by Cayla Kluver
We continued down the thoroughfare toward the palace at a slow but steady trot, for it was market day again and the streets were packed with people. Steldor halted before the gates to the courtyard, and he and Temerson leapt from the buggy. As the captain’s son lifted me to the ground, he barked an order to the worried young man.
“Run ahead and tell the Palace Guards to summon the doctor. I will bring Miranna to her quarters.”
I went to my sister, laying a hand upon her damp forehead, meeting her agonized blue eyes.
“We’ll have you in your bedroom in a few minutes,” I murmured.
She gave a slight nod, but did not otherwise respond. Steldor brushed me aside and scooped her into his arms, then proceeded through the courtyard gates and up the hedge-lined pathway that led to the palace. By this time, Tadark had arrived, and he and I followed behind. As we approached the entry, I could see Palace Guards holding the double doors open for us.
“This way,” I said, moving past Steldor as we stepped into the entryway, leading him up the Grand Staircase and on to Miranna’s quarters. I opened the door into her parlor, and we went straight through to her bedroom, where he ducked beneath the pastel ribbons that streamed from the canopy over her bed to lay her down.
“I’ll wait in the parlor,” he said, glancing uncomfortably about at the frilly and feminine decor.
The Royal Physician arrived a short time later, along with my mother. Temerson, flushed and frightened, followed behind them, but he remained in the parlor with Steldor and Tadark.
As Bhadran examined Miranna, he asked me to explain how she had been hurt.
“She tripped and fell as we were gathering apples,” I said, attempting to make eye contact with my sister. I hoped she was alert enough to understand what I was doing.
The man who had treated every injury and illness we had suffered throughout our lives looked skeptically at me, but did not comment, and I exited the room, for Miranna was now in qualified hands.
As soon as I joined the others in the parlor, Temerson turned his terrified eyes upon me, and I was filled with sympathy. He had never before escorted a princess, likely felt at fault for causing her some irreparable injury and was anticipating that Steldor and perhaps the entire royal family would be furious with him. I admired him for the simple fact that he had not fled. I smiled kindly at him, but then addressed Steldor, who was likewise worried, although whether about Miranna or his own skin, I could not tell.
“Thank you for your assistance,” I said, as rain began to patter against the window. Unable to help myself, I added, “It would appear our picnic was ill-fated for a number of reasons.”
He studied me carefully, no doubt trying to ascertain whether or not I would tell my father that he had delayed our return to the palace by questioning our honesty, but he did not make the inquiry.
“How is she?” he asked instead.
“The doctor has not yet determined the nature of her injury, but she is awake and some rosiness has returned to her cheeks.”
“Tell me again how she came to harm,” he said, dissatisfied with my earlier explanation.
“She tripped and fell. She must have landed on top of something, perhaps a stone or a branch.”
Steldor looked askance at me, then whirled on Temerson. “You were with her. Is that how she was hurt?” The color drained from the young man’s face, and I deftly intercepted the question.
“The injury is what it is. It is not really relevant how it was inflicted.”
Just then Halias rushed through the door, his hair falling loosely about his shoulders rather than pulled back in its customary manner.
“What is going on?” he demanded. “Is Miranna safe?”
“She fell and was injured,” I told him. “Bhadran and my mother are with her.”
“This is the last time she goes anywhere without me by her side,” he declared with a reproving look at Tadark. “She does not come to harm when I am there to protect her.”
Tadark glared at him. Before he could reply, however, the bedroom door opened, and my mother glided into our midst.
“Our physician has given Miranna something to relieve the pain, and she is sleeping now,” she informed us in her genteel manner. “She has bruised or broken several ribs, but will recover.” She smiled gratefully at Steldor and Temerson. “Thank you for bringing her back to the palace so quickly, and for your kind ministrations.”
Although my mother’s voice was gentle, they understood that they were being dismissed. They bowed and turned to leave.
