by Morgan Rice
*
Gwen twisted and turned down corridor after corridor, past rows of stained glass, heading toward her mother’s chamber. She hated being summoned by her mother, hated her controlling ways. In many ways, her mother was really the one who ruled the kingdom. She was stronger than her father in many ways, stood her ground more, gave in less easily. Of course the kingdom had no idea; he put on a strong face, seemed to be the wise one.
But when he returned to the castle, behind closed doors, it was she whom he turned to for advice. She was the wiser one. The colder one. The more calculating one. The tougher one. The fearless one. She was the rock. And she ruled their large family with an iron fist. When she wanted something, especially if she got it into her head that it was for the good of the family, she made sure it happened.
And now her mother’s iron will was about to be turned toward her; she was already bracing herself for the confrontation. She sensed it had something to do with her romantic life, and feared she had been spotted with Thor. But she was resolved not to back down—no matter what it took. If she had to leave this place, she would. Her mother could put her in the dungeon for all she cared.
As Gwen approached her mother’s chamber, the large oak door was opened by her servants, who stepped out of the way as she entered, then closed it behind her.
Her mother’s chamber was much smaller than her father’s, more intimate, with large rugs and a small tea set and gaming board set up beside a roaring fire, several delicate, yellow velvet chairs beside them. Her mother sat in one of the chairs, her back to Gwen, even though she was expecting her. She faced the fire, sipped her tea, and moved one of the pieces on the game board. Behind her were two ladies-in-waiting, one tending her hair, the other tightening her strings on the back of her dress.
“Come in, child,” came her mother’s stern voice.
Gwen hated when her mother did this—held court in front of her servants. She wished she would dismiss them, like her father did when they spoke. It was the least she could do for privacy and decency. But her mother never did. Gwen concluded it was a power play, keeping her servants hovering around, listening, in order to keep Gwen on edge.
Gwen had no choice but to cross the room and take a seat in one of the velvet chairs opposite her mother, too close to the fire. Another of her mother’s power plays: it kept her company too warm, caught off guard by the flames.
The Queen did not look up; rather, she stared down at her board game, pushing one of the ivory pieces in the complex maze.
“Your turn,” her mother said.
Gwen looked down at the board; she was surprised her mother still had this game going. She recalled she had the brown pieces, but she hadn’t played this game with her mother in weeks. Her mother was an expert at Pawns—but Gwen was even better. Her mother hated to lose, and she clearly had been analyzing this board for quite a while, hoping to make the perfect move. Now that Gwen was here, she made her play.
Unlike her mother, Gwen didn’t need to study the board. She merely glanced at it and saw the perfect move in her head. She reached up and moved one of the brown pieces sideways, all the way across the board. It put her mother one move away from losing.
Her mother stared down, expressionless except for a flicker of her eyebrow, which Gwen knew indicated dismay. Gwen was smarter, and her mother would never accept that.
Her mother cleared her throat, studying the board, still not looking at her.
“I know all about your escapades with that common boy,” she said derisively. “You defy me.” Her mother looked up at her. “Why?”
Gwen took a deep breath, feeling her stomach tighten, trying to frame the best response. She would not give in. Not this time.
“My private affairs are not your business,” Gwen responded.
“Aren’t they? They are very much my business. Your private affairs will affect kingships. The fate of this family. Of the Ring. Your private affairs are political—as much as you would like to forget. You are not a commoner. Nothing is private in your world. And nothing is private from me.”
Her mother’s voice was steely and cold, and Gwen resented every moment of this visit. There was nothing Gwen could do but sit there and wait for her to finish. She felt trapped.
Finally, her mother cleared her throat.
“Since you refuse to listen to me, I will have to make decisions for you. You will not see that boy ever again. If you do, I will have him transferred out of the Legion, out of King’s Court, and back to his village. Then I will have him put in stocks—along with his whole family. He will be cast out in disgrace. And you will never know him again.”
Her mother looked up at her, her lower lip trembling in rage.
“Do you understand me?”
Gwen breathed in sharply, for the first time comprehending the evil her mother was capable of. She hated her more than she could say. Gwen also caught the nervous glances of the attendants. It was humiliating.
Before she could respond, her mother continued.
“Furthermore, in order to prevent more of your reckless behavior, I have taken steps to arrange a rational union for you. You will be wed to Alton, on the first day of next month. You may begin your wedding preparations now. Prepare for life as a married woman. That is all,” her mother said dismissively, turning back to the board as if she had just mentioned the most common of matters.
Gwen seethed and burned inside, and wanted to scream.
“How dare you,” Gwen said back, her rage building. “Do you think I am some puppet on a string, to be played by you? Do you really think I will marry whomever you tell me to?”
“I don’t think,” her mother replied. “I know. You are my daughter, and you answer to me. And you will marry exactly who I say you will.”
“No I won’t!” Gwen screamed back. “And you can’t make me! Father said you can’t make me!”
“Arranged unions are still the right of every parent in this kingdom—and they are certainly the right of the king and queen. Your father postures, but you know as well as I do that he will always concede to my will. I have my ways.”
Her mother glared at her.
“So, you see, you will do as I say. Your marriage is happening. Nothing can stop it. Prepare yourself.”
“I won’t do it,” Gwen responded. “Never. And if you talk to me any more of this, I will never speak to you again.”
Her mother looked up and smiled at her, a cold, ugly smile.
“I don’t care if you never speak to me. I’m your mother, not your friend. And I am your Queen. This may very well be our last encounter together. It does not matter. At the end of the day you will do as I say. And I will watch you from afar, as you live out the life I plan for you.”
Her mother turned back to her game.
“You are dismissed,” she said with a wave of her hand, as if Gwen were another servant.
Gwen so boiled over with rage, she could not take it anymore. She took three steps, marched to her mother’s game board, and threw it over with both hands, sending the ivory pieces and the big ivory table crashing down and shattering to pieces.
Her mother jumped back in shock.
“I hate you,” Gwen hissed.
With that, Gwen turned, red-faced, and stormed from the room, brushing off the attendants’ hands, determined to walk out on her own volition—and to never see her mother’s face again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
