Chapter 5
The Prince
A great weight pressed upon Olivia’s
chest so that it was difficult to breathe. Her stomach threatened to turn on
itself, and her heart pounded against her body’s core. She was dressed in a
furred, large-sleeved red kirtle. Her hair was braided and looped around her head,
and silver threads were woven throughout. Silver chains hung from her neck, and
a perfume from Suvaria’s King’s Bay laced her ivory skin.
Olivia stood in Crown Haven’s courtyard atop the stairs which led
into the castle. It was the following evening and the courtyard was filled with
a sea of faces. The buzz of excitement and conversation made Olivia’s head spin
as she watched the stewards race to and fro, making sure everything was ready.
Duke Aldret stood beside her, dressed in his best finery and a blue cape.
Earl Quinn and Countess Primis were on her other side; Quinn’s
long-toed shoes slapped against the stone stairway as he impatiently waited.
Countess Primis kept looking Olivia up and down, and glancing away with a
grimace. The courtyard had been decorated in royal banners and flags, the red
fabrics bright against the dull stone walls and people. The mud which had
coated the ground for the past few days had been shoveled and removed as best
the servants could. However, the dark brown muck was still able to latch onto
people’s clothes and leave tracks behind them. Everyone stood close together as
the sun set, and a cold took hold of them. But none were as cold as Olivia.
The moment she dreaded had come.
The prince’s royal caravan had entered Crown Haven moments before,
accompanied by trumpets and drums. A red-and-gold-trimmed carriage came to a
halt before the gathering, and its horses’ ears cocked to and fro as their
bodies gleamed with sweat. A caravan of knights swarmed around the carriage,
each brawny and firm, their armor dented by past wars. They looked down at all
from their horses, and none met their piercing gaze.
Olivia closed her eyes and tried to breathe. She heard the
carriage door open and the crowd fly into cheers, shouts, and greetings. Olivia
swallowed hard. He had arrived! The prince! The man she did not know! She could
not do this! Could not! She wondered if her cousin in the Hilled Country
would accept her if she fled. Olivia instantly banished the thought, and
gritted her teeth. She could hear someone ascend the steps toward her. Slow
steps, slow and strong.
With a sniff, Olivia straightened her back and lifted her chin.
She opened her eyes and looked at the stranger whom she was to marry. She
blinked and her eyes narrowed. The knight she had spoken with the evening
before walked toward her, though his knightly attire had been removed. It was
replaced by furs from Flavency, blue silken clothes from Han Ci, and a golden
circlet resting on his head.
His sheathed sword swayed with each step up the stairs as a boyish
grin played in his brown eyes. Olivia’s mouth dropped open as realization lit
her eyes. The man stopped before her and his grin broadened. The assembly bowed
low, but Olivia could not move, for disbelief held her in place. Cedany poked
her arm and Olivia jerked down to a knee with the rest. The stranger stifled a
laugh.
“Welcome, Prince Theron.” Duke Aldret straightened his back and
turned to Olivia. “May I present to you Lady Olivia, your bride.” Olivia looked
up at the man, the knight she had spoken with, the prince she was to marry. Her
mouth hung open and her eyes shamelessly gawked in astonishment.
Prince Theron stooped and helped her rise. He held onto her hand
and kissed it as he had the night before. “I know,” he whispered with a
widening smile.
– – –
Theron’s heart beat against his chest as he watched Lady Olivia,
the pair standing on Crown Haven's steps. His hands were clammy; he hoped she
did not notice. The excited crowd’s roar dimmed as he gazed down at her, his
eyes bright and alive. Color nervously brightened her cheeks as her emerald
eyes darted to and fro. His smile wavered, remembering her conversational
cadence the day before. She faced him again, though her shoulders were tense
and her rosy lips pressed together.
Oh, she was beautiful.
“It is such a pleasure, seeing you again, my lady,” he whispered.
Duke Aldret stiffened suspiciously. “And my words the other day were as true as
ever.”
Lady Olivia smiled, her eyes still flickering with uneasiness as
she fidgeted with the hem of her robe, nodding. “It is an honor to be your
betrothed, my prince.”
Theron let go of her hand and stepped closer, but stopped when she
stiffened. “The honor is all mine.” He held out his arm and Olivia stared at it
for a heartbeat, her arms rigid at her sides. With reddening cheeks, she
accepted his escort, took hold of his arm, and the pair walked into the castle.
A fresh breeze gathered up Olivia’s golden hair and Theron’s cloak, as everyone
bowed until their shadows had passed. They walked through Crown Haven’s
doorway, and the guards on either side stiffened in salute.