“Temerson, a moment,” I called. As both he and Steldor hesitated, I said, “I only need a word with Temerson. You are free to go.”
Steldor looked irked but departed nonetheless.
I approached the fidgety youth and quietly explained, “Miranna’s injury was an accident, and I will not put you in a position of blame. As she and I remember it, she fell.”
His cheeks dimpled into their first smile of the day, then he bowed and left the room.
Later that afternoon, after I had returned to my parlor and Tadark had resumed his duties as my bodyguard, I informed him that I wanted to speak with him, and he entered my quarters.
“I believe the King would be desirous to know of the poor judgment you exercised earlier today,” I informed him, a devious twinkle in my eyes.
Tadark’s posture became more rigid, but he remained mute.
“Perhaps you are not fit to handle such important responsibilities,” I continued, maliciously repeating his earlier criticism of London.
His sullen expression told me that he realized his assignment as a bodyguard might be in jeopardy.
“Relax,” I said, savoring the power I now wielded over him. “If you don’t cause me trouble, I won’t cause you trouble. Do you understand?”
He stared at me, brown eyes wide with indignation, hating the fact that I had acquired some leverage over him.
“That is all. You are dismissed.”
As he departed, I turned and walked into my bedroom, feeling that my day had just improved immensely.
CHAPTER 13
THE DIGNITARY’S ROOM
ONE WEEK LATER, MY MOTHER CALLED MIRANNA and me to the Queen’s Drawing Room. This was the room in which she received visitors, met with household staff and planned all of Hytanica’s royal functions. I could not anticipate what she wanted from us, as we were rarely needed when she was meeting with visitors or staff, and I did not know of any upcoming events that would require the personal touch of the Queen and her daughters.
Miranna and I were not forced to wait before entering our mother’s drawing room as we were when going to see our father in the Hall of Kings, so we simply walked through the doorway. The drawing room was similar in size to our parlors, with two small cream brocade sofas and several rose velvet armchairs grouped together on the right beside a wide bay window. An abundance of fresh-cut flowers stood in vases on the tables and in large pots on the floor to create a fragrant and heady ambiance.
“Oh, good,” our mother said pleasantly as we entered. She was sitting at a desk to our left, fussing with some correspondence. “We have many things of which to speak.”
She came to her feet to guide us to the seating area, settling on one of the sofas. Miranna gingerly sat down next to her, while I chose an adjacent armchair.
“How are you feeling today?” Mother asked, helping Miranna to get settled upon the cushions.
Miranna shrugged, wincing in pain. “I’m feeling better, but not as well as I would like.”
“I’m sorry, dear, but I still can’t see how you managed to injure your ribs in this way just by tripping.”
A sly look passed between my sister and me, for we had agreed we would not tell anyone the true story of her injury, lest we condemn Temerson to some horrible fate that he did not deserve.
Remembering something, our mother stood, then moved to retrieve a bouquet of long-stemmed yellow roses from her desk.
“These are fo
r you, dear. Lord Steldor stopped by earlier to ask after you and left these to brighten your day.” She handed the flowers to Miranna before training her clear blue eyes upon me. “And how is the courtship proceeding?”
At my averted gaze, she gave a gentle reminder: “Disagreeable women rarely make desirable wives…or queens.”
I glanced contritely at her, for she and Steldor must have conferred about the attitude I had adopted toward him at the picnic, but internally I seethed at his presumptuous attempt to use my mother to his advantage.
“If one gives in to fate, life can become much more pleasurable,” she added in her lyrical voice. “Removing the thorns from a rose does not change the nature of the flower, but it does permit one to more easily enjoy its scent.”
I nodded once, acknowledging her subtle advice, wondering if Steldor had also spoken with my father. If he had, the King would make his opinion known in a far less tactful way, and his disappointment with me would deepen.
