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An expert from the The Third Queen:
An expert from the The Third Queen:
Chapter One
Be good to your husband,
your lord.
Treat the servants
well.
Never speak unless
asked to.
Since birth, these were
the lessons I was taught. But it was the
last one I repeated in my head as the carriage bounced along the rocky
road. I tried to set my nervousness
aside and remember how fortunate I was. From
among the slew of peasants and commoners, I had been chosen. Today, I was going to the king’s court to
marry into the royal family.
With shaky fingers, I
smoothed the front of my gown admiring the intricate beading and recalling my
mother’s praise of how the emerald satin complemented my red curls. “Sylvain,
you were born for this moment,” she whispered and kissed my head, and so it was
true. How my parents rejoiced upon my fourteenth birthday when it was
clear that the beauty of my youth would continue into my adulthood. I would be chosen. That fact was as certain as the rising of the
sun over the green hills each morning.
“Such beauty cannot be
overlooked,” the sentinels of the village often said. So when it became known that a certain
nobleman named Lord Perish, cousin of the king, was seeking a bride, my name
was quickly submitted. Two officials of
the court came to our small village. The
women dressed me in the finest of garments and wove red Sylvain flowers into my
hair, the very flowers my parents had named me after. I was set upon a wood block as the officials
assessed me. Just like a dumb ass, I
didn’t speak a word.
“Fine,” the officials
said, “very fine indeed. We will send a
carriage for her later in the month if she is selected for the court.”
No one in the village
doubted the carriage would come, except me.
Mother praised my modesty, saying it only added to my beauty. I was quiet, calm and stunning. Exactly what a woman should be.
The carriage did
come. Black wood from the Fir Forests
carved in the most current fashion with deep gibbets and spikes, pulled by six
white horses. After being cinched into
the emerald gown and crowned with the jewels the court had sent, my parents
kissed me and I looked upon my small mountain home for the last time. As the carriage pulled away, the village
women waved their handkerchiefs while the men cheered, “May the grace of Fion
ever be upon you.” Exuberant. Joyful.
One of their own had become royalty.
The town would be blessed and prosper much for producing such a flower.
My own handkerchief was
wrung tightly around my fingers. I ought
not to have been so nervous. I had
always known this day would come, but now that it was here, I found myself more
terrified than I could have imagined. I
had never met this Lord Perish, but I had heard that he was a gentle if not
reserved, sallow man taken more with the pen and paint brush than the sword or
saber. I suppose this pleased me. A man with an easel was far less intimidating
than a man with a spear. This was what I
thought. Of course my thoughts would not
matter; I would be the only one to know them.
As was expected, I had
not said a word the entire trip. Not to
the horse tender or the coachman or to the court official who snored loudly in
the seat across from mine. “True beauty
speaks for itself,” mother had whispered, reminding me yet again of the custom,
“do not utter a syllable and no one will be able to keep their eyes off you.”
But eyes on me just
made me uncomfortable and shy. As the
carriage rounded a bend, the king’s palace came into view. Seeing all the houses, it became very clear
just how many eyes I would have to avoid in a place so vast. My heart thundered so loud and fast I was
afraid it would awaken the official. The
last moments passed too quickly and then the horses were reined to a stop.
The official snorted
awake. In a whirl, I was rushed out of the carriage by more attendants into the
bright sunshine of the stone courtyard and then into the cool shade of the
palace. As my eyes adjusted, I had to
stifle a gasp. The palace was even
grander and more terrifying then I had imagined. The ceiling was impossibly far above, and
there was a great chandelier of silver glinting from it. Tapestries and finely woven rugs adorned the
highly polished stone walls and floors.
Every inch seemed to sparkle as though painted with stars.
“Come this way,” a
servant instructed. He led me up a
winding staircase, down a long hall with windows open to the green fields
below, and into a small, circular room.
More attendants
entered, all male of course, fluffing out my dress and dabbing powder onto my
nose. One set to straightening the curls
on my head.
When they had finished,
they stepped back and let out an audible sigh.
“One of the finest
we’ve ever had,” one said in awe. “Her
skin is smoother than the freshly fallen snow.”
“Her lips are like the
petals of a rose.”
But it was my hair and
eyes that got the most attention. “Such
ruby tones. Eyes like gems.”
“Exquisite.”
