The Royal Companion

by Tanya Bird

  ‘How are you meant to paint your masterpieces if you can barely hold a brush?’ Hali asked. Her hair was too thick for many of the new hair pieces that had arrived.

  ‘I’m doing the kingdom a favour and refraining from that particular talent. Your hair has gotten longer. It is fighting with me.’

  Hali tried to help her. ‘We shouldn’t bother. Pandarus will be too drunk to notice. It will be a tangled mess in his hands by evening.’

  Aldara had forgotten he had returned from Zoelin. She was about to say so when Fedora appeared behind them.

  ‘I assume you are talking about Prince Pandarus,’ she said. ‘You will do well to remember he is the firstborn son of our king and heir to the throne. That position deserves a title. Don’t you agree, Hali?’

  Nobody openly disagreed with anything Fedora said.

  ‘Of course, my lady,’ Hali replied before walking over to retrieve her cloak.

  ‘Why are you not ready?’ Fedora asked, looking at Aldara.

  It took Aldara a moment to realise the question was directed at her. ‘Because I am not attending, my lady.’

  ‘Of course you are. The princes have requested the company of all Companions, which I relayed to you all earlier.’

  Aldara’s gaze went to the chair where one cloak remained like a corpse. Perhaps she had known after all.

  ‘Forgive me, but all does not usually include me. My understanding is that Prince Tyron is not at Archdale and will not be attending.’ It was also her understanding he wanted nothing further to do with her.

  ‘Prince Tyron will not be attending. However, you will be, as per my clear instructions. The king has important guests from Zoelin in attendance, so get yourself ready.’ She glanced down at Aldara’s hands. ‘And for goodness’ sakes, put some gloves on your hands. There will be no more playing with bows.’

  After Fedora left, Hali made her way back over to Aldara. They looked at each other; the exchange said they would speak of it later. They dressed in a rush. Hali painted Aldara’s face, choosing a vibrant red for her lips. They did a simple plait of her hair and threaded some purple silk through it to match her dress. When Aldara saw her reflection, the only thing she felt was relief at the conservative nature of the gown. The less attention she drew, the better.

  Aldara took the final cloak off the chair and put it on. The two girls made their way over to where Sapphira stood, fiddling with a bracelet on her arm. She was being introduced for the first time.

  ‘He will laugh when he sees me,’ she complained. ‘That is if he recognises me at all. There is so much fabric at my hips I fear my quiver won’t make the distance around me.’

  Aldara smiled at her. ‘As explained to you, several times, Fedora would prefer you spend time with the prince without a weapon in your hands. Let him see who you are without a bow.’

  Sapphira wiped at her painted face, and Aldara reached out and stilled her hands.

  ‘I am nothing without a bow. I may as well show up with a leg missing.’

  At that moment Astra passed them, a serious expression on her face. ‘Do not embarrass us again. Any of you. Let the men be men and try to behave like women.’

  As she walked, the tail of her blue velvet dress shushed the ground beneath her. Her fiery hair was smoothed back and tucked. Her nude lips shone. She seemed to be missing a crown.

  ‘I can’t make any promises,’ Sapphira called after her.

  Astra returned a warning glare before exiting.

  The hunting party had already gathered by the time the women arrived. Men stood in expensive tunics, trimmed with silver and gold thread, and tall black boots that repelled the dust they stirred. The king’s presence made the occasion more formal than usual. He moved about the guests with Idalia by his side, her long hair out and brushed over one shoulder. She spoke the correct words and laughed at an appropriate volume. Her social skills rivalled that of the queen’s, and she often liaised with the most important guests. Many of them did not hear a word she spoke—they just watched her. Without question she was the most desired woman in the kingdom. And that was why she belonged to the king.

  Stamitos stood before Sapphira with the largest grin Aldara had ever seen on a man. Aldara averted her eyes to let them have the moment to themselves. He invited Sapphira for a walk through the stables. Aldara wished she could join them and see Loda. It was not appropriate for her to wander off alone. She looked over to where Hali stood with Lord Yuri, gazing at one another and then smiling down at their feet. It seemed the day would be filled by these small moments. Aldara remembered a similar moment, a long time ago.

