“My dear.”
Taresa sighed. “Yes, Mother?”
“What of this design?”
The Princess glanced over her shoulder, turning her sights away from the sea. To her left, her mother sat with her sister, Ermesinda, with a length of peach-colored chiffon stretched over their laps. Beside them, a tailor waited, with a roll of the fabric and three others of different hues in his arms.
“The tone will complement your skin. As will the texture,” Queen Belitta added.
“You mean dry and coarse?” Ermesinda cracked.
“Young lady!” Belitta slapped her leg, the smack ringing through the cavernous room.
“Owww!” Ermesinda whined. In the far corner, Nataliya, who was being fitted by another tailor, giggled.
“Don’t you start.” Belitta shot a sharp look in Nataliya’s direction. “The both of you behave. This is no time for your antics. This is for your sister.”
Taresa sighed, turning back to the sea. It doesn’t feel like it’s for me.
“Taresa, I said what do you –”
“It’s fine. I saw it. The one on your lap is fine.”
Belitta, seemingly please by her daughter’s decision, folded the length in her hands and returned it to the tailor. “Very well. That takes care of the banquet gown. Now as for the dress for the ballroom dance –”
Taresa fought back another sigh. I can’t bear another moment of this. “Mother?”
“Yes, Resa?”
“All this fitting has me famished. I would hate to go on with these important decisions while being hungry. Shall we have our high tea early?”
The Queen paused, considering. “I am a bit hollow myself. Very well, then.” She raised her index finger, beckoning a servant forward. “Tea, with small plates, at once.” The servant, an elderly fellow with black hair save for the gray at his sides, nodded before clapping to the three subservants behind him. They scurried through the side door to Taresa’s bedchamber into the hallway beyond.
The tea will take a moment to brew. “I will take in the air outside while we wait.”
“Very well, Dear.” The Queen motioned for Ermesinda and Nataliya to join their sister.
No, I want to be alone! “No need for company,” Taresa blurted. “I mean, they should stay, pick out the next spools to go over and such. I could use their help in such matters.”
“As you wish.” Belitta nodded to her middle daughter by her side. “Ermesinda, you and your sister pick the next fabric to examine. Then the one after that. Plus, a third, my Lovely.”
Ermesinda sighed, then nodded. She moved to rise and join her youngest sibling, but not before shooting a wicked glance at her eldest.
Taresa, in response to her jealously, only smiled. She retreated to the rear door, which led to the portico and the small opportunity of freedom beyond.
The air smelled especially sweet for autumn. The dryness of the coming winter remained absent, replaced by the warm embrace of the lingering summer. Though usually not one for any hint of humidity, on this occasion, Taresa welcomed it. The sensation reminded her of simpler days, of a time when she did not have to think of events of regal responsibility, such as her upcoming marriage.
Taresa strolled across the marble walkway until it gave way to a set of stairs that descended to the tree-lined avenue below. The pedestrian street, one of many which stretched through the palace grounds, teemed with patrons this particular afternoon. The scene stemmed partly from her upcoming nuptials but also because her father was rumored to be in an accommodating mood. In truth, Taresa had never known her father to be as hard a man as people said. He simply allowed such musings to percolate for the advantage of his reputation.
As the princess went on her way, those she passed paused and bowed, offering courteous glances and smiles. A few even asked her about her pending nuptials, idle banter Taresa endured so long as she could inch forward slowly to indicate her haste. All gathered the gist she meant to imply — all except Xain.
The Grand Duke of Almata stood on the southern knoll bordering the avenue, which boasted covered decks of Ibian cedar. He and his companions – Ibian generals, Taresa gathered, judging by their uniforms – conversed until Xain caught sight of Taresa.
So much for my chance at solitude. The Grand Duke excused himself from the audience to make his way from the deck to the avenue below. He soon appeared past the trees onto the brick boulevard, his steps somehow quick yet not anxious. Taresa considered retreating to her room or perhaps initiating a more thoughtful discussion with one of the nobles within her reach. Alas, Xain came upon her before she had a chance at either.
“Your Highness,” Xain said as he stopped before her to bow.
“Your Grace,” Taresa tilted her head and curtsied.
“May I borrow your ear for a moment?”
