by K. M. Shea
Briar closed her eyes. Of course. Who would be a better childhood friend, a better protector, than a Magic Knight of Sole? “Sir Roberto is too physically fit to be a mere country knight…he is a magic knight as well, isn’t he?”
Isaia hesitated. “Yes.”
Everyone she trusted—everyone she loved—had lied to her! Did anyone really like her for who she was…or when they looked at her, did they only see Princess Rosalinda?
Briar scowled as she opened her eyes. No, no. One moment, stop it. This is pathetic. I am being overly dramatic. Yes, it was a shock to learn she was…but being that didn’t take away from the love she knew.
Nonna hadn’t stayed up with her when she was a child, singing songs and rocking her back and forth, just because she was a princess, but because she loved her. Donaigh didn’t swing her around and teach her ways to make Nonna bark because she had royal blood in her. And Firra hadn’t spent hours teaching Briar how to braid her hair and knife a man without killing him because she was the daughter of Princess Alessia.
And Isaia…looking into his sea-green eyes, Briar knew that every smile, every laugh, every look of concern he had given was for her, not Princess Rosalinda.
Briar wasn’t stupid. She knew her world was about to shift dramatically. Even now she could barely comprehend it. Though the lies still stung and she felt betrayed, she would need every scrap of love and support she could get if she wanted to survive palace life—if she wanted to survive her curse.
Her stomach rolled at the thought. The curse was hers. Briar rubbed her face. “I want to go to bed and drink Nonna’s tea,” she muttered.
Far off, a horse neighed. Briar and Isaia turned, surprised to see a small group of horses and men dressed in glittering armor. The standard bearer that rode with them, a young lad, adjusted the flag so Briar could see the crest of the Magic Knights of Sole—a silver and blue helm set on a shield enfolded with white wings.
A handsome man, perhaps in his late forties, rode up on a prancing, bay-colored horse. “Excuse me, Your Highness?”
Briar drew back in alarm, looking from the knight to Isaia.
“It’s alright,” Isaia murmured. “Sir Roberto spoke with King Giuseppe last night.”
The knight smiled. “Indeed. We have come to bring you home, Princess.”
Briar clutched Isaia’s arm. How could the knight say that when she would be saying goodbye to the only home—the only life—she had ever known?
By the time they reached the royal palace—which was picturesquely placed in Ciane, the capital of Sole—Briar had decided to try and make the best out of a rather poor situation. Even though she would soon have to tangle with her curse—her curse—being a princess had to have some perks. Certainly, it was going to be a much more laborious future than she had pictured, but she would probably have lovely dresses, right? And almost everyone would at least have to pretend to like her. Also, she wouldn’t have to reckon with the rooster anymore, though she did worry about Mouse and, in spite of herself, Flea and Fly. (Nonna’s future was no longer a concern, as arrangements had already been made for her to retire in the palace. Briar had already been assured she could visit her whenever she liked.)
And, what Briar would consider best of all in her heart of hearts was this: She would have a family. A real family.
As a little girl, Briar had once tried to call Nonna and Nonno mother and father. The pair had nearly died—a more understandable reaction, now that she knew her heritage—and firmly instructed her that she was never to bestow the title upon them again. Now, she would have a real father and mother—even a grandfather!
She shifted on Valor’s back and adjusted her grip on Isaia’s torso. She tried not to gawk as they approached her new “home,” but it was a difficult task.
The body of the palace was rectangular in shape and topped with a giant domed tower and marble statues of knights. Two wings thrust out in front of it like reaching arms, creating a rather imposing air. Awe-inspiring and somewhat pompous in its splendor, it was constructed with a greenish sort of stone and offset with white marble pillars and edging.
She sucked in air between clenched teeth. If the palace was an indication of the royal family, she was going to stick out like the peasant girl she’d been raised to be.
“You’ll be fine, Your Highness.” Donaigh smiled at her as his horse sauntered along.
Briar winced at the title. “I would rather you wouldn’t call me that, Donaigh. And I’m afraid to say I don’t agree with your assessment.”
