The courtiers livened up and began to stir.
Bran, who had talked to sailors in advance, watched their movements with interest. The sailors, warned by their captains, happily accepted money and went around drinking in taverns, all telling the same story, slight differences only serving to confirm the veracity of the main version.
Yes, a Virman. Yes, a cripple.
As for Bran being a priest of Holosh...
The Ativernans didn't care about that, and Virmans didn't say anything. Some gods were not to be mentioned; their attention might only do harm.
Angelina knew his plan, too, and hated that her husband was going to risk his life. Still, she understood that there were no other options. He would either frighten the living daylights out of his resenters, hammering home that dogs weren't supposed to bark at wolves or wait for an assassination attempt, a duel, an ambush, or other such tricks. Angelina didn’t want that.
And thus, amid their planning, the day of the audience with His Majesty finally came.
***
The noise was overwhelming. The court was up in arms as everyone discussed the versions of the story.
What a nightmare! A princess and...a monster!
People wagged their tongues as dogs wagged tails, producing almost an annual amount of gossip in record time.
So he was a Virman noble. Or maybe not a noble? A pirate? An assassin? That seemed intriguing.
Alas, the princess refused to dispel the errors of others and say anything. As for Bran himself...
He needed to perform the ritual by attending to the court and asking for Her Highness' hand. He did exactly that two days after their arrival at Laveri. During those two days, he moved his children to Castle Taral and talked to His Majesty once again, also making the acquaintance of Aldon Roman.
Based on their meeting, the aldon made a statement unbefitting a man of the cloth that nonetheless was quite specific. In a one-on-one conversation, he told Edward that in Aldonai's place, he would have sent down a plague in retaliation for such a present—or maybe a swarm of locust.
Edward snorted and ordered him to bless Bran and perform the wedding. A plague, locust—that was for Aldonai to decide. He worked in mysterious ways, after all.
That said, His Majesty sometimes allowed himself to think blasphemous thoughts. Imagine God, a being of unimaginable majesty and complexity, creating the world, the people, countries, animals, the sun, the sea, and lots of other things that people couldn't even grasp. After all of that, why would he care who slept with whom or who wore what? It seemed silly.
Naturally, Edward never shared his musings with anyone; the people might not understand. Bran might, though.
Edward genuinely hoped that his son-in-law would be able to bring the courtiers to heel or at least scare them straight. There would be no end to challenges coming from them.
It was better to show them teeth straight away.
***
The first challenge appeared as soon as Bran entered the palace. He was standing waiting for the king to receive him, and out of the blue...
The last time anything like that had happened to him was twenty years ago. A gaudily dressed fop gave him a push and eyed him like a pile of shit, loudly calling for a valet to check if there was rotten fish anywhere near.
Bran smirked at the first portent of things to come and tripped the lout up in a completely unchivalrous manner.
Really, he should have thought better than to turn up his nose and walk around looking like the world owed him.
The man dropped flat down, while Bran chuckled and ordered the incoming valet, "Please pour perfume on the gentleman. And wipe the floor, too."
"You, knave!" the insulted nobleman screeched. "I challenge you—"
"You challenge my guest?" Edward, who arrived just in time, asked politely. "Viscount?"
The viscount grew pale but lifted his chin even higher. Or was he simply trying to stop the bleeding from his broken nose?
"Your Majesty... "
"Your Majesty." Bran was completely calm. "May I kill him?"
"Of course, Lord of Gardren."
"Right here?"
"Absolutely. I can be your second if you'd like. Viscount, Lord of Gardren, accepts your challenge. A duel to the death, right here, right now. You can choose any weapons. Would you like to offer your apology?"
"No, Your Majesty," the offended viscount grinned. "I want that bastard dead. I have no need to apologize."
"I've warned you, Viscount," His Majesty said. "Ladies and gentlemen, please make room for the duel."
The royal parlor was a huge hall that had enough space for three duels at once. The viscount was immediately left in a large circle with Gardren. Slowly, he pulled his blade from the sheath, clearly showing off.
Bran didn’t even flinch.
Bored stiff, he watched the viscount unsheathe his sword and advance, demonstrating various feints. Then he made one sharp movement.
A small knife with a barely noticeable grip, but perfectly balanced, sunk into the fop's throat. The viscount wheezed and collapsed.
Bran waited for him to stop writhing, carefully pulled out his knife so as not to get his hands dirty, and wiped the blade off on his opponent's clothes.
"I testify that the duel followed the rules," Edward said the ritual phrase. "Aldonai delivered his justice. Lord of Gardren, could you kill him with a sword?"
"Any weapon you would choose, Your Majesty. I thought it wrong to waste your time."
Edward chuckled.
"Then let us proceed."
***
Four days later, Bran Gardren and Her Highness Angelina united in marriage in the main temple of Laveri.
Over the next week, Bran was challenged to a duel eight times.
