The Royal Companion

by Tanya Bird

  Aldara emerged from her hiding place and walked over to the gelding. He stood with his eyes blinking as he dozed. His back foot rested lazily while he flicked his tail at lingering flies. She stepped forward and held her hand out for him to sniff. When the horse realised that she was not offering food, he lost interest and continued to doze. There were scars streaked across his chest and head. She reached up and touched the one above his eye, tracing it up to his ear. He enjoyed her touch and moved his head towards her. She rubbed his forelock for a moment, and he leant into it. Her hand moved down his neck and over his right shoulder. She could feel heat coming from it. Using both of her thumbs, she gently pushed downwards. The gelding raised his head and stepped away from her. Placing both of her hands around the top of his leg, she ran them all the way down to his hoof. A moment later she felt the warmth of his muzzle on her back. ‘I am not sure that is entirely appropriate,’ she said, standing upright.

  At that moment she noticed a figure standing ten feet away, watching her. It was Prince Tyron. Her hands fell to her side, but then remembering how unsanitary they would be, she clasped them behind her back. They looked at each other for a moment. Aldara knew she needed to introduce herself, but he was an awkward distance from her and she did not want to yell or make a sudden move towards him. Tyron helped by taking a few steps towards her.

  ‘He is an old war horse,’ he said, explaining the scars. ‘I don’t have the heart to replace him. I owe him my life. He has saved it enough times.’

  The distance between them still seemed too great for polite conversation, so Aldara stepped closer to him. She had forgotten to curtsy, and now it was too late. The gelding let out a bored sigh, and they both glanced at him.

  ‘Good horses cannot be replaced,’ she said. ‘You are lucky. My mare would abandon me at the front line at first sight of the enemy. She could not be trusted to return me safely from berry picking.’

  A smile flickered on Tyron’s face. ‘Spirited mare?’

  ‘My father said we were well suited.’

  She was not meant to speak of her previous life unless asked directly about it. Thankfully he did not seem to mind. She glanced at him. His dark hair reached down to his green eyes, and she wondered how he tolerated it at that length. Syrasan men traditionally kept their hair short. Many in her village kept theirs shaved to prevent lice.

  ‘You are too well dressed to be a groom,’ he said.

  She laughed without meaning to. ‘Apologies, my lord. My name is Aldara. We almost met on the path earlier when I miraculously saved myself from falling at your feet.’

  He seemed amused. ‘Some light entertainment on an otherwise dull walk.’

  He had the straightest teeth she had ever seen on a man. Their brightness contrasted his short beard, another unusual feature on a prince.

  ‘Fedora will be pleased to hear you were entertained,’ she said. ‘I must remember to mention that later when I am being reprimanded.’

  The sound of Hali’s laughter made them both turn their heads. She was standing with Pandarus by the refreshment table, and whatever he was whispering into her ear was causing her to blush and squirm next to him.

  ‘Do you think he is able to hunt?’ Tyron said, looking back at her.

  Her eyes returned to the gelding. ‘I am not trained in such things, my lord. However, he appears to have a shoulder injury.’

  Applause broke out among the guests. Astra stood up and stepped away from the harp. She gave a small curtsy to her admirers. At that point Pandarus moved away from Hali and walked among the men, basking in the praise of her, as though it were praise of him. Astra smiled appreciatively and waited for Pandarus to reach her so he could take her hand and display her like a well-bred dog. It was not until the applause subsided that Pandarus noticed Tyron and Aldara standing together in the stables. He let go of Astra’s hand and began walking towards them.

  Aldara thought Tyron tensed up as much as she did. They both seemed to be bracing for his arrival.

  Tyron cursed inwardly as his brother joined them.

  ‘Is this our new horse marshal, brother?’ Pandarus said, keeping his eyes on Aldara. His voice was loud and drew the attention of nearby grooms.

  ‘It appears I will need another horse for the hunt. Mine is lame.’