  The dark faces of the Zoelin sat above the cloud of pale skin. Black ink markings licked their necks and spread down one shoulder, an arm, a hand. Zoelin people used permanent ink on their bodies to indicate their level of importance within a village or to their king. The more important the man, the more extensive the ink. First marks were always to the hand, and they grew from there. The marking on the guests told Aldara they were of great importance. She glanced at their thick, exposed arms, which appeared not to feel the cold. The men around them wore tunics to shield the morning air and to display their own level of importance via embroidered symbols that represented the manors they came from.

  The sound of applause pulled Aldara’s attention. Pandarus was arriving on horseback, unusual for a pre-hunt gathering, but he clearly wanted to show off his new horse. That was his display of importance. She found a smile to disguise her clenched jaw. It was the first time she had seen him since the tournament, and she noticed a slight shake in her hands as she joined in the applause. The attention of the guests breathed life into him. He dismounted and gave a small bow before beginning a charade of greetings to those around him.

  It did not take him long to spot Aldara through the small crowd. He stopped talking and gave an exaggerated bow in her direction. She felt her face flush, which is exactly what he would have wanted. She lowered into a curtsy and kept her eyes on the ground as she composed herself. The moment she was upright he moved towards her, eyes fixed as he manoeuvred the crowd. She forced her feet to remain still, fighting her childish instinct to flee.

  ‘So pleased you could join us,’ he said, stepping into her personal space.

  She did not move away. ‘My lord. I was pleased to have received the invitation.’

  ‘I suppose you are wondering why you were invited?’

  That was exactly what she was wondering. ‘It is not my place to question. I am just honoured to be here.’

  She could see his mind working, and she sensed he was building up to something.

  ‘I wanted to introduce our Zoelin guests to our latest tournament winner.’ He turned towards the men, gained their attention, and signalled for them to join him. ‘You have become something of a spectacle,’ he said, turning back to her. ‘The first female competitor to enter, and the first to win. Faster than the princes of Syrasan.’

  There was mockery in his tone, and his insincerity was not lost on Aldara. She glanced at the ground for a moment, a gesture that destroyed any illusion of confidence. She knew his pride had taken a hammering, but she could not have predicted how long its recovery would be.

  When the two men came to a stop next to Aldara, she was forced to adjust her posture to hide her immediate discomfort. They towered over her, a head taller than Pandarus, who already made her feel small. Their eyes roamed her body before coming to rest on her lips. She reminded herself that the Zoelin people had different social etiquette. Had Fedora mentioned leering?

  ‘This is Aldara,’ Pandarus said, already enjoying himself. ‘Winner of our most recent flag tournament. I am disappointed you could not join us and witness the making of Syrasan history for yourselves.’

  The men smiled, but Aldara found their expressions patronising.

  ‘I am not sure I believe him,’ one said with a heavy Zoelin accent. ‘I am Pollux.’ He took hold of Aldara’s gloved hand and studied it. The other man just observed her. Hi
s hair was shaved behind the ear to allow for the growing ink that was taking over his skull. ‘You will have to forgive my friend. He does not speak the Syrasan language,’ Pollux explained.

  Aldara curtsied and resisted the urge to pull her hand away. ‘Pleased to meet you both.’

  She spoke in the native Zoelin language to include his companion. Fedora had spent the last two weeks reminding them how important relations between the two kingdoms were. She did not have the luxury of demanding space. She stood with her best impression of warmth. However, the scent of stale drink on Pollux’s breath almost knocked her down.

  ‘You have travelled far to join the hunt, my grandors. I hope the boars appreciate your efforts.’

  ‘Your mentor has taught you well,’ Pollux replied, referring to her correct use of title. ‘There are alternate ways to pass time if the pigs are not willing,’ he added, stroking her glove with a finger. ‘Why would you cover your hands? In our kingdom a woman’s hand speaks for her. How am I to know you when you keep yourself hidden?’