He accepted each of them, selecting various weapons: a sword, a saber, even a crossbow. His Highness became his second, both as a favor to his sister and to show the nobles whose side he was on.
The smart ones took note of that, and the idiots were soon gone: a natural decline by the hand of a stronger opponent.
Edward, Richard, Bran, Angelina—everyone knew that the attempts would continue. But what could they do?
They would deal with it. Bran never challenged anyone himself, and as for attackers... That was their choice. If they wanted a fight, they would get it.
***
The road back was much easier on Lilian. No adventures, no unwanted advances, and no problems. The bandits were laying low, as the first snow made it easy to track them.
The nobles...weren't, but the news about the events in the capital had spread all over the country. Balls? Receptions? That was taboo. For a year after a monarch's death, the country was in mourning. There was no dress code, but most people had green bands wrapped around their arms, showing their sympathy for Her Majesty's plight.
Some might even be sincere. Milia was well-loved among the people. Everyone knew about her love for the king, and the story of their marriage was lovely and romantic, at least for blushing maids and elderly ladies.
The only allowed receptions were small private gatherings; no mass festivities, aside from the coronation. Twenty guests was the limit; any more than that would be bad form, especially if there was no worthy excuse such as a son's wedding or the birth of an heir.
Therefore, the Ativernans never stopped in cities for long: only a day or two to give the horses some rest, replenish the supplies, and tell the local mayor what had transpired in the capital.
Everyone wanted to get home as soon as possible. The only exception was Princess Maria, who felt restless. How would her fiancé find her? What was he like? How would he treat her? She had many questions but had experienced a lot, too. The journey calmed her down a bit.
Lilian swore that Richard was a clever and kind man, allaying Maria's fears. All the time she had known the countess, she became sure that the latter hated lying. If anything was amiss, she would have told her.
A month later, the outlines o
f Laveri loomed on the horizon: the spires of the temple, the towers of the palace... Thomas Concord dispatched a messenger to announce their arrival. He had already sent a pigeon three days before that, of course, but it was time for a person who could talk and tell everything.
They couldn't simply ride into the capital, could they? They had a princess with them, the future queen. A welcoming party was in order.
***
Having received the messenger pigeon three days before, His Majesty had been busy preparing for the meeting. All that remained was to gather the people, and even then, it was hardly an issue.
Everyone he needed was already inside the palace. He would simply tell the master of ceremonies to set the wheels in motion, call up Richard, and send a message to Angelina.
His daughter was living on her own with her husband, which saddened Edward. He would have preferred to keep her under his wing in the palace, but everybody had banded together to dissuade him from that idea. Bran considered the palace an unsuitable place for Virmans, children, or his wife. Angelina was sick and tired of living at court. Richard, for his part, had noticed the tension between the sisters. Joliet was jealous, having noticed the way Bran treated his wife and realizing that she was unlikely to get a husband like that. That wasn't even friendly envy; no, Jolie's jealousy was a common one, and nobody knew what it would result in. It was better to keep them apart for the time being.
Thomas had arranged for His Majesty to have more than five hours for preparations and the grand entrance. One procession was slowly approaching Laveri, while the second moved across the city streets.
The townsfolk were waiting with bated breath. Soon, they would meet their future queen.
***
Maria was beside herself with anxiety. Thankfully, she didn't need to conceal it from the people inside the carriage: Countess and Viscountess Earton. The princess had asked the rest to leave.
Later, the other women would leave, replaced by her fiancé. She and Richard would ride across the city into the temple, where the betrothal would be formally acknowledged. Then they would go to the palace.
Lily adjusted the silver fox mantle on Maria's shoulders.
"You look amazing. Pretty as a picture!"
Maria shivered.
She really did look lovely in her white and pink dress, and the dark fur of her mantle worked wonders to emphasize her brown hair and shining eyes.
"It will work out, right?"
Lily gave her a confident nod.
"It must. We're alive, are we not?"
The princess smiled and started waiting.
His Majesty's cortege was coming closer. The music swelled—drums, tambourines, trumpets, timpani—and banners fluttered in the wind, while dust scattered under the hooves of the horses. Maria would have loved to peek out of the window, but she couldn't. That wouldn't be proper for a princess.
Finally, the carriage stopped, and Maria slowly stood on the worn ground. A man stepped out from among the welcoming party. Edward had yielded to his son the right to meet his fiancée.
Richard walked forward, and as Maria looked at him, her heart melted. His Highness looked like a prince straight out of fairy tales: tall, golden-haired, with a charming smile. Maria gave him a shy smile in return.
She didn't know that the insides of Richard's heart were all black. His bride looked so different.
Dark-haired, with huge brown eyes and a tender smile, Tira had been like a blade woven of steel and moonlight. Maria was a fluffy ball of wool: pretty, soft, and cozy. She felt wrong.
But the one who had been intended for Richard was gone forever, and they would never meet in this life.
Richard dropped on one knee in front of Maria and brought her hand to his lips.
