughts blurred together
with the fiddle’s song.
Olivia gazed to the lands at the edge of the sky, her brows
knotted together. She longed to be there, to be free and out in the wild world.
She wanted to walk the plains, as the commoners did, and see the world at her
own will. Oh! What would she find out there? She would hike the Blue Ridge and
ride across the Hilled Country on a white horse with her hair down like a
Suvarian she-elf. She would do so much and find so much more. Maybe a man, a
good man, was out there. Someone who would love her, and she would stand by his
side no matter what. Was there such a man?
Definitely not a prince. Olivia swallowed as the fiddle’s
song jarred from one note to another. He will always demand his way. She
knew she would be another prized horse in his stables, something to parade
before his lords, the same as her uncle had done to Countess Primis.
Olivia looked down at the fiddle and blinked back tears. But she
was not a horse, not spoils from war to be paraded! Her stomach trembled.
Olivia groaned and threw the fiddle from her lap. The wooden instrument
clattered across the floor until it slammed into the far wall and spun to a
stop. Olivia put her head in her hands and longed to meet the prince. Just
get it over with. This is torture!
“My lady?”
Olivia gasped and sat up straight, eyes wide.
“Whoa!” A knight took a step back and held up his hands. “Calm yourself;
I didn’t mean to startle you.” Olivia breathed out as her shoulders relaxed.
Red flooded her cheeks and she pulled up her fallen shawl.
The knight’s armor had been removed,
yet he still wore his padded arming coat, boots, and sword. His dark brown eyes
looked away and he bowed in respect, his arm sweeping as he stepped back. “My
apologies, my lady.”
Olivia’s eyes flickered over him and she noticed his firm physique
and dirty blond hair. She turned away as the crimson in her cheeks deepened.
The knight straightened and rested a calloused hand on the hilt of his sword.
His eyes narrowed when he saw her uncustomary loose hair. Olivia lifted her
chin and smoothed her hair down over her shoulders in defiance. “’Tis how I
like it,” she stated, knowing he would not question her.
The knight half smiled and turned away. “I have a message from
Prince Theron,” he said.
Olivia’s heart leapt into her throat and choked the words she
tried to speak. “He—he’s here?” Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard. “He
has arrived?”
The knight glanced at her with eyes narrowed, his head tilted at
an angle.
“He was to be met with celebration and, and everyone in the house
out to see him!” Olivia laid a hand over her mouth as she looked outside, and
her eyes darted to and fro across the land. “He couldn’t be here yet!” She
shook her head and firmly gripped her hands. “Can’t be . . .”
The knight looked her up and down as a muscle in his jaw twitched.
“The honored prince sent me on ahead. He is encamped a half a day’s journey away
and will arrive tomorrow.”
Olivia closed her eyes and let out a long sigh, her body
loosening. She smoothed the creases in her green dress and put her head in her
hands. She smiled and forced a relieved laugh.
The knight turned away and shifted his weight. “You act like it’s,
um . . .” He cleared his throat. “Like it’s Lord Demus you are to marry,
instead of the prince.”
Olivia sighed as she straightened her back and regained her
composure. She shook her head and shrugged. “Demus . . . the prince . . . what
does it matter?”
The knight’s brows rose.
“I could be marrying a tyrant, just as horrid as Lord Demus. I
could be marrying a corrupt man, a harsh man, a man who sees me only as a
pretty thing to show off, not a companion to cherish!” Olivia ducked at her
harsh words as they echoed from wall to wall. She glared down at her
white-knuckled hands and bit her tongue, realizing the magnitude of her pent-up
distress. The knight watched her without a word. She continued, but her voice
was a low whisper, “I will be getting a stranger, and he . . . he will be
getting a plaything.”
The knight lifted his chin and breathed out with a slow whoosh. He
smiled, but, just as Olivia’s laugh, it was not real. His brown eyes were wide
with surprise and rimmed in sadness.
“He will be getting a companion,” he said and cleared his throat.
Olivia turned his way and held his gaze, her eyes narrowed. He continued, “A
partner to share life, and the kingdom, with.”
“Yet, he will not be there when dangers come.” Olivia forced a
smile and shook her head, though the shadow did not lift from her stare. “You
know we’re going through Wraith’s Hollow? Yes. We are. He doesn’t know me.
Therefore, why would he stay by my side if attackers befall us, heathen Wilders
or Shadow Minstrels? Hags of dark magic. Wild Elves with their bows and axes!
Even, Wizard save us, Lord Demus! No one can resist that Spellbinder! The
prince won’t stand by me! Why? Why would he? I am a weak girl, you know. Weak
and scared. No. Who would love that?” She shrugged and looked out the window.
