by Terry Spear
THE COURTLY MASQUERADE
by
Terry Spear
PUBLISHED BY:
Terry Spear on Smashwords
The Courtly Masquerade
Copyright © 2010 by Terry Spear
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CHAPTER 1
I, Arabella, Duchess of Foxmoor Castle currently, sat at my cousin’s bedside, still unable to fathom the princess’s words. “Princess Lynet, the physician has said you are too ill to travel to Crondor to meet Prince Renault. This I understand. But why am I to go in your place and pretend to be you?”
Lynet’s clear brown eyes and her peach-toned skin didn’t reveal any signs of sickness. Yet, if the king’s physician said my cousin was ill, she was ill.
Lynet coiled an auburn curl of hair around her finger. “We look nearly identical, dear cousin.”
The ‘dear cousin expression’ only came out when the spoiled rotten princess wanted something of me. Last year when we had turned sixteen, Lynet talked me into taking her place at the ball to dance with a forty-year-old Borasian prince that Lynet couldn’t stomach.
I soon found out why as the prince ate tons of garlic and onions, danced on my feet, and was a total bore. I’d had a devil of a time trying not breathe in his horrifically, horrible odorous breath. Not only that, but he was of the opinion, baths make one ill.
After the dance, I feared I’d have to burn my best ball gown, when his body odor permeated the velvet fabric.
Now what did dear Lynet have in mind exactly?
“Neither of us have met Prince Renault. What courtly gossip have you received that forces you to ask for my help in this matter?”
Lynet closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “So unwell, so unwell. I cannot speak of it.” She raised her hand to her forehead.
I squelched the irritation running in my blood and poured water into a brass goblet. “Would you like something to drink to ease your suffering?”
Lynet opened her eyes, smugly smiled, and shook her head. “You can only ease my suffering if you would take my place, dear cousin.”
Two dear cousins in one conversation. Now that was a world record.
I straightened my spine, not wanting to hear any more about this task, figuring this time it would be more detestable than the last.
Lynet fluttered her hand over her face, then rested it on her waist, covered by an ice blue velvet coverlet. “I’m only an inch taller than you, but otherwise our hair and eyes are the same color. And often we are mistaken for one another. Or at least we were until my father decided you would no longer wear my favorite colors.”
Which left me with brown, black, or a pale yellow. My skin appeared sickly whenever I wore yellow and courtiers only wore black in mourning. So like the servants, I wore brown. But because I am a duchess, my gowns are made of rich velvets, satins or silks, and then I stitch colorful flowers or bright green leaves to brighten the dull color. The king had declared he didn’t wish one more suitor or courtier to mistake me for the princess. So until I marry and can leave Foxmoor, I will wear brown.
Most of the time it doesn’t bother me, except when I saw the most beautiful blue satin fabric at market that I would have made into a gown for my seventeenth birthday. Lynet swiped it from me and made it into her seventeenth birthday gown instead.
I try not to think about that day a week ago, but sometimes the image of Lynet ripping the silky fabric from my hands and declaring, “Oh, dear cousin, you have found just the right material for my birthday gown,” comes back to me all in a rush. At these times I want to slap her, take the fabric back, and tell her she can take a flying leap into yonder canyon. But this is only on really bad days. Like this evening.
Lynet studied me with a simpering smile on her lips. Was it from the sickness, or was it something else?
“Are you feverish? I could wipe your brow,” I asked.
“No, no, I’m fine. Well, not fine, mind you. But I don’t want cold, wet compresses on my head, messing up my hair.”
I nodded.
Not only did we look alike, our mothers gave birth to us only minutes apart. They were sisters, only her mother married the king, and mine married a duke. When my parents died, I inherited the dukedom of Cambria. But I could not possess it, until I wed a duke. Oftentimes I wished my mother had been the queen, but now with Lynet having to marry this disagreeable Prince Renault, I was almost glad, she was the princess.
Almost. As for now, I was to marry the despicable Duke Farthington, a forty-year-old, balding, out-of-shape, surly man who’d already buried two wives.
Prince Renault couldn’t be that bad. Could he?
“He has never met us, so he would never know it is not I who joins him,” my cousin said, touching the three-inch lace on the sleeves of her blue silk bed gown.
I studied my cousin’s healthy-looking complexion. “I can’t marry the man who is to wed you. He could have me beheaded for pretending to be you if he found out.”
“You are to ensure you do everything to make him dislike you.”
“What?” Now this really was going too far.
“I wish to marry Prince Sumaria from—”
“Our mountain border. The prince in line for being king of Creshion.” Handsome, blond, extremely charismatic, from what I’d heard tell, though I’d never seen the prince. I wondered when Lynet had met him.
Lynet nodded.
I took a deep breath trying to settle my raw nerves. Pretending to be a princess, especially one that the king was using to forge an alliance with another kingdom, was an extremely dangerous thing to do.