My glossed lips
remained closed. Though they were
servants, they were not my servants. I would not speak to them.
The attendants parted
as one of the court officials entered the room.
He wore a large hat with a purple plume protruding from it. He looked me over and clasped his hands.
“Ah, you must be
Sylvain.”
I nodded.
“Delightful,” he
cheered. “It is such a pleasure to find
a country flower such as yourself so well mannered. Your parents have taught you well.” He held his arm out and I took it. Another
flare of nervousness coursed through me, but he seemed not to notice. Leading me back down the stairway, he
chatted, “I am Dockam. I have been in
the service of Lord Parish for eighteen years now. He trusted no one more with the tasking of
finding him a suitable bride.” He patted
my arm. “I am very pleased to believe
that I have succeeded.”
For my sake more than
his, I hoped he was right. What a
disgrace it would be if Lord Parish deemed me unsuitable. How could I face my parents and
the village?
“We will be dinning in
the main hall,” Dockam said excitedly as if this were a special thing. “The King himself will be coming. Though I expect he will be late as usual
after a long trip to the southern border.”
I was surprised he would be attending at all with the war being waged
between Diria and Glockland over a tiny speck of land that stood between: Southland. “He will probably be in a sour mood, too.”
Dockam lowered his voice as if speaking to me in confidence, but there was a
smile on his lips as if this were somehow humorous. “We will have to avoid him
the best we can.”
As shocking as it was
to hear this official speaking of avoiding the king, it was more shocking still
to hear him speak to me like a— friend.
We walked down the
length of the inner courtyard and paused before two thick wooden doors. A great noise was coming from the other side,
like that of a hundred people talking, silverware clanging and music
playing. My hands were suddenly slick
with sweat.
“Well this is it,
dear.” Dockam squeezed my arm. “Take a
deep breath and don’t look so ill.”
I did as he
instructed. Calm, Sylvain. I told
myself. Calm as the summer wind blowing through the buckabow trees.
Dockam nodded and
sighed as if in relief. “That’s better.”
He leaned down so that his face was inches from mine. I tried to stop the reflex to back away from
such closeness. “Now brighten your eyes
like you’ve just been surprised,” he instructed. I tried to do so without feeling
foolish. “Good. Now just a hint of a smile on those pretty
lips.” I did so without letting them
part.
He leaned back. “Perfect.
Now hold that as we enter. You
will find Lord Parish sitting at the head table, four seats down from the
throne on the left. You will be
presented first and if all goes well, he will offer you the place beside
him. Alright?”
I merely blinked.
He must have received
that as a “yes”, for he nodded to the two guards who then swung open the great
doors.
The roar of the room
blasted my ears. I left my face frozen
in the expression Dockam had sculpted, doing my best just to breathe. As we entered, a trumpet sounded to still the
crowd, but it rang too late. As soon as
my feet passed the doorway, a hush rippled across the room. Men and women’s mouths hung open, their
goblets suspended in their hands.
Someone to the right dropped a platter and a loud clang echoed through
the hall.
Heat flushed my cheeks
and though I felt a strong urge to flee, I found myself being led to the center
of the room, surrounded by long tables and gapping faces on all sides.
Dockam gave a small
cough and I remembered that he was there.
“Lord Parish,” his voice rang loud and clear, “may I present Lady
Sylvain.”
Before I could
determine which of the faces was the Lord’s, I bowed my head and dipped my leg
back into a low curtsey. For several
beats, all I could see was the polished gray stone of the floor. No one spoke a word, but I could sense the
rustle of fabric as people moved and leaned in for a closer look at me. Then there was the click of boots upon the
floor ahead of me. They took slow and
deliberate steps, moved to my right and then circled back around to the left,
finally stopping right in front of me so that the leather toe was just
visible. I did my best to keep my
breathing steady and slow as possible, though my heart tripped and
skipped.
A hand came into
view. A large hand but not one calloused
with hard labor. A finger went to my
chin. It brought my face up. I looked into the face of Lord Parish, haloed
by the light of the chandelier. He was
young, younger than I would have thought.
Handsome enough if not a little plain, with a straight nose, well set
brown eyes and a soft jaw line as naked as a young boy’s. His hair was a lighter shade of brown, but
there were traces of gray already at the edges.
This made me realize his round and hairless face gave him the appearance
of being younger than he actually was.
