Three Nights With the Princess

by Betina Krahn

  Thera felt oppressed by his logic. How neatly he had turned it all around and made it seem there was a compelling need for things they had gotten along without for years.

  “Please, Yer Grace.” The smith approached with a courteous bow. “He speaks truly. Harold and me could do much more . . . if we had more hearths and a bit more raw iron. Collier, the head plowman—he only got two iron plowshares, and durin’ the plowing just past, he had to bring me them old wooden blades again an’ again for patchin’. They near lost the plantin’ moon because of it.” Nearby stood Collier and several of his men, nodding agreement and looking urgently to her for approval.

  She felt the eyes of her people on her, searching, waiting for her decision. And when she looked at Saxxe, there was a challenge in his expression that said to choose anything other than enlarging the forge would be to slight her people’s welfare. But why would he care? And what could he expect to gain from such a development? She was furious at the way he had taken her sensual surrender of last night as a license to meddle in the affairs of her kingdom, but just now she couldn’t think of a way to counter both his conclusions and her people’s support of them.

  After a long, tense moment, she announced her decision. “Very well—build your new hearths.” Joy flooded the smith’s ruddy countenance, and at the edge of her vision her plowmen whooped and began jostling and dancing about. “But you will spend your efforts on tools and plows and implements for living and working, not on weapons or armor,” she admonished, turning a determined look on Saxxe. “I will not allow Mercia’s forge to be used to produce implements of death and destruction.”

  “No weapons? That’s absurd,” Saxxe declared, angered by her stubbornness in the face of what her recent experience should have taught her. “You need weapons every bit as much as you need tools!” But she was already leaving.

  “You’ve heard my instructions,” she said to Randall, then turned to the crowd. “And you . . . have you nothing better to do than to stand around gaping and gossiping? You’ve left your shops and benches idle, and the day is wasting.”

  When she lifted her skirts, the crowd parted to let her pass, then followed her dutifully back to their houses, workbenches, and looms. But as they went, they glanced back at the half-demolished forge and at victorious Saxxe Rouen, and smiled at his masterful handling of their strong-willed princess. He might have only four-sevenths of their princess’s nights, but in their hearts they were more than ready to crown him king.

  * * *

  Six elders were required to sit with Thera to hear cases brought before the royal court each month. But by the ringing of None, mid-afternoon, there were still only five elders in their places on the dais of the marble-lined audience chamber . . . and those were all women. Thera had sent pages to fetch some of the other elders, but they hadn’t returned, and in exasperation she sent Lillith to look for them. When Lillith didn’t return, she finally decreed the court convened and had Cedric call the first claimant.

  The case involved a dispute between two merchants, each of whom claimed the same space in the market and had erected a large signboard to protect his claim. Each now called his neighbor’s sign a public nuisance. But when their names were called to appear, they were not to be found.

  “You’re sure they knew their case would be heard today?” Thera said, frowning.

  “Most certain,” Cedric answered, shaking his head. “I’ll send for them. Meanwhile, I can call another case. Stephan the barber brings Michael the baker to the court . . . a matter of nonpayment for a bit of wart removal, cupping, and bleeding.” But when they were called, both proved absent from the mostly empty supplicant benches outside the audience chamber doors.

  Five more cases were called and only one could actually be heard. Either principals or witnesses in the others failed to appear to give testimony.

  “My elders . . . the supplicants to the court . . . the witnesses . . .” The weight of so much truancy collected at the edge of Thera’s awareness until it toppled her thoughts into the dread conclusion: “It’s him again. I’m certain of it.” She pinned Cedric with a glare. “Saxxe Rouen, where is he?”

  Cedric shrugged; he had no more idea than she did. Thera shed her coronet and robes of state and headed for the city with her shoulders set and her eyes ablaze. Lillith met her before she reached the market square, bearing news that many of the city’s people were on the lower valley road on the far side of the city . . . where Saxxe Rouen and Elder Mattias had organized a number of horse races.