  ‘You can simply ask me, and I will answer you.’ Now both of his hands were holding hers. He was bent slightly, and she could see the fur trimming of his vest also lined it, the source of his warmth. She glanced at Pandarus, who was drinking up her discomfort. ‘I am afraid my hands will give you the wrong impression of me,’ she said, pulling away. ‘I have been learning archery of late, and my hands are yet to toughen.’

  Pollux laughed at her. ‘Are they training you to fight?’

  Aldara made a noise that was meant to resemble a laugh. It was not convincing. Pollux did not seem to notice. Pandarus, on the other hand, missed nothing.

  ‘Perhaps you should use your hands for more suitable activities from now on,’ Pollux said, raising a suggestive eyebrow at her.

  ‘Like playing instruments? I am afraid I am not musical,’ she replied, pretending not to understand. She turned to Pandarus. ‘Shall I introduce our guests to Astra?’ she asked, before looking back at the men. ‘She is very gifted with the harp.’

  It was unkind to lay Astra out as bait, but Aldara knew Pandarus would protect her. He would not let them lay one finger on her. There were some possessions he did not share. She searched for Astra and found her already preparing to play. ‘You are in luck. It seems her performance is about to begin,’ she said, gesturing towards Astra. ‘I will leave you to enjoy the music.’ She gave a small curtsy and excused herself before any of the men could object. Her exit was inappropriate, and as she left with three sets of eyes burning into her back, she knew Pandarus was not done with her yet.

  Aldara joined a safer social circle made up of Hali, Lord Yuri, and a freshly shaven Lord Thanos. They were discussing his hunting dog, who was sitting obediently by his feet without need for restraint. Hali, who cared little for animals, was feigning interest in the topic.

  ‘And you trained him yourself?’ she asked, appearing impressed.

  Lord Thanos’ shoulders lifted. ‘Yes. It seems I have a way with dogs. They respond well to my methods.’

  Lord Yuri nodded his head. ‘You have a gift.’

  ‘Perhaps you can teach the royal dogs some manners,’ said Aldara, joining in.

  They all looked over at the excited hounds that were barking and pulling against their restraints.

  ‘It seems there is a large market for well-trained dogs. People need them for all sorts of reasons, from herd protection to sport,’ Lord Yuri said.

  Hali was watching him as he spoke. ‘What a clever business idea.’ There was pride in her tone, and the wonder in her eyes was not feigned.

  And that is how the conversation continued, with the women listening attentively and speaking when appropriate. They laughed when the men made jokes, but never too loud. They encouraged conversation and made sure everyone was at ease. They did everything they had been taught to do. And when the men left to collect their horses, they moved to another social group, slipping seamlessly into the conversation with a clever comment and a facade of confidence, and the process was repeated.

  Aldara was the perfect companion to every guest, right up until the moment they mounted their horses and galloped off. Only when the sound of hooves became a distant rumble did she go silent and let out her stifled yawn. The shivering women collected their cloaks from the servants and wrapped them around their blue skin and impractical dresses. As they came together to begin their walk back up to the castle, they all noticed Sapphira’s shoes were covered in dirt.

  ‘You will need to learn to lift your feet higher at outdoor events,’ Astra commented, staring at Sapphira’s feet in disgust.

  Sapphira’s did not care about the shoes. She said nothing as Astra slipped past her and walked ahead. Aldara walked over to her.

  ‘Astra is right. It will be the first thing Fedora notices when you return.’

  ‘They are just shoes,’ Sapphira replied.

  Aldara knew life was easier with Fedora on your side. ‘I know. But why make things harder for yourself?’

  The women returned to the warm baths that awaited them. Lavender, palmarosa, geranium, and cedarwood had been added to the steamy water to protect the girls from illness after exposure to the cold. While Aldara was waiting for a tub to become available, she noticed Idalia sitting by the stove, clutching a pot as though she may be sick into it. Aldara walked over and pulled a stool up next to her. She brushed the hair back from Idalia’s wet face and let her hand rest on her forehead for a moment.

  ‘You’re burning up. Does Fedora know you are ill again?’

  Idalia lowered the pot and fanned her flushed face with her hand. ‘No. Say nothing—please,’ she whispered. ‘There is no need to worry her.’