“Then you are short-changing yourself,” Firra said as she nudged her horse forward so she was on Valor’s other side. “For though Donaigh is a fool, he is right. You have the strength of character and the intelligence to thrive here.”
“Did someone spit in your tea?” Donaigh asked the fire mage. “For you seem poorly tempered today.”
Briar eyed the palace—which seemed to stretch and loom in front of her. “I don’t think…how could I thrive? This isn’t what I expected to do—this isn’t what I wanted.”
“Yes.” Firra nodded, her mouth slanting in a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid your desire for an Easy-and-Carefree-Life won’t be realized. But I am quite reassured seeing how reluctant you are to claim your right of birth.”
Briar moved so her dagger no longer dug into her hip. “Why?”
“Because it means you grasp the situation,” Firra said. “Most silly girls would leap for joy if they were told they were Princess Rosalinda. Your reluctance proves you understand how difficult your new life will be, what sort of trials you have ahead of you.”
Briar half-smiled. “If you mean to be encouraging, Firra, you are failing miserably.”
Firra shrugged and picked at the medallions on her shoulder. “It might not be encouraging, but it is the truth. I know you, Briar Rose. I have watched you since you were a toddler, and I know you will excel here. You will rout the curse and take to your new future. You will be a wonderful princess and, someday, an excellent queen.”
Briar was silent as she contemplated Firra’s words.
“You will,” Isaia said, speaking for the first time since Briar had been boosted up behind him for the ride.
She leaned closer to him. “You really think so?”
Isaia nodded, warming her heart.
“And when you are in doubt, there is always the Donaigh family motto!” Donaigh piped in.
“How will spending less aid her?” Firra scoffed.
“As if I would know—perhaps she’ll be able to buy a second country,” Donaigh said.
Isaia eyed the mage. “You have a tenuous grasp of reality.”
“No, I just haven’t bothered myself with politics and governments. Laws and boundaries are such boring things. It makes me glad I’m a mage.” Donaigh offered Briar and Firra a lazy smile.
“Indeed,” Firra said. “The laws and rules of the Conclave make so much more sense.”
Briar glanced curiously at her magical protectors. “Have you worked in the Conclave a lot, then?”
Donaigh smiled brightly. “Not at all! In fact, we may not exactly be well-liked in the Conclave.”
“We might have bent a rule or two in our youth,” Firra said.
“The rules you just called logical?” Briar asked.
“Just so,” Donaigh said.
Though the two mages continued to chatter, a commotion at the palace drew Briar’s attention.
Waiting on the marble steps that led up to the palace, in grand array complete with banners, trumpets, carpets, and pomp, stood the royal family.
At least, Briar assumed it was the royal family—for who else walked around wearing crowns and such finery? With eager eyes, she took in her first glimpse of her family.
Princess Alessia and Prince Consort Filippo—her mother and father—stood together at the edge of the staircase. Her mother favored a gold tiara with red rubies, and a red and gold dress that probably cost enough to feed a farmer’s family for a year. A few be
autiful tears leaked from her blue eyes, but she was smiling as she grasped her husband’s arm. Her hair was covered with gold netting, and it was several shades darker than Briar’s chestnut brown, though there was a white streak in it at her right temple.
The prince consort was…beaming, for lack of an appropriate word. He had a simple golden circlet and, like his wife, was clothed in red and gold—even the cuffs of his black boots were embroidered with gold thread. He was tall and limber—though not so tall as Isaia—and his dark hair had turned from black to a shade of salt and pepper.
It was the sight of her grandfather, however, that killed any lingering doubts Briar had about her lineage. King Giuseppe wore a glittering gold crown studded with green emeralds, a green doublet so dark she’d bet it looked black in the shade, and a velvet green cape that looked dreadfully heavy and hot. His expression was stoic, edging on a frown. His bearings were noble, if not a bit haughty, but with great relief, Briar was able to pick out a few smile lines among his wrinkles. Most remarkably, King Giuseppe had the same violet-blue eyes as she had, making him the first person she had ever met with such an eye color.