This should be a laugh. “As you wish.”
He extended the crook of his arm, which she obligingly took. The pair continued down the avenue, unencumbered by interruptions from nobles nor servants. Now that she had a man on her arm, out of respect, all others kept their polite distance. Alone, as a woman, she could be approached by any beggar or bishop who wanted a moment of her time.
Foolish tradition. Taresa and Xain strolled together, neither looking at the other.
“Your wedding is the talk of every circle and table in Arinn,” Xain said, breaking the silence.
“Only Arinn? Why, cousin, surely you can try harder to flatter me? Why not our entire country? Or the whole of Afari?”
Xain smirked. “Or I could have said that your betrothal has shattered the hearts and souls of every bachelor in Ibia, thereby rendering our borders defenseless and our ships unmanned.”
“What do you want?” she blurted.
Xain raised a brow. “You abandon your pretense so easily?”
“I want to know the truth of your motives. The generals and nobles here at Castle Arinn may tolerate your games of the mind and your feeble attempt at wit. I, on the other hand, tire of such niceties.”
They had come upon a path leading to a recess – a small side garden – adjacent to the avenue. Spotting an opportunity for greater privacy, Xain led her to the secluded area.
The garden harbored a variety of flowers native to Arin and the surrounding foothills, including silk-petal gardenias from the Capiwaan Valley, blood-orange blossoms from the Greynaida Shores, and wildflowers from the marshlands of the Jokarre River. However, the most prized flora of the beds was the Arinnese sunroses. From ancient times these namesake blossoms of the capital had been rumored to be medicinal in nature while offering stunning petals of violet, red, and gold. The colors often intermixed in patterns, from swirls to freckles, although the rarest of blooms were those of pure gold, unblemished by any other hue.
Such a beauty – of eight large gold petals – captured Taresa’s focus as they entered. Though the bear-like grip on her upper arm soon broke her concentration.
“What in the name –”
“Careful,” Xain insisted. “Low voice now.” His fingers remained clenched.
“Off of me. Now!”
The last word, though hushed, threatened to rise higher. Xain, his eyes never leaving Taresa’s, loosened his clamp around her arm. Taresa snapped free of grasp, her look one of dirks and daggers. At that, Xain’s lips twisted into a sinister grin.
“Tsk, tsk, sweet princess. Such rebellion is unchaste, far from what is expected of a young lady.”
“And your . . . desires. The whole of your behavior.” Taresa paused to look her cousin up and down. “Xain, you disgrace Kin Garsea.”
The last comment struck a nerve with the Grand Duke. Not one noted by a twitch, nor a sneer, nor by a wise retort. No. Xain’s displeasure, marked by silence, echoed volumes.
Not seeing him react – a rarity for him in such moments – sent a shudder through Taresa. Though she dared not to show it. Wanting to abandon the entire encounter altogether, she turned to march toward the south end of the garden, where she hoped for a footpath to lead out of the area.
“Don’t you want to know?”
Taresa, instinctively, glanced over her shoulder. She slowed, not wishing to stop.
“Why I desired to speak to you?”
“Not particularly –”
“It’s about your Promised.”
Taresa paused. Jameson? “What in Mar’s name are you talking about?”
The grin, partial though not wholly, returned. “Your focus these last few weeks has been on your nuptials, as it should be. But make no error, your union to Prince – pardon me, King Jameson – is not without judgment.”
“Whose judgment? Those generals I saw you with?”
“For a start, yes.”
“Why should our military oppose my marriage to the King?”
“He is, shall we say, untested by the experience of battle.”
Taresa, unsuccessfully, tried to suppress a laugh. “You’re mad. The Marlish king has as much training in combat as any of our best soldiers. Not to mention the successful campaigns he has led on his island.”
“Precisely. His island. It has been invaded twice in the past year. His defense of his homeland has been minimal at best, with the last hardly a success, at least by Ibian standards. He allowed one warlord to float away down a river, while another escaped his prison! Then there was the small matter of his barons nearly removing him from the throne. The whole of arrangement stinks even worse than your promise to Prince Denisot.”
At the mention of her last Promised, her face burned. Taresa forged ahead to Xain. She halted before his visage, intent on letting him see the full intensity of hers.