  “Horse races?” Thera nearly choked on the words. She grasped her skirts and went flying through the streets, with Cedric and a number of her elders trailing along.

  Surely enough, the road leading to the lower valley was lined with jostling, noisy people, craning their necks to see when the next pair of horses would begin thundering down the road. It wasn’t long before another pair of fleet-footed mares came racing down the course, headed straight at Thera. She grabbed Lillith and darted to the side just in time, bringing other spectators scurrying to inquire if she was all right.

  “I’m fine,” she declared indignantly, tugging her tunic and girdle back into place. “Which is more than Saxxe Rouen will be when I find him!”

  As it happened, she didn’t have to find him; he found her. He had been riding one of the horses that had careened past her and now turned his mount and raced back to her. He dropped to the ground at her feet and grasped her shoulders, looking her over with a harried expression.

  “Are you all right?” He seemed surprised when she smacked his hands away and huddled back as if he were a viper about to strike.

  “You’re responsible for all this, I presume,” she charged, waving her hand at the crowd and the lathered horses. “Arranging horse races! I might have guessed. It wasn’t enough for you to tear down part of my city. You have to lead my people into idleness and vice as well!”

  “Vice?” He jerked his chin back. “There’s nothing sinful about enjoying a horse race . . . or making a bit of a wager on one.”

  “Princess!” Elder Mattias came running up, red-faced and glowing with excitement. “Was it not marvelous? A true horse race. And did you see—they flew like the wind!” When she glared at him, he drew back, buffeted by her towering displeasure at something he had awaited so eagerly.

  “No more, do you hear? Pulling folk from their labors to stand around in the hot sun . . . frittering away their time and worldly goods. How much did you collect from them today, Rouen?”

  He straightened, his shoulders swelling as his defenses rose. “If you must know, I made not a single wager. I did it to show Mattias here and some of his young men how to handle a horse in a race. And I did it for amusement, entertainment . . . fun. You do recall what fun is?” He stalked closer and, since she could not retreat, loomed over her. “How long has it been since you did something just for the joy of it, Princess?”

  “What I do and don’t do are not at issue here!” she insisted, humiliated at the way she had to drop her head back to continue to meet his gaze. The heat from his chest migrating into the tips of her breasts reminded her of more intimate and pleasurable encounters with him, and she had the feeling he knew it . . . that it was part of his strategy.

  “Oh, but they are. In fact, I believe that is exactly what is at issue here. When did you last laugh and gambol and play, Thera? Can you recall the time?”

  The intense focus of his eyes prodded her to recall something specific . . . and in a heartbeat she realized he meant their time together on the riverbank . . . having a mud fight . . . romping and laughing . . . and experiencing her first full taste of pleasure. The memory ignited her anger even as it weakened her knees. How dare he drag something as precious as that moment into an argument over a horse race?

  “Your people are the most diligent folk I have ever seen. They work hard . . . just as you do . . . and they deserve a bit of amusement, a chance to escape the tyranny of those wretched bells now and again.”
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br />   “What right do you have to tell me what my people need?” she demanded, stalking back. “Why are you suddenly so concerned for their welfare?”

  Why? It was a question with an edge far sharper than she could have imagined. His face took on the semblance of stone.

  “Because in three more nights this will be my home as well as theirs,” he declared fiercely. “Three more nights and they’ll be my people and I’ll be—” He caught himself before he said it, but not a person within hearing couldn’t have finished his sentence.

  Their king. It rang like a cymbal in Thera’s head. He knew about the nights, she realized. He knew that if he managed to claim them, he would have both her and the right to half of her throne. And this sojourning among her people . . . he was laying claim to her kingdom, bit by bit.

  She looked at the faces trained on them in expectation. He was insinuating himself into Mercia’s heart and soul the same way he had invaded hers . . . with the tantalizing sense of freedom he created all around him, with his irresistible passion for living for the moment. Her people liked him. They wanted him. He laid claim to them with only a smile and a swagger . . . and she resented the ease of his conquest, when she had spent years earning their respect and preparing to rule wisely. How could her people be so accepting of someone they knew nothing about?