A number of Magic Knights stood in formation before the palace. When Briar rode past, they saluted her, their spotless armor shimmering in the afternoon sun.
Isaia pulled Valor to a stop near the base of the palace stairs. He helped Briar dismount, then backed away with a bow.
“Isaia,” Briar hissed.
He held her gaze long enough to give her a barely perceptible smile, then joined Sir Roberto and the rest of the Magic Knights in saluting her.
Briar spun around, searching for Donaigh or Firra, but they were nowhere to be seen.
An oppressive silence loomed over the area, until King Giuseppe stirred. “Rosalinda Talia d’Avalas,” he said with a loud and booming voice. “Welcome home.”
“Rosalinda!” Princess Alessia was graceful and beautiful, even as she hurried down the stairs—the prince consort keeping himself to a barely restrained trot. She threw her arms around Briar—surprising her with the joy of the reunion and the knowledge that she was a hand taller than the princess—her mother.
This is my mother, Briar reminded herself. I have a mother and a father now—something I have always wanted. Slowly, cautiously, Briar returned the embrace, almost jumping out of her shoes when this made the princess cry harder.
Moments later, the consort joined the embrace, wrapping his arms around both Princess Alessia and Briar. His eyes were glazed with tears, and his voice rough with emotion as he said, “Welcome back, Daughter.”
Briar smiled at him, feeling awkward, shy, and a little hopeful. Though she had done nothing to warrant it, Princess Alessia and Prince Consort Filippo looked at her with the same love Nonna did.
“Tonight there will be a banquet to celebrate the return of my granddaughter,” King Giuseppe said. He made no move to join Briar and her parents; he seemed more intent on addressing the crowd. “The House of d’Avalas is complete once again!”
The Magic Knights of Sole shouted as one and swung their weapons to the sky. Everyone else present clapped and cheered.
And Briar…Briar could feel herself adjusting—warming to the love her parents showered on her. This was more than she dared to hope for. If all she gained was a loving mother and father in exchange for her new difficulties, it would be worth it.
After being paraded through the seemingly endless corridors and hallways of the royal palace, then stuffed into a dozen different dresses, Briar would have happily flopped down on her ridiculously large bed and slept for a week.
Unfortunately, King Giuseppe had decreed that there would be a banquet. So, driven by the desire to please her parents and her less-affectionate grandfather, Briar let herself be buttoned into a sapphire-purple gown accented with cream trim and lace. The gown was slightly puffed at the shoulders and elbows, and the forearms were slashed to reveal the silk kirtle the servants had wrapped her in.
Her chestnut hair was braided and pinned to the back of her head, then covered with delicate netting studded with opals.
Briar had gotten a brief glimpse of herself before she had been whisked off to the banquet. Truthfully, she was rather surprised—she looked like the same old Briar, merely dressed beautifully and cleaned up.
I thought maybe being in the palace and experiencing this new life would make me feel more…royal. But I don’t feel any different. I still feel like Briar Rose, not Princess Rosalinda.
“Are you enjoying the food, Daughter?” Princess Alessia asked. She blushed pink with happiness whenever she called Briar her daughter.
Briar forcibly yanked her attention from the sirloin roast she was slowly eating—even though she really wanted to devour it like a farmer’s hungry brat. “Yes! Everything is absolutely delicious.”
“I imagine it is quite a change in fare for you,” Prince Consort Filippo said.
Briar nodded, almost whacking herself in the face with her heavy opal earrings. “It is a bit overwhelming. But everything is so beautiful.”
“There will be dancing later,” Princess Alessia said. “I will warn you that you are likely to have a partner for every dance.”
Briar kept her smile in place, though internally she startled. They were going to expect her to dance? The only dances she knew were the country reels she got caught up in at some of the festivals at Sir Roberto’s. Briar wondered how she might delicately bring this up, but her sharp-eyed grandfather proved to be surprisingly astute.
King Giuseppe swirled his wine cup. “Do you know how to dance?”
Briar—doing her best to be the dazzling daughter they seemed to hope she was—smiled gently. “I’m afraid not.”