  Before Aldara could respond, Fedora walked into the bathing room and stood observing the women for a moment. One look at Idalia gave the secret away. In a few steps Fedora was standing next to her.

  ‘Are you unwell?’

  Idalia smiled. ‘It is the heat in here,’ she replied. ‘The sudden change in temperature has made me faint.’

  Fedora studied her, her expression doubtful. ‘The king has requested you this evening.’

  Idalia stood up, smiling. ‘Wonderful. Let’s not disappoint him.’

  ‘I need not remind you what would happen if you knowingly passed on an illness to our king?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing,’ Astra said as she passed them. ‘They have shared more germs than meals over the years. He forgives all when it comes to our Idalia.’

  Fedora turned away from them and faced the other women. ‘All of you have been requested for this evening’s banquet,’ she said loudly.

  Aldara’s body stiffened. ‘Am I to attend also?’

  Fedora was silent just long enough to make her regret her question. ‘Yes, Aldara. You are a part of everyone. You can assume you are included when I use that term.’

  Sarcasm was not tolerated—except by those who made the rules.

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ she replied.

  ‘We still have the day to brush up on your Zoelin, so do not linger about in the baths for too long.’

  Fedora was addressing everyone but looking at Hali. She turned to Aldara then, noting the worry on her face. She was not obligated to explain her instructions, but she did.

  ‘It is for social purposes only. Ensure our Zoelin guests enjoy themselves. Teach them a Syrasan dance, make them laugh, fill their cups, and then return here to your bed.’

  Astra, who was still standing with them, spoke up. ‘She understands her role; she is simply pining.’

  ‘Leave her be,’ Idalia said, taking Astra by the hand and leading her away.

  Fedora’s expression softened a little. ‘You are still Prince Tyron’s Companion until I am instructed otherwise.’

  That did not ease Aldara.

  That evening, the women began all over again. Painted faces, new dresses, new hair. Aldara worked mechanically and efficiently, beginning with a pale-faced Idalia. She applied colour to her clammy cheeks and
washed out lips, saying nothing more about it. Hali and Sapphira moved around the room fetching silk and swapping paints. The room was unusually quiet. Even Astra seemed tense, shaking her head at every dress Aldara suggested. Eventually she stood up and sifted through them with a savage thrust of her hand. Aldara watched her, remembering a time not long ago when she had owned one good dress. It was for church, weddings, and all social occasions not related to chores—like the day she was sold. That dress had been burned, its ashes most probably used to make the lye that cleaned the valuable dresses hanging before them. As she glanced around her excessive rainbow prison, she could not help but think of some of the families in her village who could have used the money from just one dress to feed their family for an entire month. Families just like her family.

  Astra finally pulled a pale blue silk dress from its holder and held it at arm’s length. ‘This will have to do,’ she said, giving up. ‘Find me jewels in contrasting tones. I do not want to completely bore the prince.’

  Aldara helped her into the dress first. ‘You could wear a chambermaid’s uniform and still draw attention. What are you worried about?’

  Astra locked eyes with her for a moment, and Aldara saw it. It was panic.

  ‘I worry about what we all worry about,’ Astra replied, looking away.

  When all the Companions were dressed and ready, Aldara put on the dark green velvet dress Hali had selected for her. She was grateful for the thick fabric as the sun had failed to warm the air that day and the small fire did little to shift the cold that seeped through the walls. Sapphira attempted to help her with her hair, and then Hali discreetly came and fixed it. Hali aged Aldara by using large amounts of dark paint on her eyes.

  ‘Let the rest of the kingdom enjoy you if he will not,’ Hali whispered, rubbing shimmering oil onto Aldara’s arms and exposed collar bone.

  Aldara sat like dead weight in front of her.

  The women had to wait. They passed the time reading by the fireplace. More staring at the words than reading. They looked up each time a messenger arrived with words for Fedora’s ears only, errands ran by her spies carrying out her secret business. It was almost dusk when someone sent for them. The women touched up the colour on their lips and followed their escort to the banquet room where they awaited the arrival of the hunting party, noble guests, and royal family.