  Then it struck her: why shouldn’t they accept him on faith? She had brought him among them and given him her passion and her nights. She was their ruler, their future queen, whose duty was to put their welfare before her own. They accepted him, she realized, in part because they trusted her. They had no way of knowing the dangers he posed for them . . . or the conflict he stirred in her heart.

  For the first time in her life, she wondered if she was worthy of their trust.

  When she looked up at him, the determination in his angular face made her heart quiver. When she spoke, her voice sounded strangely full.

  “There will be no more horse races . . . until I say it may be so.”

  Saxxe watched her turn on her heel and stride back toward the city. He was unsure of all that had happened in those brief moments, but she hadn’t retreated in outrage or attacked his arrogance and presumption. There was indeed hope.

  * * *

  In the cool twilight of her walled garden, Thera sat listening to the sound of the frogs in the nearby fish pond and smelling the delicate fragrance of lush new growth all around her. She had sent all of her attendants away the moment she returned to the palace, and had cloistered herself in her chambers to think in peace. It had taken a while, but she had managed to regard her situation in a somewhat more rational manner . . . and decided that it wasn’t a particularly rational situation.

  “Pardon, Princess,” her page said quietly, startling her so that she turned on the bench. “Elder Audra and a number of the women elders are at your door. They say it is urgent that they see you.”

  Thera took a deep breath and nodded, granting them audience.

  More than half a dozen women soon collected into a defensive knot before Thera’s bench. Their faces were grave and a number of them held hands, as if to bolster their courage.

  “Princess.” Elder Audra stepped forward to speak for them. “We bring most distressing news. Hearing your impossible debt to Saxxe Rouen . . . we took it upon ourselves to search the sacred scrolls for a provision or codicil which might release you from your vow.”

  Thera shoved to her feet. “You did what?”

  “Please, Princess, don’t be angry,” Margarete said, coming to peer at her over Audra’s shoulder. “We could not abide the thought of you being forced to . . . endure such a fate at a crude barbarian’s hands. Prithee forgive us, Your Highness . . . we meant no offense.”

  Thera turned away and stood tautly for a moment, staring into the encroaching purple shadows of night. She didn’t know whether to be indignant at their presumption or to be grateful for their concern.

  “And did you find a way?” she said, turning to study their faces. Audra glanced at Margarete and fidgeted uncomfortably.

  “Nay, Princess, we found nothing to release you from your word. We found . . . something far worse.”

  “Worse?” Thera clasped her hands hard; they were beginning to tremble.

  “Not in the laws, but in the prophecies . . . we found . . .” Anxiety progressively constricted Audra’s voice until she halted and nudged Margarete to make her take it up.

  “We found another prophecy, a dire one,” Margarete said in somber tones.

  “A prophecy?” Thera blanched and took a step backward. It had to be trouble if those wretched prophecies were involved; the cursed things were filled with gloom and portents of destruction.

  “You know of the prophecy that catastrophe will befall if the heir to the throne does not marry and the thrones remain empty,” Margarete continued.

  “Every wretched word,” Thera said irritably. “By heart.”

  “Well . . . there is yet another prophecy that pertains.” Margarete turned to Elder Jeanine and held out her hand for the scroll. “We copied the words and phrases for you.” She began to speak them from memory as Thera opened the scroll and stared in dread at the dim figures.

  “‘The very stones weep for Mercia . . . for this hour of travail that comes upon her. All that was will be no more. In the days of an unmarried ruler, in the time of empty and troubled thrones . . . a dark and powerful prince . . . a man of steel, a man of blood . . . will come upon fair Mercia,’” Audra said in a drone filled with portent. “‘With his dark hands he will wreak destruction . . . with his dark heart he will work schemes and treachery among us . . . with his dark might he will spread conflict and chaos throughout the land. Weep for the proud mountains who have faithfully guarded the kingdom . . . for they will be breached . . . and the three-headed beast of war, famine, and disease will stalk the land . . . devouring the people . . .’”