"My princess."
The girl blushed, which only served to make her more charming.
"Y-your Highness... "
"May you honor me with your presence?" Richard asked, a sly smile on his face.
The girl wasn't to blame. She just wasn't Tira.
Let him hurt, let his heart be torn into pieces, let him remember her blue eyes and silver hair, but Maria would never know anything, never suspect anything. She would have a loving husband, a family, and children.
Would that be enough? Richard didn't know, but he would do everything in his power.
He helped his wife-to-be inside the carriage. Her fingers were freezing, because of either cold or worry. He warmed them with his breath.
Let it be.
The road of kings was cruel and hard, sometimes even ugly, but it was his burden and his choice.
***
Lily watched Richard. Jess had already helped Miranda into the saddle and was holding Lidarh's reins.
"Climb up."
"Just a minute," she replied.
A good doctor could observe a lot, even without a full check-up. Lily was a good doctor.
There was something wrong with Richard.
The prince got inside the carriage, and Lily asked Jerisson about that. Her husband shrugged.
"I don't know. He looks good."
"I suppose."
Lily decided to keep quiet. Later, she would talk to Leif. If anyone knew what was wrong with Richard, it was the Virmans. Something probably had gone down in Virma, Lily was more than sure of it.
Jess, however, no matter how much affection she held toward him, had the insight of a battering ram. Richard would tell him everything himself if he wanted to.
***
The temple spread out in front of Lily as Aldon Roman joined Maria and Richard together with vows. It was only a betrothal, not a wedding, but it was more than serious.
Richard... Why did he have that face?
Lily prayed with all her heart that the nightmare that had happened to Edward wouldn't happen again. Loving one woman while marrying another wasn't especially great, but it could be dealt with. The consequences of that love, however...
She was sick of coups, mutinies, conspiracies, and rebellions. That was the worst time for all of that, really. Lily wanted to practice medicine and manufacture and spend time with her family. Please, let it all work out.
As they slipped diamond bracelets on each other's wrists, Maria smiled happily, clearly not noticing a thing. His Majesty seemed moved, too.
The princesses were there as well, Angelina standing next to a grey-haired man of medium build...blue eyes, hunched back...were they married? Going by their bracelets, they were. Joliet, however, looked at them with a mixture of envy and frustration.
Faces, people, flowers... Where had they gotten so many in the middle of winter?
When Richard walked out of the temple with his bride in hand, the crown broke into a cheer, throwing flowers at them, hundreds and thousands of them. Maria caught a pink bouquet and laughed.
Lily, however, felt sad. She didn’t even know why.
***
She received the answer only the next morning. The source wasn't even Leif, but Ingrid. As she listened to the Virman woman's story, she nodded.
Oh well.
She felt sorry for the girl who had died in Virma and for Richard.
Still, she had a lot to tell, herself, and it was time for Ingrid to ooh and ah. So much news, so many happenings...
And so many things to do, too.
Like visiting the king, for instance. How was his health?
She also wanted to talk to His Highness, as long as he agreed, of course. Jerisson wasn't going to let him feel bored, and that was for the best.
She had to see the princesses and meet Angelina's new husband—although she had already caught onto him. They had left one Count Lort behind in Wellster only to find another one in their own home. Maybe they were long lost twins? Anyway, he was a good reason for her to stay on her guard.
There was also her production facility. Of course, she would never get off with a simple visit: there were probably a million issues to fix.
And then there was the hospital, too.
What about Lilian herself, though?
Maybe there was one more conversation she needed to have.
***
"Jess, which do you want more, a son or daughter?'
"A son. And a daughter."
"No, I don't think I'll give birth to twins..."
"Um...Lily?"
"Yes..."
"So...how long? When did you..."
"Back in Wellster. I think you'll become a father in half a year, give or take. The second time, I mean. Do you think Mirrie will be happy?"
"I'll flog you blind!"
"What for?"
"How could you travel while pregnant?"
"It's not like I was sick!"
"And on horseback!"
"I get nauseous in a carriage!"
"You have no shame!"
"But I will have a baby. Aren't you happy?"
"I'm thrilled, dear. But could you be more careful about travel?"
"Jerisson! I won't let you lock me up for the next six months..."
Jess wanted to snap but suddenly remembered that one mustn't yell at a pregnant woman. They were absolutely unpredictable, after all.
He sighed.
"Lily...we'll find the middle ground, all right?"
"Of course!" his wife assured him.
He sighed again and clasped her in his arms.
Life was wonderful, wasn't it?
The End of book 8
A Medieval Tale series
Book 1: First Lessons (Find it on Amazon)
Book 2: The Clearing (Find it on Amazon)
Book 3: Palace Intrigue (Find it on Amazon)
Book 4: The Royal Court (Find it on Amazon)
The Road of Kings: A Strong Woman in the Middle Ages (A Medieval Tale Book 8) Page 34