“I am to marry Duke Farthington in a couple of months. How will my absence be explained?”
“It’s taken care of. I didn’t think you were fond of the duke.” The princess’s lips twitched up.
Of course, I didn’t care for him. Most people didn’t. But he had power and money and the king’s ear. He wanted me, as I owned my own dukedom, had power and money and mine added to his would benefit him greatly.
“I don’t,” I said, in my most cheerful voice, “but I’ve been given no choice. Such is the way of royalty.” I often wondered what it would be like to be a baron’s daughter, or maybe a knight’s daughter. Would she have more choice in her marriage to a gentleman?
“Yes, well, perhaps I can arrange for a new marital agreement,” the princess said, batting her dark eyelashes.
Perhaps? That was the key glitch to the whole thing. Perhaps my dear cousin, the princess of Foxmoor, wouldn’t make the effort.
I could see myself pleading with the head chopper in Crondor, who summarily separated people’s heads from their bodies with his sharp axe. Yet should I escape such a fate...and furthermore if I were successful in convincing the prince I was his unworthy princess bride--which would be easy to do if I were truly Lynet—I would return to Foxmoor Castle and find? Dear paunchy, balding, and widowed—twice over—Duke Farthington wait
ing to wed me. Would the agreement have been nullified?
I hate to admit I very much doubt so. Which leads me to my current dilemma. How do I keep my wits about me, and my head connected to my neck in the interim?
But what if—and this is a big if—Lynet did stick by her word and she could arrange for me to marry someone else? “There are no other nobles in the area as high a rank as me, who are unmarried,” I remarked.
“True,” Lynet said. “But we will come to that bridge when we have to.”
Truth be known, I have always felt there is something terribly wrong with me. I just don’t find men appealing in a romantic sort of way. Though I recently learned my mother and Lynet’s mother, my aunt, were both “late bloomers,” which may be what I am, too. When other girls are giggling, fluttering their lashes, and sticking their chests out to get a boy’s attention, I walk on by, absolutely disinterested.
Though this is not to say I don’t like to join in the company of men on hunts, either with my bow or bird, or that I don’t enjoy a good sword or staff practice. Or that I can’t discuss the management of soldiers, farming, households and the likes on an equal basis, but this is not the same as fluttering eyelashes and smiling coyly to obtain the highly regarded...kiss.
“You must remember always to pretend you are me,” Lynet said with a giggle.
“Well, I won’t have any difficulty showing no romantic interest in Prince Renault’s charms, should he prove to be charming, or handsome, or interesting, or an avid bath taker—as I have no interest in gentlemen in that regard at all.”
Lynet shook her head. “You must flirt with others in his court. Irritate him in any way you can.”
Deliberately making the man dislike me, that’s another story. I never make it a practice to annoy people. Though I’m sure I irritate my cousin, Lynet, at times inadvertently. A prime example goes back to the rule of dress.
I swallowed hard, hoping somehow I’d wiggle myself out of resting my head on the executioner’s block at Crondor. “Your father hasn’t said a thing about this to me. Are you sure this is what he wants?” I couldn’t imagine it was. “I thought he wanted ties to Crondor, not Creshion.”
“He wants ties to everywhere to avoid conflicts. But alas, he only has one daughter.” The princess’s face brightened. “And...a look-a-like niece who could save my life.”
A little overly dramatic I thought. So she had to marry an ogre. I had to also. And certainly what I would have to do to get her out of her predicament could put my life in real peril.
“So you’re saying the king agrees with this scheme?” I still didn’t trust that he did.
“Yes. You’re to leave tonight. I’ve already had one of my trunks packed with the gowns I wore when I was still your height. Pick out one of my brown riding gowns for the trip.”
Even in her disguise I would not be able to ditch the brown gowns, at least for a time.
The princess said, “You will go, make the prince detest you, and then I’ll be free to wed Prince Sumaria.”
I sighed, deeply exasperated, making another attempt to change her mind. “But if you have never met Prince Renault, and then spent some time with him, perhaps you would care for him as much as you do for Sumaria.”
“He threatened my father with war until my father agreed to give me up as his bride. Though Prince Renault did say, I had to pique his interest. If not, he would release my father from his agreement.”
“But when you recover from your illness, you could show how much you dislike the prince.” And much better than I could. Princess Lynet could have the worst tantrums—without provocation—of any rich, spoiled lady I knew.
Lynet shook her head. “I can’t do it. Prince Sumaria said if I go to see Prince Renault, he’s calling off his agreement to marry me. He was very agreeable that I would send you in my place.”
“Do you have the letter from Prince Renault? I should probably take it with me so they know it is me—well, you rather—that has come at his request.”
“No.”
I must have looked startled at the abruptness and rudeness in her voice. I thought my request totally appropriate and sincere.
She smiled sweetly. “Father keeps important documents like those in his archives.”
