The Cornish Princess by Tanya Anne Crosby
ChapterThirteen
Much to Gwendolyn’s surprise, neither her mother nor Demelza came to inquire about the mishap in the Dragon’s Lair, and as best as Gwendolyn could determine, Prince Loc must have given her a reprieve. Did he feel contrite for his part? Was he as embarrassed as she was?
Whatever the case, she decided that when she next saw him, she would apologize profusely and accept all blame. Too much depended on this union to allow her emotions to rule her, and so, it seemed, she owed apologies to many.
All things in due time.
However, she determined to begin with Ely. And because there was still ample time before the Promise Ceremony, she sought an audience with her mother and father.
Discovering both in convivial moods, she broached the request with abandon, only in a roundabout way. “I do not wish to employ a Shadow,” she said.
Seated upon his throne, with a dingy shaft of dust-mote-filled light spilling over his head, her father scowled. “You have no choice, Gwendolyn.”
“Please, Father! I despise him. If you cannot condone Bryn’s behavior, you mustn’t condone his.”
Her mother’s lovely brows collided. “Málik’s?” She sounded surprised.
“Indeed,” said Gwendolyn.
Her mother’s tone was gentler than Gwendolyn ever remembered. “Has he given you some insult?” Nay. He had not. So Gwendolyn measured her answer carefully, knowing that every word mattered. If she accused him unfairly, it could cost him his life.
“Nay,” she said, honestly. “I merely dislike him. Nor do I trust him.”
Her father sat forward in his chair, studying Gwendolyn’s face as though it were his war table. “Odd, you never complained about your Shadow till we took your poppet away.”
“Bryn is not my poppet. He’s my friend.”
Her father lifted one grey, frizzled brow. “With a twist of the hand, he dances as you please. I’d call that a poppet, Gwendolyn. Regardless, the answer is nay. As the future sovereign of Pretania, you must keep an able Shadow.”
“Why? The Shadow you’ve given me is incapable of doing what he’s told. Thanks to Bryn, I can defend myself. Instead, I’d prefer a lady’s maid.”
“You are my heir,” he said, as though this explained everything.
“And you are a woman,” added her mother. “I would not have it said I allowed my daughter’s integrity to be compromised.”
Gwendolyn flinched, wondering if someone had told her about the day’s outing after all. Her cheeks burned hotter yet, and not entirely with anger. After all, she had no response to that, because what could she say? Remind her mother that a male Shadow—whoever he might be—could as easily taint her honor, even unintentionally?
Yesterday’s ordeal at Porth Pool was proof of that.
“At least give me Ely,” she entreated, which was her intent all along. Despite that everything she’d said about Málik was true, she had known her father would not give any measure where he was concerned. She was stuck with him… for now.
“Alas, Gwendolyn, we’ve discussed this,” her mother protested. But before she could speak again, Gwendolyn rushed to say, “She could not serve me before because of Bryn. Please, Mother! I wouldst have at least one of my most trusted companions with me in a strange city.”
“Oh, Gwendolyn,” her mother said, but this time Gwendolyn sensed she might be wavering. “Elowyn is my most promising pupil.”
As she rarely did, Gwendolyn met Queen Eseld’s gaze directly. “I know, Mother. However, Ely doesn’t wish to be your pupil.”
Her mother’s face twisted over the affront. “Why not?”
“Because she longs for a husband and children. She’s not made for the dawnsio.”
Silence met her declaration, and even as Gwendolyn waited for the verdict, the grey light outside brightened. Although it was impossible to glean what Queen Eseld was thinking, Gwendolyn sensed her capitulation even before she voiced it. No matter what Gwendolyn felt about Queen Eseld as a parent, she knew her mother was neither cruel nor unyielding when a valid argument was presented. At last, she sighed. “And… you propose to find her a suitable husband?”
“I would.”
She tilted her head. “And… if we agree to this, you will content yourself with Málik? Your father is convinced he will be your salvation, and I will not have you disappoint him.”
Her father said nothing. Nor did he nod, and Gwendolyn sensed he had retreated from this conversation, leaving her mother to do what she would.
“I will,” she promised.
“You must receive instruction from him daily!” her father announced, his gaze refocusing—although he was immediately taken by a fit of coughing so dreadful that it turned Gwendolyn’s attention from their negotiations.
Alas. The glen was hale, but her father was not.
His fits were getting worse and worse, and more and more, he was secluding himself in his apartments, with only her mother as his eyes and ears… and voice.
Gwendolyn wondered what would happen when she left, and for the first time, she worried she would go and never see him again. Gods. The last thing she wished to do was to fight with him now, and then leave, knowing their last days were embattled.