  Pandarus continued to stare at Aldara. ‘Is he? Was this your diagnosis?’

  Tyron could tell immediately from his brother’s tone that he did not like Aldara. This made little sense to him as Pandarus had made the purchase himself. There were only two possible explanations: she had injured his pride in some way or he did not like the idea of Tyron having something he did not.

  His brother’s persistent gaze was making Aldara nervous. She barely had the courage to look up at him, but she did because respectful conversation demanded eye contact.

  ‘Only an observation, my lord.’

  ‘Does this knowledge of yours come from years of farming, or do we need to have words with Fedora about her lesson plans?’

  And there it was again.

  ‘Call it instinct,’ she said.

  Tyron realised at that moment that the dislike was mutual. Pandarus would not like that from a woman one bit. They normally fell at his feet. Tyron stepped between them and untied his horse. He had hoped to shut the conversation down, but instead, Pandarus stepped closer to Aldara and placed a hand her back.

  ‘I imagine you probably have some hunting experience also?’ he said. ‘Any tips for my brother.’

  Tyron glanced at the hand on her back trying to figure out his game. He could tell Aldara wanted to step away, but she had not been taught not to.

  ‘I hunted for potatoes only, my lord,’ she said, remaining still. ‘And with varying success.’

  Tyron did not look at her as he suppressed a grin.

  Aldara curtsied extra low to ensure that Pandarus’s hand left her. ‘I wish you both luck today. I will leave you to prepare. Please excuse me.’

  The men watched as she walked over to where Hali was standing with an older gentleman. Tyron had a theory that all of the Companions eventually became the same person. They arrived as individuals, with unique personalities and histories, but these traits were erased during their transformation into well-spoken seductresses, conveniently fluent in the languages of their received guests. He had no doubt Fedora would strip Aldara of herself and he would one day see only what had been created for him.

  ‘I’ve had women like her,’ Pandarus said, still watching her. ‘And I tire of them quickly.’

  Tyron shook his head. ‘You tire of all of them quickly. If I recall correctly, you said the same thing about Idalia a few years ago. What you mean to say is that you do not like unattainable women.’

  ‘Nonsense. I have a unique interest in unattainable women. I have bedded as many married women as I have unmarried.’

  ‘Because they were attainable.’

  ‘They are all attainable. I could have that farm girl sent to my room tonight.’

  ‘And she would come out of obligation. That is not the same thing and you know it.’ He handed the lead over to a groom and walked into the stable to begin his search for a horse.

  Pandarus, not done with the conversation, followed him. ‘I have high standards; that is why she was given to you. It seems I have to make all the decisions around here. You should take the young filly at the end if you want something that will last the day.’

  Tyron kept walking. ‘I really hope you are talking about a horse now.’

  Pandarus ignored the joke. ‘You’re defending her. That means you are fond of her.’

  ‘I am not defending her. I am commenting on you.’

  ‘Don’t get defensive. I am pleased you like her. You know I hate to waste gold.’

  ‘Your collection of horses suggests otherwise.’

  Pandarus disregarded that comment. ‘I just hope the little virgin prude does not prove a disappointment in your bed.’

  She had definitely hurt his prid
e. Tyron kept his eyes on the filly in front of him. She was lean and tall for her breed. ‘We have barely spoken two words to each other.’

  ‘What has conversation got to do with anything? I only hope she loses her frigid demeanour. Exciting at the beginning, I agree, but you will soon tire of it.’

  Tyron said nothing.

  ‘I should warn you, she will not age well. I have met her mother. A true labourer’s face.’

  Tyron signalled to the groom to saddle the horse. His eyes drifted to where Aldara stood among men twice her size and three times her age. He could not imagine her working on a farm. Perhaps that was why her mother sold her. ‘Why are you warning me off the gift you gave?’

  ‘I’m doing no such thing. I’m simply managing your expectations,’ Pandarus replied, turning to leave. ‘I will request she attend the feast tonight. You can make up your own mind about her in the morning.’