“There is another reason I called you here today,” Mother continued, satisfied with my acceptance of her criticism. “Your father and I have decided to host a gathering in honor of Baron Koranis and Baroness Alantonya, in celebration of the return of their son, Lord Kyenn. Since you are to be Queen, Alera, I want you to make the arrangements, although I will review everything before it is finalized. Miranna, of course, may assist you.”
While I had known that upon becoming Queen, I would have to take on all of the responsibilities that my mother carried, I had not expected them to be given to me in such an abrupt fashion. Suddenly, despite all my schooling, I did not know where to begin in planning this affair, and I was glad that I would have my sister’s help.
“The event is scheduled for the third week in August, which gives you just under a month to make the necessary preparations,” Mother said, smoothing her upswept golden hair. “The most pressing item is writing up a guest list and sending out the invitations, as they ought to be delivered by the end of the week.”
“Who is to be invited?” I harbored hope that she would have some list of names prepared to show us, but she did not.
“That is for you to establish. Keep in mind that this celebration is to introduce Kyenn to the Hytanican aristocracy, so everyone of noble birth should be included. He has been adjusting remarkably well to Hytanican life so far—Cannan returned him to his family last week, and everything is going favorably. This is the final step to restoring him to the life into which he was born.”
My mother continued her instructions, detailing what needed to be done and by when. I felt that arranging this event was a blessing in disguise. As I had said to Miranna earlier, marrying the captain’s son was, for me, out of the realm of possibility. This celebration presented the ideal opportunity to seriously seek another suitor, one of whom my father would approve, and with whom I could at least have a civil exchange. Although Steldor would be in attendance, as Cannan and Faramay were a given on the guest list, I hoped that in a gathering of over six hundred nobles, I would be able to avoid him altogether.
Miranna and I were extremely busy during the next few weeks, and I found myself attending to the smallest of details. My father had made no attempt to talk with me about the picnic, and I thought perhaps neither Steldor nor my mother had discussed the outing with him. I even dared to believe that a well-executed palace function would redeem me in his eyes.
This event would not include a formal dinner, but all the same, refreshments were a necessity. Accommodations also had to be arranged for guests traveling long distances, some of whom would be staying in the palace, while others would be placed in guesthouses within the city. Koranis and his family would not be among those staying in our third-floor rooms, however, as the Baron owned not only a country estate, but also a house within the city proper.
It also fell to me to ensure a thorough cleaning of the palace, and servants could be seen at all hours sweeping floors, whisking away cobwebs from corners, polishing serving dishes and readying a large number of oil lamps, torches and candles.
From my point of view, the most tedious task was the design and fitting of the gown I would wear to the gala. Miranna loved choosing new fabrics and styles for her clothing, but I did not have much interest in fashion and viewed it as a rather tiresome process.
Our finished dresses naturally reflected our different personalities. My gown was fitted through the bust and waist, flaring out into a full skirt. The sleeves echoed the cut of the dress—fitted above the elbows, then falling liberally over the wrists. Made of crushed silk in a light wine color, it was simple but pleasing to the eye. Miranna’s gown, on the other hand, was fun and flirty. It was made of silk in a shimmering mint-green that flowed loosely to the floor. Its empire waist was accented with colorful ribbons that hung freely and rippled when she moved.
On the evening of the event, once Miranna and I were groomed and attired, we made our way to the Dignitary’s Room, where we would wait to make our entrance into the ballroom. As we walked, a swirling sensation pervaded my stomach—I had organized this affair and planned every aspect of the evening, and if the event did not go well, my father’s assessment that I was an “unpromising Queen” would be confirmed.
Halias knocked on the door of the Dignitary’s Room, and when it was opened from the inside by a palace aide, I could see that Koranis and his family had already arrived. As the guests of honor, they would walk behind the royal family when we made our entrance. Miranna and I stepped inside, but Tadark and Halias departed, for they would patrol among the gathering guests, alert for signs of trouble.
“All rise for Lady Alera and Lady Miranna, Princesses of Hytanica,” proclaimed the aide, announcing us to the Baron and his family.