Theron took a deep breath of the castle he had known since he was
a child. The musty smell of time mixed with distant fire smoke flooded his mind
with memories. He, much younger, racing through the halls, wooden sword in
hand, grinning with glee, as his nurse trailed behind.
He had learned to ride a horse in that very courtyard. His tutor,
Duke Aldret, had led him out of the gate’s protection—against the queen’s
wishes, of course. They had ridden along Wraith’s Hollow, and the half-dead
trees, sick with secrets and soaked with too much blood, had watched them. With
wide eyes, he had peered between the trees in search of Wilders. His timid
curiosity of the barbaric tribesmen had shifted to keen interest. Those were
good times, good and distant. Now he was a man. Now he was to be king, and a
husband.
As they entered the Great Hall, Sobriina came into view, and
Theron broke free from his thoughts. “A warm greeting to you, my respected
confidant,” Sobriina said as she bowed low with a beaming smile. “It is a rich
morning now that the king-to-be has at last graced these halls.” Theron nodded
and Sobriina laid a hand on his shoulder as he paused. “We shall share our
days’ excitements in due time, my lord.”
“Indeed we will, Mistress Sobriina. I trust you have made my lady
comfortable here?”
Olivia blinked and glanced at him. “Yes, my lord.”
“Good,” Theron said.
The she-elf’s grin widened before she walked on.
Theron led Olivia on, and could smell the cooks’ work drift
through the halls and fill the room. Though the food had yet to be laid on the
table, the tempting smells caused all to rush for their seats. He turned to
Olivia and said, “I’m pleased she has been so helpful to you—Mistress Sobriina,
that is.” He felt her body tense against him as she walked on without a word.
He frowned and cleared his throat.
“She’s very pleasant, my lord,” she whispered.
A corner of Theron’s mouth twitched, recalling how unmasked she
had spoken when they first met. He stared straight ahead, and wished he could
draw the real Olivia out of the frightened shell she kept herself in. He could
find a way, he knew. If he could subdue Wilders’ tribes and beat them back into
their own territories, he could conquer a woman's heart. Couldn’t he?
But she could reject me. He could be marred, deeper than from any Wilder
weapon.
Theron shook doubt from his mind and looked forward, finding the
Great Hall decorated like never before. Flowers bundled together and dangled
from lit torches, banners’ red fabrics billowed whenever someone brushed past,
and waxy, pale candles flickered down the center of the long table. The
wall-length fireplace roared, but the moist air still sent an underlying chill
through the castle. Everyone was wrapped in thick robes or blankets and huddled
close to one another and the fire.
The floors had been scrubbed the best they could be, but as
everyone filled the room, mud, hay, and remnants of the day’s work trailed in.
A host of servants already stood along the walls, alert and waiting. In the
kitchen, the cooks stirred their soups for the last time and rechecked the
meats’ tenderness.
Duke Aldret’s chair of honor was replaced by two chairs, one for
Theron and the other for Olivia. Fresh hides of wolf skin draped over each to
fight against the nippy air, and give a soft padding. Theron walked to his
seat, and helped Olivia into her chair.
“Many thanks, my lord.” She gave him a sideways glance, but
nothing more.
“Of course.” Theron cleared his throat and sat. He wrapped his
cloak tighter around himself, and eyed a dog as it scampered past.
Those gathered sat in order of rank. Duke Aldret’s officers and
chamberlain sat with Theron’s own commanders and men-at-arms toward the head of
the table. Earl Quinn and Countess Primis sat across from Aldret, their gaze
continually flickering between the table and their niece. Farther down, and
away from the fireplace, sat the squires, their masters right beside them. Next
were the stewards of Crown Haven. The castle’s women and the few children
present were seated last of all; the children nudged and giggled among
themselves as the women gossiped and pointed between Theron and Olivia. Dogs
slunk along the walls and eyed the table, for they knew it would be filled
shortly.
The Seer, who sat on Theron’s right, stood, and the clamor of the
assembly hushed as each looked to the ceiling with hands outstretched. The Seer
took in a breath and lifted his eyes upward. “May the Wizard grace these halls,
just as Tulaun’s future king has graced Crown Haven.”
Theron glanced over at Olivia and found she was watching him. She
flinched and looked up; he tried to stifle his chuckle.
“And may The Wizard’s cloak of crimson shelter the royal union
over us.” The Seer smiled. “As a mother hen shelters her chicks with her
wings.”
“Let it be so!” The gathering’s words echoed through the stone
room, and conversations began again.