  ‘No,’ Tyron said. He blurted it, without knowing why.

  Pandarus turned back and looked at him, waiting for an explanation.

  ‘Tell Fedora she is not ready.’

  Pandarus shook his head. ‘Ready for what?’

  A room of drunken men, Tyron thought. ‘To socialise.’

  ‘I have no idea what goes on inside your mind.’

  A horn sounded. The dogs barked excitedly, making conversation impossible. Pandarus left to find his mount. The groom handed Tyron the reins of the mare, who was dancing about with excitement, and took hold of the bridle to steady her while he mounted. In the mounting yard, the Companions had gathered to wish the riders luck as they climbed into their saddles. Aldara stood at the back, using a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. The others stood with their hands folded in front of them, backs as straight as their manners. Tyron let his horse circle the group rather than fight to keep her still. He found his eyes wandering to where Aldara was patting the heads of the dogs that passed her. Occasionally she looked in his direction. A second horn sounded. The dogs raced out of the yard ahead of the horses. Tyron’s horse lunged into a canter, desperate to lead them.

  Within moments the men, horses, and dogs had disappeared, leaving the stables quiet.

  The women stood amid settling dust, waving the dirt away from their faces. They left the smitten grooms and the tired kitchen servants and made their way back up the path to the castle.

  Astra was the first to bathe; Aldara was the last. That was the pecking order. Aldara added some boiled water to the tub before peeling off her robe. She buried her face in her hands to relish the smell of horse before it was washed away. When she finally sunk down into the water and closed her eyes, she saw tired, green eyes with locks of dark hair falling over them. She opened her eyes to see Fedora standing next to the tub. One look at her face told her she had not come to praise.

  ‘When you are dressed, you can assist the others with their preparations for the evening. They will all be attending. You will not.’

  Aldara sat forward and covered her breasts with her hands. ‘Prince Tyron did not request I attend?’

  Idalia walked in and stopped a few feet from them, waiting for their conversation to finish.

  ‘You are not ready,’ Fedora said.

  ‘You said I was.’

  ‘And I stand by that. However, it is not my opinion that matters in the end. Your situation is unique in that the prince did not select you for himself. He may reject you for those reasons alone.’

  ‘And I will disappear.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Your virtue is an asset for as long as you keep it though you should prepare yourself for the possibility of entertaining noble guests in the future. I will wait for Prince Tyron’s wishes to be made clear before discussing this with you further. I am yet to speak with him directly.’ She turned to Idalia. ‘Yes?’

  ‘The king has requested to see me, my lady.’

  Fedora nodded. ‘I will have Hali help you prepare.’

  Aldara sank back down into the cooling water. She was a child among beautiful women. She had fooled no one with her grown-up dress and barely rehearsed manners. It took her a moment to realise Idalia was still standing by the door.

  ‘I will make a terrible governess,’ she said to her.

  Idalia did not laugh. ‘You are young and still learning. It is difficult at your age to comprehend what is expected of you.’

  Aldara had almost forgotten she did not want to be a part of their world, a world where women were bought like prostitutes and disguised as something more. ‘How old were you when you arrived here?’

  ‘Fifteen,’ Idalia said, crossing her arms in front of her. ‘I had not even come of age. The daughter of a blacksmith who drank all that he earned and then hated us for his failures.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘My mother sold me to protect me. I cried for her every night for the first season I was here.’ She glanced at Aldara. ‘You don’t cry, so you are already doing better than me.’

  ‘You would not cry for my mother either.’ She smiled and stared at the water. ‘When did you begin socialising?’

  ‘I was sixteen, but that is not the question you should be asking.’

  ‘What question should I be asking?’

  Idalia unfolded her arms and combed her hair with her fingers. ‘When did I become the king’s Companion?’

  Aldara watched her fingers move gracefully through her thick hair. ‘All right, when did you become the king’s Companion?’