  Thera could not see the writing, could scarcely feel the stiff, dry parchment in her hands. She didn’t want to hear such a thing, didn’t want to acknowledge it. But it was there in her hands and in her mind.

  “If you fulfill your word and grant him the remaining nights, then you will likely wed him,” Audra said in a hoarse whisper. “And if you wed him, the kingdom will be in grave danger, Princess.”

  “How can you be sure he is the man?” Thera protested.

  “He is dark . . . a man who bears steel at his side and above his heart,” Jeanine said.

  “He is a man of blood . . . a warrior accustomed to battle and to killing,” Margarete added, biting her lip at the sight of Thera’s growing distress. “And yours is a solitary bed, which leaves the thrones unfilled. The conditions are the very ones laid forth in the prophecy.”

  “He wants you, Princess, and will trade upon your desire for him to win a place at your side,” Audra added. “If you give yourself to him, half of the throne will be his, and he will begin to spread chaos and destruction.” She exchanged worried glances with the others. “There is one way to be sure: test the prophecy against whatever happens . . . watch for the signs.”

  “The signs?” Thera’s heart stopped.

  “A man is known by his works,” Jeanine said softly.

  The parchment began to tremble in Thera’s hands.

  “Princess?” Audra took a step toward her.

  “Leave me, please,” she ordered, shrinking back. “Just go.”

  As they curtsied and withdrew, she sank onto the bench, holding the parchment so tightly that it began to crumple in her hands. She had never given credence to the old prophecies, until the mounting troubles she encountered on her ill-fated journey began to seem like a punishment for her avoidance of marriage. And at times, she had to admit, Saxxe seemed like a plague the fates had set upon her. Now those feelings combined with this rediscovered prophecy to give focus and weight to her vague fears about him and his effect on her people.

  A dark prince. Saxxe wasn’t precisely a prince, but he was dark. And he
was indeed a man of steel; he never went anywhere without his wretched daggers. And with her own two eyes she had seen him shed blood. A man was known by his works, Audra said. Well, just this morning she caught him tearing down their forge and this afternoon he had led her people to abandon their honest work. And he had all but proclaimed that he intended to take her in marriage and, through her, the throne.

  But even as the weight of circumstance joined against him, her heart rallied to his defense. He might be dark and powerful, but there was nothing sinister or treacherous about his dealings. He was appallingly open about his desire for her and for making her kingdom his. She thought of his loving, then of his smiles and how gently he had touched the children yesterday. There was a gentler side to him; he could be so very generous and tender.

  The conflict between her desires and the good of her kingdom suddenly seemed overwhelming. For more than an hour she wrestled with it, pacing and thinking and laying out the facts and the prophecy side by side. But it all led her into a desperate circle of hope and doubt. What she needed was an objective ear . . . someone wise and experienced and not easily swayed by emotion or overawed by the power of the Sacred Scrolls. She turned to the one who had always advised her in times of difficult decisions; she sent for Cedric.

  But her page returned from Cedric’s house at the edge of the palace grounds with word that he hadn’t returned home for supper. His good wife believed him to still be in the palace somewhere. Thera sent the page to search the council chamber and audience hall and private dining chamber. After a time, he returned wearing a dubious frown. The chancellor, it seemed, was in the kitchens with Saxxe Rouen and a host of other men. And when pressed about what they were doing there, the lad rolled his eyes and said that she had best come and see for herself.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Noise from the great, stone-walled chamber reverberated along the corridors to meet Thera as she hurried to the kitchens. She could make out voices, shouts of merriment and laughter, and there was music—the drone of vibrating strings and pipes. A billow of heat rolled from the doors, laden with odors of ale and warm bodies. She squared her shoulders and forged into the glow of burning tallow and hearth flames.