The Cornish Princess by Tanya Anne Crosby

ChapterSix

King Brutus arrived first, making excuses for his tardy son, although evidently the Loegrian King should take some lessons from his son, and perhaps be a bit more concerned about washing the stench of travel from his person. Wrinkling her nose as her father escorted him onto the dais and introductions were made, Gwendolyn noted that even her mother lifted a finger to the tip of her nose, an unconscious gesture that couldn’t dispel the pungent aroma of horse muddled with perhaps a week’s worth of sweat.

Thereafter, Gwendolyn sat quietly as her parents made him feel welcomed, all the while worrying over the introduction to come… the one that mattered most.

Though perhaps she should take comfort in the Prince’s show of courtesy in bathing, she worried he’d heard about the day’s unfortunate events, and more than being polite or fastidious, he was only reluctant to meet her? Mayhap even now, he was resisting in his room.

But nay… His father was here, jesting and laughing. If that were the case, he would probably be with his son, trying to win him, and the evening’s festivities mightn’t continue as planned. Moreover, Gwendolyn knew intuitively that no one in the castle would speak a word of the incident to either, for fear that they might question Gwendolyn’s honor.

Only now she was perfectly furious with herself for not considering every possibility. Merely because she understood her relationship with Bryn to be that of a sibling’s, and Bryn understood this to be the case, and everyone in the palace understood this to be the case, that didn’t mean Prince Locrinus would understand as well.

Marriages were sometimes forsworn for less, and she realized, if only belatedly—and stupidly—that this was why her parents were so furious with her.

Viewed through the eyes of a betrothed, a harmless swim, even so innocently done, could be grounds to rebuke their marriage, no matter that amongst Gwendolyn’s people, nudity wasn’t frowned upon. Quite often the dawnsio wore such diaphanous gowns as to be nonexistent, and she was reminded of this as they arrived in the hall, their bodies lithe and every gesture they made suggestive. Ridiculously, she didn’t care if Prince Locrinus admired these ladies, but one glance at Málik, seated at a lower table—near Ely—was enough to make Gwendolyn’s gut turn violently.

Thankfully, Elowyn’s presence comforted her a little, even if Ely still wouldn’t look her way…

Was she as furious as everyone else?Only disappointed?Angered by her brother’s demotion?Or simply irritated with her present companion?

As forewarned, Ely had been paired with the ambassador’s son, though it was worse than she had feared. Flat-nosed though he was, he was also an obnoxious boor who barked like a fox every time he laughed. Three tables away, Gwendolyn could hear him clearly—a hideous sound that carried above the din.

Furrowing her brows, torn between annoyance and regret—both for her sake and for Ely’s as well—she nipped at her thumbnail and watched Ely give Málik a doe-eyed glance.

Annoyance gripped at Gwendolyn’s belly.

Naturally, there was much she should accept responsibility for. But Ely’s dinner companion wasn’t one of those things. Ely’s not wishing to perform with the dawnsio wasn’t Gwendolyn’s idea; it was Ely’s. And no matter that she wished for her dear, sweet friend to live the life she wished to live, Gwendolyn was careful not to lead her astray—at least not in this regard. And truly, if one could be plainspoken, Gwendolyn envied Ely’s role with the dawnsio. There was much appeal to that life, and in many respects, it was an easier role than that of a wife’s—and certainly more so than a princess’ or a queen’s.

In order to be invested, one must forswear the life of a wife and mother and devote oneself solely to the craft, but most of the troupe lived free from normal constraints.

Also, if Elowyn joined the dawnsio as a principal dancer, she would travel. The troupe made its rounds about the tribes, not merely to dance, but to canvass the villages to search for and groom replacements.

But no matter that they were required to live within the women’s quarters, and never to wed, they were still free to take lovers as they pleased, so long as they remained discreet.