  There was another silence as Idalia revisited the memory privately before saying it aloud. ‘It was two days after my nineteenth birthday. It had been a long and difficult four years. Three of those had been spent entertaining the king’s guests. Then one night the king invited me to his chambers, and as far as I am aware, there has not been another Companion in his bed since. Some say not even the queen.’

  Aldara shook her head. ‘Why then?’

  ‘He could have had me at any point during that time. I danced myself to the point of injury for years, determined to be seen by him.’

  ‘So what changed?’

  ‘I grew up. I felt good in my skin suddenly. Men paid attention, not just to the pretty face, but to the woman I had become. One night I walked into the great hall and realised all eyes were on me. Men, women, servants. Even the queen saw it. I was the most desired woman in the room. When he saw that, he saw me.’

  ‘And what of his Companion at the time? Did she…disappear?’ She almost did not want to hear the answer.

  Idalia shook her head. ‘No. She is our mentor. And one day I hope to replace her again.’

  Chapter 9

  The following morning, Aldara was woken by Hali climbing into her bed. She smelt of wine and sweat. Her mouth and gown were stained red. Aldara used her fingers to comb the sticky hair back from her face. ‘Long night?’

  Hali’s body was heavy and still. ‘It was Prince Tyron, you know.’ she said, already falling asleep.

  Aldara stroked her hair. ‘What was Prince Tyron?’

  ‘He told Pandarus you were not ready to entertain.’ Her eyes were closed and her body twitched as sleep took over.

  Aldara lay there thinking about what a disappointing gift she must have been. When she was sure Hali was asleep, she slipped from the bed and crept past Astra, who was fast asleep beneath a pile of blankets taken from the empty beds. She washed her hands and face and twisted her hair into a high bun. It was too early for the morning meal, so she ate some of yesterday’s bread that was sitting by a jug of water on the table and then began her chores.

  The goal of the day was complete distraction. She could not let her mind stop. If she had been on the farm, she could have thrown herself into some real labour. Hanging dresses did not have the same effect as ploughing a field by hand or hammering a fence post, but she gathered all the dresses and undergarments that needed washing and walked down to the servants’ quarters, where she asked a startled maid for some lye and a washing bat. With all she needed, she walked through the small door to the washing area outside
where she washed rung and hung everything herself, leaving only the mending for those with some skill. When she went to collect yesterday’s laundry, the maid looked at her tiredly and told her it was still being pressed and she would bring them up later. Aldara offered to help but was told no, so she took a seat and waited, watching the process so she could do it herself next time. The maid did not appreciate the audience.

  Aldara climbed the stone steps with a basket of dresses and undergarments resting on her hip just as the air was warming. She stepped into an empty corridor and strolled along it, relishing the silence. As she neared the great hall, she heard voices. Prince Tyron was standing at the entrance, talking quietly to his squire. She stopped walking and considered turning around, then rationalised that perhaps it was that sort of childish behaviour that was hindering her. Instead, she lifted her head and quickened her pace.

  Tyron stopped talking when he saw her. His eyes moved over her as she hitched the heavy basket higher onto her hip and walked, unblinking, towards him. When she was closer, she dropped into a curtsy.

  ‘Good morning, my lord.’

  Tyron took in her long-sleeved cotton dress and unbrushed hair piled high on her head. Her face was scrubbed clean, making her appear younger than when he had last seen her.

  ‘That seems too heavy for you,’ he said as she rose.

  That was all he said, yet his eyes remained on her and his feet did not move. She would have kept walking had he not been looking at her as if he was about to say something more.

  ‘How is your horse this morning?’ she asked, filling the silence.

  A smile formed on his face. ‘I was just wondering the same thing. Would you care to join me for the inspection?’

  He looked away, and she suspected the question had fallen out of him and he was trying to think of a graceful exit from it. She glanced down at the basket, thinking through the logistics of his offer.

  ‘My squire will let Fedora know of your whereabouts. And deliver the basket for you,’ he added.

  Pero raised his eyebrows and then eyed Aldara with suspicion.