Theron sat back in his chair as a squire poured wine into his
horned cup. He glanced at his wife-to-be and stroked his chin, sensing the
tension in her shoulders and tightly held hands in her lap. Her eyes were
downcast, and refused to look his way. Theron cleared his throat again and
shifted his weight to one side. He knew this was the same woman he spoke with the
other night. The same one! Why couldn’t he speak with her the same way again?
He took in a breath and opened his mouth.
A cheer interrupted him as the head cook and his servants entered
the Great Hall. Theron grinned as the smells of foreign seasonings filled the
room, spices from Nauvoo Isle and herbs from Han Ci. Wooden platters of pork,
pigeon, and venison were brought in, breads were lifted on servants’ shoulders,
pairs of servants carried soup cauldrons between them, and baskets of fruit
were carried by children. A roasted boar and two peacocks on silver plates were
set on the table before the royal couple. Pastries and larks-tongue pie were
set down beside salads of mint and leeks.
Theron reached for a basket of bread and held it out to Olivia.
She looked away and took a small loaf with a nod. “Many thanks, my lord.”
Theron sat back and ripped off a piece for himself. “Was your
travel here well?”
“No more than one should expect, my lord. The roads were decent
and the petty thieves kept a somewhat healthy distance.”
Theron nodded and set some bread into a bowl. He motioned for the
soup, and a servant ladled the meal over the bread. “I am pleased to hear
that.” Theron noticed she had not touched her bread; he frowned. “I was very
grateful The Wizard allowed our meeting the other night.” Olivia looked at him,
and glanced away. “You play the fiddle well.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Theron dabbed at his soup-soaked bread with a knife and listened
as his men playfully fought over a drumstick. Olivia’s eyes darted to the
prince and she took in a sharp breath. “So, are you truly a knight, then?” she
asked, her voice small.
“Indeed.” Theron nodded. “I am the keeper of the Western Border.”
Olivia’s eyes widened. “The Wilder tribes don’t have a chance as long as my men
and I stand guard.”
“Yes, I had forgotten. I heard that was your duty. . .” A frail
grin lifted Olivia’s rosy lips. “You battled against them, then?”
Theron nodded somberly. “I have.” He turned away, the grip on his
knife tightened. “Several times. Storm Kin, some of Cedar Folk. Mostly Wolf
Folk. The Head Fang, Bronn the DogStare . . . he is very—” The prince sighed.
“He enjoys killing.”
Olivia’s smile gave way to a wide-eyed stare. She had upset him,
something she never intended. Unsure of what to do, she sat back and turned to
those around her for help. She looked to Nan, but found her busy with a
pigeon’s wing.
“No matter, though,” Theron said with a shrug and a glance at her.
He eyed her rigid shoulders and wide eyes. Stones on bones! He cursed.
“Truly. No matter at all. I did not mean to upset you.”
Olivia looked his way and nodded graciously, the grip of her hands
loosened. Theron turned back to his food and heard her breathe out a deep sigh.
“I am honored to be marrying a warrior, my lord,” she whispered.
Theron grinned. “And I, a woman of such beauty.”
Color seeped into Olivia’s cheeks as a grin played in her eyes,
yet she did not smile. “You flatter me, my lord.”
“I speak the truth.”
Olivia’s smile broke through as she looked down at her laced
fingers. She took hold of her bread and ripped off a piece. “And now will you
recite poetry and Solaric sonnets in order to woo my heart?” Her grin widened
playfully and Theron smiled.
“No,” he said. “You don’t want to hear me sing, and I have no
skills of wooing, I’m afraid.”
Olivia lifted her chin and took a bite of bread. “Good, it is
better that way.”
Theron threw back his head and laughed so loudly that others
looked their way.
Olivia’s eyes narrowed as she smiled. “Why laugh? What was said?”
Theron dabbed at his soup with a final chuckle. “You are an odd
one, my lady.”
“Oh.” She sat back and pulled her bread apart.
“No, no, no.” He took hold of her hand and met her gaze. “I have
never enjoyed predictable, common people anyway. You, my lady, are a refreshing
joy.”
Olivia grinned and ducked her head, brushing a wandering strand of
hair behind her ear. Theron’s smile grew as he sat back, but did not let go of
her hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but heard something above the crowd’s
murmur.
Several conversations hushed to a stop as everyone turned in their
seats. The dogs stood and began to bark, ears erect and tails wagging. Flutes,
drums, and a lyre’s song drifted into the room. Prince Theron beamed as he
looked from one excited face to another, for he knew who was coming.
___________________________________
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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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