“My promise to Jameson is nothing like what I had with Denisot. Nothing. I never even met the prince of Colinne. My betrothal to him was the result of an archaic tradition, one that tied our kin to another. Believe me, I breathed a sigh of relief when the Devout dissolved the arrangement. And unlike that promise, the one with King Jameson is fitting, as I agreed to it, on my terms.”
“But your father –”
“Proposed it, yes. A treaty hinged on it, yes. In addition to the hopes of many wanting to see Ibia aligned with another power once again.” Taresa glanced at the roses to her right. She sidestepped to them, deftly plucking two: one with a swirl of red and gold, while the other bore the robust gold petals she admired earlier. With a rose in each hand, she turned back to Xain.
“I saw the prospect of what could be. However, I also knew my next promise would have to be appropriate, a match between two souls not simply bound by regal or church tradition.”
“You speak of love?”
“The prospect of love. Love takes time. Time is a resource us royals have little of, for all of our wealth, power, and prestige. Nonetheless, love can happen if the arrangement is between two who have similarities in goals and interests.”
“What could you possibly have in common with the Marlish king?”
Taresa’s eyes locked with his. “We both fight to secure the Throne, to protect it from the likes of which we never want to see rise to sovereignty. You know of whom I speak. The warlords from afar. The corrupt nobles. Even the foxes within our own families.”
Now, the embers of anger and hate flared on Xain’s face, threatening to consume his very person.
Taresa, in response, offered an innocent grin. “Tis hard work, putting faith in a royal one knows little of, especially one from across the Vortriac Ocean. Yet, in the sparse time I had to acquaint myself with the King, I discovered him to be kind, humble, and pure of heart.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Then I shall just go about busying my days as my mother does. Only I won’t pester my daughters so much. Not bad, considering there are worse fates. Or suitors.”
At that last slight, the flames within Xain blazed to become an inferno. He opened his mouth to retort. At the ready, Taresa tossed him the rose from her hand.
Absentmindedly, he caught it: thorns and all. A rather large one pricked his index finger, causing him to yelp and drop the blossom.
The game done, Taresa pivoted. She headed down a small footpath leading beyond the garden back to the avenue, all the while smelling the solid-colored golden rose in her hand.
Still smitten, she scarcely arrived at the top of the staircase leading to her portico when Nataliya came running up to her. “Resa! Come, come!” She took her older sister by the hand.
“What? What is it?”
“You must see.”
They made haste to Taresa’s bedchamber, where Ermesinda and their mother stood waiting impatiently.
“The air outside? Honestly, Taresa, I half thought you ran to the docks to escape on a merchant vessel.”
If only. “What is this news that has Nataliya so excited?”
Her mother nodded to the tea cart beside the dining table. On it lay a folded letter, the seal broken.
“It wasn’t me,” Ermesinda said. “Mother opened it.”
“As is my right.”
Taresa approached the cart, noting the top half of the seal. The impression in the wax, though ripped, clearly showed the three points of a compass.
“A flyboat brought it to our royal dock not long ago,” Queen Belitta said, “having sped ahead of the Marlish fleet. Blessed be the winds of Mar, your Promised will be arriving early, nearly a full week ahead of schedule.”
Taresa nearly gasped as her gut fluttered. “Here? Early?”
“Why, yes, Child. That’s what I said.”
A week less of preparation. Of going over dresses and other details of the wedding. Fewer moments to contemplate the nuptials. Robbed of days to enjoy the waning solitude. To hold on to her maidenhood. Her innocence.
The accelerated timeline left Taresa aghast. “Well, well . . .”
“Yes, Child?”
“Whatever shall we do?”
Belitta smirked. She motioned to the tailor, who had been standing nearby obediently, a spool of finely-woven fabric in each hand. “We do what we’ve been doing. We go over the finer points. We fashion the entirety of your royal ceremony. Above all, we enjoy ourselves while doing it.”
The Queen sauntered up to the tea cart. Taresa expected her mother to embrace her. Instead, she reached for one of the frosted tea cakes on the dessert tray, a wedge coated with a pink spread. She plucked it into her mouth, smiling.
Good Mar, she thought. Let us be done with this wedding.414Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ29XTuppELN