His brown eyes moved
across my face as well, bringing me back to the situation. For a long moment, his eyes simply stared
into mine. Trying to appear both
mannered and modest, I debated between holding his gaze or returning mine to
the floor. Just when I could take it no
more, the corners of his lips pulled up.
“Lady Sylvain,” his
quiet words sliced the air, “will you honor me by taking a place by my side?”
The question was more
than an invitation to dine. I dipped my
head in assent. He smiled, and I thought
that his smile made his face more handsome.
Taking my arm from Dockam, he led me to the seat beside his at the head
table. I was elated. Not only had I been chosen, I was now
accepted. Lord Parish would be my
husband.
As soon as I sat, the
room burst into an uproar. Men laughed
and slapped Lord Parish’s back in congratulations. He took this well, uttering polite thanks
when appropriate. Indeed, he was
reserved among this room of loud, boisterous and bearded men.
“Out of us all, it is Parish
who has found himself the most extraordinary beauty.” They laughed. “Who would have thought?”
The women sat still,
shooting glances and occasionally discreet smiles in my direction. I kept my hands folded in my lap, made sure
my posture was straight and counted each breath I took. When I had reached two hundred and forty
nine, a small bell rang and the doors burst open. Men servants entered with silver platters of
meat, potatoes, fish and fresh vegetables.
More food than my village ate in a winter. Every golden goblet was filled with dark wine
that filled the air with its pungent scent.
I barely sipped mine, not wanting my head to get any dizzier than it
already was.
With the food, the men
had returned to their seats. I became
aware of how alone Lord Parish and I suddenly seemed to be. He cut his food and ate it carefully. Though I barely had a stomach in good
condition to receive food, I remembered my training and took small bites with
the little silver fork.
When Lord Parish turned
and spoke to me, I nearly choked on a piece of potato.
“You are from the
nether mountains?”
I swallowed quickly,
the food burning my throat and nodded.
He bobbed his head and
took another bite. “That is the land
native to the Sylvain flower is it not?”
Again, I nodded.
He set his fork down,
eyes on me while I stared at my plate.
“Lady Sylvain,” he said gently, “you may answer me.”
He paused,
waiting. My throat felt tight. “Yes, my Lord.”
He smiled, seeming
pleased with this.
“I have been
discussing— plans with my attendant, Dockam, whom you have met. The court wishes our engagement to last less
than a fortnight due to the war with the Sutherlands.” Less
than a fortnight? That was hardly any
time at all to get acquainted with this man who was to be my husband. Lord Parish didn’t seem to question
this. “After the wedding ceremonies, I
have planned for us to return to my estate by the Eastern Sea.” He glanced at me, his brown eyes
narrowing. “You are very young
though. How many years are you?”
“Ten and seven this
yester-month, my Lord,” I blushed.
Though I was certainly old enough to marry, it was still considered
young.
He chewed a bit of meat
and thought about this. Is he doubting his acceptance of me? I wondered, but instead he said, “Perhaps
you would prefer to stay here with the vibrancy and bustle of the palace over
the quite of country solitude?”
My fork slipped from my
fingers and clinked against my plate.
Several court attendants looked our way, but I wasn’t paying them any
mind. Is he really considering my
preferences in the matter?
“Lady Sylvain?” he
asked again when I did not answer.
“Yes, my Lord?” I
managed.
He took my hand in
his. His face was full of such sincerity
that I found it difficult to breathe.
“Would it make you happier to stay here in the palace?”
“No.” I coughed.
“No, I think I would very much prefer the country by the sea.”
Tiny lines creased the
skin around his eyes as he smiled. “I am
very much pleased to hear it. I hope you
will find the estate a happy home for you.”
Unable to resist it, I
returned his smile. Yes, I think I will be very happy.
We had just returned to
our food when several loud trumpets sounded.
The room fell silent for the second time that night as a tall man
wrapped in large furs entered the room.
With my nervousness now gone, I looked on him with curiosity. But then I noticed how every man, woman and
servant in the room fell to their knees.
I too bowed low, for this man was the king.
“All arise,” his voice
boomed, deep, and powerful.
A tremor of fear shot down my spine. I had never been in the presence of a king
before. King Rainstaff pulled the fur
hood back, revealing curled blond hair set under his gleaming crown. His face was broad, tanned and obviously
handsome with two deep-set dimples, white teeth and bright blue eyes. “Ah, that’s better,” he sighed as he handed
the heavy furs to a servant. Aside from
the crown, he appeared more as a normal man now in a light tunic and belted
pants. His broad chest gave a big heave
as he took a breath. “It is good to be
home.”