“Is everyone to know about this—”
“No. I will live in your quarters, pretending to be you until you return, though I don’t know how I’ll manage to wear only brown dresses all the time. You’re lucky you love the color so well. But you must accomplish the task quickly and come home right away.”
I took another deep breath, trying to calm my anxiety as the nape of my neck crawled. I could see my hair being piled high on my head while the executioner readied his axe.
Though I was a royal duchess, only one rank lower than a princess and had many privileges, I also found myself in predicaments—such as these—I had no control over. “I will do as you wish, Princess Lynet.”
She smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her darkened, narrowed eyes. “Of course you will.” Lynet motioned toward the door. “Your escort awaits in the courtyard.”
There were no more “dear cousin” sentiments and now that I had been formerly dismissed, it was time to leave the home I had known for the last four years, and venture across lands I had never been.
But first, I had to change, gather my staff and sword, and arrange for my lady-in-waiting, Baroness DeChamplainet, to accompany me.
Nothing worked out as I planned.
As soon as I stepped out the door, a man—I’d never seen before—grabbed my arm and hurried me down the long hall toward the servant’s entrance to the castle. I guessed it was because of my pretending to be the princess, and she’d had the whole matter well taken in hand.
“But I need to change into the princess’s—”
“In the coach,” the man said, gruffly. His black hair brushed his collar and his black beard did, too. I could barely make out his ebony eyes, as beady as they were. Wrinkled flesh and a bridge of brows hid them almost entirely.
“But I must speak with my lady-in-waiting and—”
“You are under strict orders to leave without word to any.”
I stared at the carriage that I was being rushed to. It was not one of the royal carriages, painted in familiar brilliant red with a golden eagle emblazoned on its side. Instead, black paint peeled from the wooden conveyance and a remnant of red paint, indicating whoever’s emblem had once graced the carriage, was nearly gone.
“Whose carriage is this?”
“Bandits will avoid attacking a carriage like this.”
I knew then the king either didn’t have word of what his daughter intended, or if he did, something else was at stake.
At least I had my jewel-handled dagger and a fair amount of coins in my purse.
Where the carriage sat waiting, the torches had all been extinguished—another ominous sign. But then again, if I were to leave in secrecy...
The man jerked the door open, and it creaked. I lifted my gowns and nearly fell inside the carriage as he made no effort to assist me up the rickety wood step.
Then he slammed the door closed.
As soon as I sat on the leather bench seat, I felt something crinkle underneath me. Black leather flaps hung down in the windows, though with the darkness of night, I couldn’t see anything anyway.
The horses took off, and I nearly fell from my seat.
I spoke a light spell, having discovered that since I turned seventeen, I had somehow garnered several new mage abilities. To my relief, in the equivalent of a faint candlelight’s glow, I found my traveling cloak, a perfectly weatherproof garment. In addition, I found a pouch filled with cheese, dried fish and beef, and freshly baked bread, resting upon my cloak. My water pouch lay nearby. Then I pulled the paper from underneath my gown. There was no seal, just a folded piece of parchment. I opened it with enthusiasm, hoping for some word of encouragement on this dismal night.
They intend to sell you to slave
rs. As soon as the carriage stops anywhere, get away. Make your way to Castle Ro. My good friend, Duke Yalovon, manages the dukedom. You will say you are my niece, Lady Arabella. She died last year, but he will not know this. You will be his governess for his twin girls. Live there and prosper, dear lady. I will join you when I can safely do so.
Your lady-in-waiting, Baroness DeChamplainet.
CHAPTER 2
Sickened beyond belief that my whole world had instantly turned upside once again because of my scheming cousin’s wishes, I knew all along this scheme of Lynet’s—or was the king also involved in it?—could be my undoing.
But I never figured I’d be running for my life this soon in the game. I tucked the letter into my bodice, pulled my cloak over my shoulders, and tied the food pack across my chest so it swung to my side. I attached my water pouch to my gold belt, shut off my magical light and...waited.
Because the carriage was in such rickety shape, and the man who’d escorted me to it, dressed in not much better clothing, I assumed I would not have much of an escort—my cousin thinking I would not be able to put up much resistance. I worried that if I waited for the carriage to come to a full stop, I might be in for real trouble. So some hours later when the road twisted hard to the right, slowing down to manage the curve, I lifted a flap and peered out.
Except for the pale moonlight and the flickering flame torches two men bore in front of the carriage horses, everything was pitch black. I thought I heard a horse behind us, but it was hard to tell with the ones in front pounding on the hardened earth, whether another rode behind us or not. But I assumed at least one would.
If he were there, would he see me jump from the carriage? Since I wore my black cloak and brown gown, I thought he would not be able to. And for the first time, I was glad I wore such dark, dull colors.
I shoved open the door and barely heard the creak over the sound of the horses’ clomping and the squeaking of the wheels as they bumped along the rutted road. I prayed that I would not kill myself as I jumped from the rolling, rocking conveyance.