“This is ultimately why we have enlisted him,” her father explained, when finally he could. “Gwendolyn… dearest… I wouldst know you leave us with the means and knowledge to defend, not merely yourself, but your kingdom as well.”
“Father,” she entreated. “Art worse?”
He coughed a bit more, then said, clearly irritated, “I would not have it said I left you ignorant and incapacitated.”
Gwendolyn felt a sudden foreboding. “Leave me?”
“Hush, dear one,” said her mother now, her voice kinder than Gwendolyn ever remembered. “Your father is well enough. He means only that you are his heir—his only heir. As such, you will someday be called upon to lead.”
She sighed with portent, glancing briefly at King Corineus before continuing. “Nothing is certain, Daughter. There will be times you will have only yourself to look to, and he—we—wouldst be certain you have the finest of educations, and this includes your military tuition. I understand this now.”
“But—”
“You may take Ely,” her mother relented. “I shall gladly part with my best girl if you feel she will serve you better.”
“I do,” Gwendolyn said, careful not to frown, mostly because the negotiation had been too easy. It didn’t even bother her at the moment that her mother had called Ely her best girl. Something was amiss, and she wanted to know what.
A single glance about the hall revealed servants scurrying about, preparing for tonight’s ceremony, though it wouldn’t precisely be held here. In keeping with tradition, the Promise Ceremony would be performed, not within the great hall, nor beneath the Sacred Yew, where her wedding would be held, but in the courtyard, at twilight, where the villagers could amass before the dais to witness the exchange of torcs.
Later, after the ceremony was done, Gwendolyn would be whisked away, out of the Prince’s sight, with no intention of seeing him again, until the day they took their vows.
The Prince, however, would remain with his father and everyone else to celebrate whilst Gwendolyn was escorted to the yew to pray.
The revelry would resume here, in the great hall, with everyone but Gwendolyn in attendance. Even now, the trestle tables were being returned to their dining positions, and soon the entire room would cease to look like an audience hall for the King.
Of course, Gwendolyn was pleased their negotiations had turned out to such great advantage—and that her mother was being so cordial—but the address now left her feeling… unsettled. Although mayhap it was only the stress of the events to come. After all, after this evening, she would no longer be free to love as she pleased, but a bride bound to a Prince she really didn’t know. “Thank you,” she said finally, discomposed by the thought.
Once more, her father gave in to a vigorous bout of hacking, and then cleared his throat and tilted Gwendolyn a watery glance. The red veins in his eyes were angry and swollen.
“Never fear, my daughter. I am well,” he reassured. “I simply find myself… weary. I warrant after the evening’s ceremony, and once I retire, I shall sleep well enough and alight from my bed with a spring to my step you haven’t seen since you were a wee child.”
He gave her a wan smile, and Gwendolyn longed desperately to believe it. After all, the glen was still without blight. And this must truly mean her father was getting better.
Mustn’t it?
She wanted to tell him what she’d found, but held her tongue, only because she didn’t wish to remind him of yesterday’s trouble with Bryn—not now.
Wanting so desperately to embrace him and knowing it wasn’t seemly, Gwendolyn knelt at his feet and offered him a heartfelt vow. “I swear it, Father, I will practice daily. I will not leave Trevena without acquiring all the knowledge you deem necessary, and I will…” She couldn’t lie and claim she would enjoy sparring with Málik. “I will respect my tutor.”
Her mother arched a perfect dark brow. “See that you do,” she said firmly, though without ire. “His tutelage comes at a high price, and though we hoped it might be easier for you to have Bryn learn from him and teach you, this is no longer reasonable. You must do as he bids.”
Once again, Gwendolyn met her mother’s gaze. Queen Eseld was smiling, but sadly. “I will,” Gwendolyn said, all the fight having left her. “I swear it.”
Queen Eseld gave her a nod and said, “Go now. Prepare yourself for the ceremony, as I have sent Demelza with a gift for you, and ’tis likely it has been delivered.”
Gwendolyn straightened. “A gift?” she asked, surprised. “For me?”
“Indeed,” said her mother, her lovely lips lifting only slightly at one side. “’Tis long overdue.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Eager to see what gift her mother had sent, Gwendolyn rose from her knees, her spirits now lifted so that she barely noticed the bruise on her knee, eased by her mother’s agreement. Whatever else her mother had sent, the Queen’s capitulation was most welcome.
Exhilarated by the news that she would allow Ely to join her in Loegria, she gave each of her parents a bow and then rushed into the corridor to search for Ely, keen to share the news.