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 assessed. “Very fine indeed. We will send a carriage for her in the later 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 synched 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 men cheered, “May the grace of Fion ever be upon you,” and the women waved their handkerchiefs. Exuberant. Joyful. One of their own had become royalty. The town would be blessed and prospered 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. Not to the court official who snored loudly in the seat across mine. “True beauty lets it speak 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 awake the official. The last moments passed too quickly and then the horses reigned to a stop.
The official snorted awake and then in a whirl, I was rushed out of the carriage by more attending servants 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 more grand and terrifying then I imagined. The ceiling was impossibly far above, 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 glint 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 awed. “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 pluming purple feather 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, what 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 there, doing my best just to breathe. As we entered, a trumpet sounded to still the crowd, but it rang too late, for as soon as my feet passed the doorway, a hush rippled across the room. Men and women’s mouths hung open, 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 gaping 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, I bowed my head and dipped my leg back into a low curtsy. 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. Slow and deliberate steps. They 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. Haloed by the light of the chandelier, I looked up into the face of Lord Parish. 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 a 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 meet. 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 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 that had broken free shrieking, “Father!”
The child’s hand-servant was attempting to scold him but the king simply laughed him away, “Can’t a child great his father after war?” Then to the room, “The Glocklands have been beaten so bloody black and blue, 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 in 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. “Queen Magda,” he turned to his second wife, whose round dimpled cheeks beamed up at him. He tucked back a strand of her blonde hair. She too bowed and the queens took their seats.
“Now what is 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 an engagement to 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 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 it’s pray.
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. I could see that his skin was even more lined and darkened by many years spent in the sun at this distance. 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 me 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, 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 coming 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 is 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.”
*****