Baroness Alantonya and her daughters came to their feet from where they had been sitting on the sofa across the room from us. The Baroness was attired in a turquoise brocade gown that had the effect of shading her blue eyes toward green, and her white-blond hair was pulled up off her shoulders. Semari’s beautiful pale gold dress was similar in design to her mother’s, but was cut more simply as befitting a girl of fourteen. Her younger sisters, Charisa, twelve, and Adalan, ten, wore simple blue frocks, their ash-blond hair falling halfway down their backs.
Baron Koranis stood to the right just behind the three steps that led up to the double doors that would be opened when it was time to enter the ballroom. One heavily ringed hand hung by his side, and the other held the inside edge of his ostentatious cream-colored dress coat, the sleeves and sides of which were decorated with elaborate gold embroidery. Nine-year-old Zayle, as blond as the rest of his family, had sprung up from his sitting position on the edge of the platform in the far left corner, upon which were placed a pair of massive armchairs.
Narian stood on the opposite side of the room from his father, facing us with arms crossed over his chest, shoulder resting against the wall, an occasional shift in his stance suggesting he was discontented with his circumstances. He was handsomely clad in a fitted dark gold coat that fastened off to one side rather than down the center as were Hytanican garments, suggesting he had dictated the design himself. Only the state of his well-worn boots seemed out of character with the rest of his attire. Made of leather with a deep cuff below the knee, they had a higher heel and thicker sole than were typical of the boots worn by Hytanican men.
While I knew Narian’s identity had been confirmed by the mark he bore upon his neck, the blue of his eyes, along with his straight nose and strong jawline, also offered proof that he was the Baron’s son. His thick and untidy hair connected him to the Baron as well, but only by its golden color, for Koranis’s hairline was receding and every inch of him was fastidiously groomed.
Alantonya and her daughters curtseyed before us, while Zayle gave a slight, but very endearing, bow. Narian stepped away from the wall to bow as his father did, bent at the waist with head lowered in respect.
“Your Highnesses,” Koranis said, walking forward to greet us. “Allow me to
introduce my son, Lord Kyenn.”
He held his hand out toward Narian to invite him over, but the young man did not move, looking as if he were choosing whether or not he would comply. Just as we all began to feel self-conscious, he came to meet us.
“Pardon my father,” he said, inclining his head, his keen eyes momentarily obscured by his thick hair, “but my name is Narian.”
Koranis’s focus shifted to his son, while Alantonya, who was just behind her husband, put her hand over her heart as though the one thing she had been dreading had just occurred. “I’m not under your roof,” Narian added, meeting his father’s harsh gaze. His voice contained no trace of disrespect, sounding instead as though he were stating fact.
The silence that followed was unsettling for everyone except Narian, who was unperturbed despite the affronted look on Koranis’s face. It was Semari who broke the awkward hush, stepping around the Baron.
“Your gowns are gorgeous this evening. Are they new?”
We began to converse, the rather peculiar exchange we had witnessed between father and son forgotten. A few minutes later, Koranis, having regained his tongue and his poise, approached Narian, who had resumed his stance against the wall. As Miranna and Semari were now talking primarily to each other, I was able to overhear the Baron’s words.
“This event is in celebration of your return to Hytanica,” Koranis stated in an unassailable tone. “Therefore, it will be your Hytanican name that is used tonight, and to which you will respond.”
Narian met his father’s gaze, neither acquiescence nor objection upon his lips, and my attention was drawn to his deep blue eyes. Piercing, yet guarded, they lacked the childish light everything else about him suggested should be there. While he was lean and obviously strong, his body had not yet matured into the well-muscled physique of Steldor or any of the bodyguards protecting my sister and me. Koranis overshadowed his son, standing several inches taller and weighing half as much again. If not for those intense eyes and his inscrutable expression, Narian would have passed for a normal Hytanican youth, not yet fully grown, enjoying carefree days with his friends and creating worry lines upon his parents’ faces.