Even now, as the dancers took their places, she saw that a few of them gave come-hither glances to several of King Brutus’ men-at-arms. Dressed in scarlet silk in a shade complementing King Brutus’ livery, they swayed and moved to the rhythm of the lute and drums. Everything about them was flawless—their shining hair, painted lips, gleaming nails, the sparkling chains about their waists, chains that swayed and jiggled along with curvy hips and ample breasts.

Under the winking candelabra, the inky shadow of their mons and the tantalizing tips of their breasts were easily visible through the gossamer gowns.

After all was said and done, the dawnsio answered only to their Mother Superior, and for everyone else in the realm, the Queen was a benevolent ruler.

Only for those who knew her best, she had a darker side.

No doubt, Ely was right: the suggestion to pair her with that deadly bore was intended to discourage her from pursuing another path. Indeed, free will was a gift from the gods, but no one ever confessed the truth of the matter—defying one’s parents, or her people, earned a woman little more than a kick in the belly.

Poor Ely.

And yet, for all that anyone could tell, Elowyn seemed to be properly engaged with her greasy companion, neither giddy nor sullen. The message had been received: Come tomorrow, Ely would arrive on time for practice, with slippers in hand. Mission accomplished, Mother.

Certainly, there were none in this realm more practiced at subtle machinations. But, of course, Gwendolyn understood why it was so. Were Queen Eseld the sort to gainsay her husband or to wield a sharp whip, the aldermen would complain.

Queen Eseld was too wise to trample toes. Rather, she ruled within the confines of her husband’s laws, and there were none here so willing to challenge her—not even Gwendolyn.

Truth be told, her father’s conformity did not begin with his illness. It came from a place of trust. Even when he was stronger, he’d never had much issue with allowing his queen to direct his household. And although Gwendolyn found fault with her mother’s methods, she knew, as her father knew, all she did, she did for kith and kin—and not the kin she was born to. Gwendolyn wondered idly if her mother ever thought of her parents, or whether she ever longed for her childhood home. So far as Gwendolyn was concerned, she couldn’t wait to leave this place, even if she would miss her father dearly. She only prayed to the Goddess that she would find it in her heart to love the man she was promised to wed.

Alas, she could only command her own heart.

What if someone had already warned him she was a hag?

What if he saw the changeling, not the woman?

What if he came to despise her?

What if he simply couldn’t love her?

For certain, her mother was not the only one whose ambivalence toward her was notable. Take Málik, for example…

Even now, she seethed over his betrayal of Bryn, and refused to look his way, but she knew precisely where he sat, and she knew this because his spirit burned like a peat-fed torch, calling her gaze like a beacon from across the room.

And this was hardly an exaggeration. She felt his inner light like a firestorm, his flame burning hot and bright, the sound like a roar in Gwendolyn’s ears.

He met her gaze, lifted his glass in toast to her, and a lazy smile tugged at his lips, revealing the gleaming tip of one of his fangs. Gwendolyn shivered.

Gods.

With those teeth, he could eat her alive—devour her hope, and Pretania’s as well.

Gwendolyn averted her gaze, but as the tapers on the tables burned lower and lower… and lower still, with no sign of Prince Locrinus, she felt more and more uneasy.

In truth, she felt like weeping—in part because poor Bryn wasn’t even in attendance—likely banished from the festivities for his part in Gwendolyn’s scheme.

Alone.Furious with Gwendolyn. Hungry as well.

And yes, she supposed her father was right. Mayhap she needed someone who was stronger—someone who wouldn’t cow to her when she spoke, or who cared so much to please her he would be diverted from his duties.

But she mustn’t focus on that right now.

She had a duty to perform, and she must do it with a full heart, considering how crucial it was to win the Prince’s favor. But one day she would make everything right—one day, when she was queen, when she had more to say about her own fate and the fate of others.

Before she could change anyone else’s fortunes, she must first secure her own. So with that in mind, Gwendolyn carefully arranged the table before her, mentally preparing herself for the meeting to come.