“Who would . . .” she whispered as she wrapped the shawl tighter around herself
and rubbed her arms.
The knight watched her for a moment, then moved forward and looked
away. “My lady. May I speak freely?”
Olivia eyed him.
“As to share from a man’s perspective, for I personally know
Prince Theron. I have for several years.”
Olivia lifted her chin and breathed out heavily. Hadn’t Mistress
Sobriina asked her the same thing? “Just this once,” she whispered and folded
her hands in her lap.
The knight nodded and looked out the window. “The prince is a good
man. A warrior in his own right. His honor and own conscience will not permit
him to leave you when danger comes, as you claim. And . . .” The knight half
grinned. “And you’re not the only one, my lady, who does not know who you will
marry. You are a stranger to him, too.”
Olivia saw the sincerity in his soft gaze and had to look away,
her brow furrowed. The knight cleared his throat and stooped to pick up the
thrown fiddle, holding it out to her. “Any man, prince or commoner, would take
one look at you and vow to protect you, against the world if need be.”
Olivia glanced up at him.
“Any true man, that is.”
“And the prince?” She took the fiddle and he met her gaze. “Is he
a . . . a true man, as you say?”
The knight nodded, then shrugged. “As true as he can be.”
Olivia swallowed hard and looked down at the instrument. She ran
her fingers along the taut strings and the carved wooden sides.
“Do not worry, my lady.” The knight put his hands behind his back
and looked out the window once more. “The Wizard knows all.” Olivia smirked,
but said nothing as the knight glanced at her and smiled. “Yeah . . . never
enjoyed that one either.” Olivia grinned. He sighed and scratched his scruffy
chin. “The fact that The Wizard knows what will be hasn’t always been . . .”
“Comforting.”
“Yes, that.”
Olivia looked the knight up and down and plucked at the fiddle,
the notes loud in the quiet hall. She turned away as color seeped into her
cheeks, admiring his shamelessly calm confidence. She hummed a sigh as she
strummed the fiddle and glanced out the window. Far across the land, thin
columns of smoke rise into the air amid flagged poles. The prince’s camp,
she thought. Olivia’s smile faded and she looked down at the
instrument in her lap with a heavy sigh. “Is the prince like you?” she
whispered.
The knight glanced at her and blinked with widened eyes. “Um . . .
My lady?”
“Never mind.” She shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck,
her shoulders ducked in embarrassment. “Forgive me. What was the message?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. “Message?”
“The prince. He had a message?”
“Oh, yes, yes, yes!”
Olivia stifled a laugh and set aside the fiddle to hear the news.
“Prince Theron bids you welcome.”
Olivia leaned forward and waited. “And . . . and that’s all?”
The knight nodded. “What more is needed, my lady?”
Olivia shook her head and sat back, her arms crossed. “I don’t
know. I just thought . . . never mind. Thank you kindly for coming, dear
knight.”
The knight bowed and stepped back. “The honor is all mine, my
lady. Now, I must return to camp.”
Olivia frowned and stood to her feet, dress swishing about her.
“You must be tired from your journey—”
“Indeed, yet the prince wishes a report on the well-being of his
lady.”
Olivia turned away, her frown deepened, and she cradled herself in
her arms. “I see. Well, report all is fine and she waits with anticipation upon
his arrival.”
The knight frowned skeptically.
Olivia noticed his stare and shot him a look. “I’m not telling him
I’m horrified at his coming! Oh! And please don’t—”
“I will only tell what you wish me to tell.”
Olivia’s shoulders relaxed and she nodded. “I thank you.” She
smoothed a crease in her shawl, and gave the distant camp a sharp, quick look.
“And I thank you, for giving me the chance to meet my future
queen.” The knight stooped and took her soft hand in his calloused grasp. He
leaned forward and kissed it gently.
Olivia smiled sheepishly.
“My Lady.” The knight smiled and pulled away. He stared at her a
moment longer, then turned and walked down the hall.
Olivia watched his long strides and high chin and straight
shoulders. Her grin blossomed, but she shook her head and looked out the window
to the camp. She thrummed the fiddle’s strings again, yet her song was no
longer irregular. It flowed from one note to the next as the young lady sighed
and lifted her chin. She hummed to herself, a song of The Wizard’s might
against a storm, and a smile danced in the emerald depths of her eyes.
___________________________________
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“We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.”
~ 2 Corinthians 4:7
Hearts like fragile clay jars.
Fragile like glass.
Hearts of glass.
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