Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (13 page)

Bronwen’s heart fluttered, and her breaths grew more and more shallow as Mara tightened the shift around her waist.

“Stop your fidgeting!” Mara scolded.

Bronwen took as deep a breath as she could muster. “But it is so tight!”

“Your father had this dress imported all the way from Ordanis so you would look your best for your wedding. Now be still.”

Bronwen took another shallow breath, and she started trembling.

“Calm your nerves, child,” Mara said. “I know marrying the high king must seem a tremendous task for you to undertake‌—‌or even a hardship. But, think of all the fortune it will bring you.”

Bronwen glanced back at Mara, but she was still busy tying the intricate knot work on the bridal bodice. Another squeeze and Bronwen lurched forward, spine stiff, to clutch the table.

“He is a good man. You will come to love him, do not worry.”

“It is not‌—‌hmm…”

She knew he was a good man. At least, she thought he was a good man. She should be happy to be queen to such a beloved king, but…

“Mara,” Bronwen’s voiced lowered to a whisper.

“Hm?” Mara finished fastening the dress and reached for the boar-bristle brush, motioning for Bronwen to sit.

“I worry, despite your words, that I will not love him.”

Mara lifted a handful of Bronwen’s hair, brushing it gently from the scalp to the tips, carefully untangling the long lock. “You will find that love can develop over time. It need not be passion and secret meetings with a hidden lover‌—”

“But I love another.”

Mara did not speak, immersed in plaiting Bronwen’s hair with the utmost of care.

“Mara?”

She cleared her throat. “Who is it?”

“Rhodri.”

“Rhodri?” Mara’s hand jerked, tugging on Bronwen’s hair. “Duke Helygen‌—‌the king’s own kin?”

“Hush!” Bronwen looked at her with cold terror in her eyes. “Lower your voice!”

“You have gone mad. You have dreamt of being queen as long as I can remember, and now you jeopardize that with lust for Duke Helygen?”

“It is not lust, I‌—”

“Yes, yes, you love him.” Mara rolled her eyes before taking up her brush again. “Well, there is no course of action now.”

“What does that mean?”

“You are to descend the stairs, walk demurely into the main hall, and enter graciously into marriage with High King Alric II. You must purge these thoughts of the duke from your mind.”

“He has been all I can think about since I first met him.”

“It has only been one day since. This is merely an infatuation. You will forget about it.”

Was she assuring her she would forget‌—‌or demanding she forget? And it was true; she had met Rhodri only the day before. It could very well be a simple infatuation. Deep within herself, she felt that it was an instantaneous connection, and he had to have felt it as well. He must have.

Mara continued to braid lavender and gold cords into her hair as Bronwen thought aloud. “If only he did not have that horrid Meïnir for his wife.”

“Even if he were not married, it would not change your marriage to the king.”

“No, but if Rhodri was not married, I could have persuaded my father to allow me to marry him instead of the king. Surely, my being Lady Helygen would have satisfied my father. After all, Rhodri is the heir to the throne.”

“Again, I urge you to‌—”

Bronwen sobbed.

“Who am I to say you do not truly love Duke Helygen?” Mara brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I, too, have known the excruciating quality of an unrequited love. I was only in my sixteenth year when I thought I found the man I would spend the rest of my life with.”

Bronwen looked up at Mara. “Who was it?”

“If the fates had been more kind, perhaps I would have been your mother, and not your nursemaid.”

“My father‌—?”

Mara sighed, finishing the plaits in Bronwen’s hair. “Ah, but that was almost twenty years ago.” Bronwen stood to face her, and Mara smiled. “You will see everything happens for a reason. One day, you will look at what you have as Alric’s queen and be thankful.”

“I hope you are right, Mara.”

“I am.”

Bronwen was caught off guard by the manner in which Mara’s voice sobered.

“Come, we must go to the main hall. Everyone is waiting.”

As she stood at the entrance to the main hall, Bronwen tried to take a deep breath, but the cinched bodice around her waist prevented it. Mara quickly lowered the loosely-woven veil over Bronwen’s face as the doors to the main hall opened.

Bronwen appreciated that she did. It shielded her from the audience who gathered for the ceremony, hiding her tearful gaze from prying eyes. She was also thankful the tears in her eyes could have been mistaken for tears of joy and not those of heartache. It was as her foot crossed the threshold that a strange complacence washed over her. The torrent of emotions was replaced with an inexplicable numbness.

There had been no time to decorate the hall, so it was simply filled with the wilted flowers from the clansmeet.

While the group was small, it was nonetheless intimidating. As she slowly walked down the aisle, she felt the comfort of Mara holding the train of her gown. Her mouth was dry, and her tears had subsided. As the numbness took her, she tried desperately to convince herself that the power she would garner would replace the love she was losing in Rhodri. And yet, when she saw him standing with his wife, just to the right of the high king, she felt as though her legs would not carry her the rest of the way.

The lingering scent of acrid myrrh wafted over her as she kept pace down the central passageway of the hall, flanked by nobility. She continued to walk and, by some miracle, found herself standing in front of Alric and Reverent Father Andras.

Mara set the train of her dress on the floor before stepping to the side and taking her seat toward the back of the hall.

Reverent Father Andras cleared his throat and gave her a kind smile before speaking to the room. “We gather here in the sight of the Maker to join together the houses of Gwalchgwyn and Denorheim through His servants High King Alric II and Lady Bronwen of Annwyd.”

Andras turned to the small table beside him and lifted the wine bottle, speaking as he poured it into a golden chalice. “Alric, second of his name, High King of Cærwyn and to whom the provinces of Helygen and Gweliwch pledge fealty, will offer succor to Lady Bronwen of Annwyd, daughter of King Braith Denorheim.”

Alric took the chalice of wine. “My Lady.”

Bronwen lifted her veil, letting it fall back over her hair. Alric raised the chalice to her lips. She took a sip. The amaroidal wine washed over her tongue as she choked it down, its merciless flavor haunting her. She took a deep breath, praying the bland taste of air would forgive her senses.

“And now Lady Bronwen of Annwyd shall offer succor to her betrothed, Alric, second of his name, High King of Cærwyn and to whom the provinces of Helygen and Gweliwch pledge fealty.”

Bronwen returned the gesture, lifting the chalice to Alric. He took a sip, and she saw the frown form on his face as he struggled to gulp it down. It would seem he did not expect the taste either.

“The exchange of rings serves to represent their bonds of love, everlasting.” Andras nodded to Alric.

He placed the gold band on her thumb, and she reciprocated.

“As those who are in this hall can attest, in the eyes of the Maker, I pronounce the marriage of their houses!”

Bronwen glanced at her father, whose stoic gaze offered no comfort. Alric bent over to kiss her lips, and she closed her eyes.

The morning sun peeked into Connor’s room from behind the tapestry which covered the window, and a stream of light fell across his face. He struggled to pull his tunic across his chest, the light material scratching against the bandage and tugging at the open wound.

“Connor?” said Ceridwen as she opened the door.

He was awestruck by her appearance. Never had he seen her in the woad-dyed robes of a priestess. She had once told him of the colors of a priestess: blue was reserved only for the Lady and her highest of attendants, while colors such as red and gold were for others. Connor never thought to ask her rank, but he did not assume that she was an attendant of the Lady before she left Arlais.

He noticed she exuded an aura different than he was accustomed to seeing. She seemed more stoic than usual, a jarring persona for the motherly figure he knew from childhood.