The muscles of his
biceps rippled as he scooped up a little child who had broken free and was
shrieking, “Father!”
The child’s
hand-servant was attempting to scold him, but the king simply laughed him
away. “Can’t a child greet his father
after war?” Then to the room, “The
Glocklands have been beaten so bloody black and blue that their surrender
should come any day now!”
The room erupted in
cheers. Two women rose from beside us at
the head table and made their way to the center of the room where they kissed
the king’s cheeks. His queens. I had been so consumed with myself I had not
made notice of them before. But their
beauty and grace clearly captivated the room.
“Queen Jazelda.” King Rainstaff kissed his first of wives who
was tall, slender and whose cascading dark curls was a source of vanity. She bowed to him. He turned to his second wife whose round
dimpled cheeks beamed up at him. “Queen
Magda.” He tucked back a strand of her
blonde hair. She too bowed and then the
queens took their seats.
The room stayed hushed
as an elderly woman, with a crown set into her silver hair, made her way slowly
to the king. This was Queen Fayne,
mother of King Rainstaff. The King bowed
low to her and then kissed her hand, for there was no one more powerful than
one’s mother, even if you are king.
Queen Fayne kissed his cheeks and then returned to her silent place at
the table.
“Now what is there to
eat?” King Rainstaff asked and the room burst into laughter. Easy chatter filled the air as the king
addressed the members of his court, telling some about the affairs of the war,
instructing others on various businesses to be conducted in his kingdom. Lutes and fiddles were sounded to a fast
melody.
Suddenly, the king
turned and his loud voice rumbled, “Now, wasn’t the engagement of my dear
cousin, Lord Parish, to be taking place tonight? Come.
Let me see the lady that has been selected for my friend of most mellow
heart?”
For the first time, his
blue eyes focused on Lord Parish sitting at my side, but for only just a moment
before they rested upon me. At first
they widened, large and bewildered, as if he had expected to see a doe and
instead found a lion. His mouth parted
slightly and then shut just as quickly.
I felt the urge to hide, to duck behind my red locks so that he might
not stare at me so.
“Well now,” King
Rainstaff finally huffed. “What a beauty
my dear cousin has found for himself here.”
I wanted that to be the end of it, for the king to return to his
merriment and forget I sat there so helpless at the side of Lord Parish. Instead, his black boots stomped across the
stone floor as he walked toward me. His
gate was broad and focused, like a leopard stalking its prey.
My gaze dropped to the
side and I turned my head away as if to hide behind Lord Parish.
“Lady, look at me,” the
king commanded. “I want to study your
face at close distance.”
Slowly, I turned back
to him. He had bent down, as I was still
sitting, and was not even an arm’s length from me. At this distance, I could see that his skin
was even more lined and darkened by many years spent in the sun. His eyes were more gray than blue and they
were narrowed into two slits as they traveled over me. I fought the instinct to flinch as his hand
went to touch my cheek. The skin of his
fingers was calloused and rough as he cupped my jaw. He twisted one of my ruby curls around his
thumb.
“Never have my eyes
beheld such beauty,” he said lowly, so that none but I and perhaps Lord Parish
could hear. “Your hair reflects the
fire’s flame.” He twisted the lock
around his thumb. “Your eyes are as
bright as emerald gems.” He tugged the
hair, pulling my face closer. I could
not flinch now; his gaze was so riveted upon me that I could not break it.
“What is your name?” he
whispered and it fell upon my skin like a caress.
“Sylvain,” I breathed.
Lord Parish gave a
cough, shattering the spell. King
Rainstaff straightened, seeming to come back to himself. He turned to Lord Parish, then slowly— back
to me, as if coming to some decision.
When he spoke his voice
had all the authority of a king in it.
“Lord Parish, it is my understanding that this lady has consented to
marrying you, but I must say that I, as your king, will not permit such an
arrangement.”
Gasps and whispers
rippled across the room. Such a thing
had never occurred before. I could hear
Lord Parish’s intake of breath beside me.
“What do you mean, my
king?”
“Lady Sylvain,” he
turned back to me, “will be my queen.”