King Giuseppe’s eyebrows lowered. “Roberto said he would see to it that you were educated.”
“Oh, I was. Quite thoroughly,” Briar said.
“What sort of subjects did you learn?” Prince Consort Filippo asked with an encouraging smile.
“History, agriculture, economics, government, and mathematics mostly.”
Princess Alessia dabbed at her mouth with a cloth napkin. “How wonderful—I rather feared your education would suffer due to the need to hide you.”
“They covered it up quite nicely.” Briar stabbed a slice of eggplant covered with tomato sauce and carefully consumed it, mindful not to drop any on her dress. “Sir Roberto made a grand deal of needing to see Isaia properly taught, then offered to let me sit in on the lessons as well.”
“Ahh yes, Sir Isaia.” Prince Consort Filippo absentmindedly nibbled on his pear pastry. “He seems like a promising young knight.”
Briar tilted her head. “You know him?”
“Indeed,” the prince consort said. “When he came to train with the knights every summer, he gave us detailed reports about you.”
Unable to keep all the sourness out of her voice, Briar asked rather wryly, “Did he?”
Princess Alessia patted her hand. “Don’t be cross with him, darling. He shared for our sake. We wanted to hear everything we could about you.”
Briar smiled at Princess Alessia and Prince Consort Filippo. I believe I will like having parents.
King Giuseppe set his wine cup down with a metallic tap. “You said nothing of the subjects you will need to know.”
“I don’t believe I know what you are referring to.”
“Dancing, conversation, music, the proper way to walk, and so on.”
“You are correct, then. I received no schooling in those areas.” Thank goodness! If Sir Roberto had suggested such a thing, Briar would have snorted with laughter all the way out of the manor. At the time, her greatest ambition had been to marry a trader. What use were any of those?
And—even now—wasn’t it more important that she understood how the Sole government operated than to walk prettily?
“Such things can easily be taught, Father,” Princess Alessia said. “And from the way it sounds, dear Rosalinda might have received a more thorough educatio
n than I did as a girl!”
Though Briar had happily adjusted to daughter and tolerated princess, the name Rosalinda made her want to grimace. Rosalinda was for a beautiful, pampered girl with puppy eyes. Briar was not a Rosalinda.
King Giuseppe said nothing in response to his daughter’s comment, though he did eye Briar.
“And anyway, the wine is flowing thick tonight, so I do not believe our guests will mind if we request more simplistic dances,” Princess Alessia continued. “Your father can dance the first few sets with you and teach you as you go.”
The prince consort beamed. “Yes, that would be a delight!”
Briar smiled in response to their obvious affection. “I would enjoy that.”
“Then it’s settled,” Prince Consort Filippo said. “Now, Isaia once mentioned you had a particular love of cheese. I suggest you try these from Verglas…”
For the remainder of the meal, the princess and the prince consort tucked tasty tidbits of food onto Briar’s plate. She was surprised, for while she hoped her parents would be glad to see her, she didn’t think they would be so attentive and affectionate.
King Giuseppe seemed content to eat, though he occasionally gave monosyllabic replies when Princess Alessia said something to him.
Dancing with Prince Consort Filippo was fun! Briar’s father—though she still had a hard time thinking of him as such—was a patient instructor, who seemed perhaps even more delighted when she accidentally stepped on his boot than when she moved correctly.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to bear with us, Rosalinda.” Prince Consort Filippo gently corrected her when she started to move in the wrong direction. “Your mother and I badly wanted children, and we were robbed of our only daughter’s childhood. We’ll be making up for lost time now.” He winked playfully, drawing a smile from Briar.
“I will enjoy it,” Briar said firmly. “Though I apologize in advance. Hearing who I am…it’s been quite the adjustment.”
The prince consort took her by the arm and walked her around the dance floor during the promenade part of the song. “Of course,” he said. “We’ll just have to muddle through it all together. And don’t let your grandfather’s gruff exterior put you off. He cried like a baby when we had to send you off. We all did.”
