Authors: Ann Hunter
Another fine carriage pulled through the gate, much the same as the first. A heavy man threw open the door and only gave the girls a brief nod. “Bring the trunks up, Murtia,” he grunted as he lumbered off.
Murtia waited for the footman to help her from her perch within the carriage. She opened her arms to her sisters, motioning them over. They knew she was too lazy to take two steps toward them and closed the distance between them politely.
Murtia, who looked strikingly similar to rotund, umber Portia, hugged all of them and rolled her hand in some abstruse wave. “Do tell the servants to bring our things up.”
It would not have been hard for Murtia to say this herself with the servants only inches away, but the younger girls dared not muddle with either of their two eldest sisters. The servants had heard her clearly and grabbed her things.
They watched her make her way into the castle. “We better get back inside,” Odessa said.
“Oh, good,” Portia smacked her lips, “I am hungry.”
More and more guests arrived throughout the day. Nearer to dusk, Glory found some idle moments as the princesses awaited the arrival of their father who was journeying home with the groom from the region of Council’s Realm.
Glory adjourned to her room to change dresses for Lucullia’s wedding. When she was ready, she examined herself in the mirror and thanked her servants. She began to brush her hair in long, fluid strokes, counting each one. She was only halfway to one-hundred when a servant entered and announced that her father’s carriage had been seen a short distance from the castle.
Glory put her brush down, grasped the garland crown that had been made for her, and wound her way down the darkened hall. Ribbons fluttered behind her from the garland, and torch light from the wall flickered and shuttered. She placed the garland on her head and smoothed it all out, stopping before a hall mirror to make sure it looked perfect.
When she turned again, Colin was there. He grinned and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her around a corner.
“Colin, what are you doing here?”
He squeezed her playfully. “Readying the doves.”
Glory squealed and squirmed. “Stop it. Father will be here any second!”
“Let him come.” He removed the garland from Glory’s head. “I want him to see.” He kissed her passionately, dipping her back a little.
Glory giggled through the kiss.
Colin pulled away. “Let’s fly away tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Right after Lucullia’s wedding. I do not want to wait any longer.”
“Colin…” Glory started.
“Well, well,” came a catty voice. “What have we here?”
Glory pushed Colin away. “Alexa!”
Alexa sidled up to Colin and almost purred. “Hello, handsome. What’s your name?”
“Colin,” the young falconer squeaked, then cleared his voice and spoke in a deep, exaggerated tone. “Colin.” His back straightened and his chest puffed up. Glory pulled him to her and dug her nails into his arm.
“Who is this boy you are being so cozy with, Glory? Do not tell me you are falling for a commoner.”
Glory scowled at her oldest sister. “He is Father’s royal falconer.”
“Still, I do not think Father would be pleased with the idea of such a tryst. After all, he beheaded mine.”
Glory glanced at Colin. The expression on his face was that of both intrigue and terror.
Alexa stroked Colin’s bicep and “oohed” a little.
Glory felt Colin flex as he tried to show off. She gave him a sound elbow in the ribs to remind him of his place.
“Imagine Father’s dismay when he arrives, and you are not there to greet him. He will wonder where his baby girl is. Will I have to tell him?”
“I was planning on telling him.”
Alexa’s ebony eyebrow arched. “Really?”
Glory stood her ground.
“Was that before or after you ‘
fly away
’ together?” Alexa’s mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “Are you sure, little sister? I believe an arrangement could be made to keep me quiet.”
“Leave us,” Glory snapped, “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Very well.” Alexa turned and glided off.
Glory’s blood curdled. “Ooh, that witch! She thinks she can seduce any man she wants. She is not even that pretty.”
Glory looked at Colin. His head leaned to the side as he watched Alexa’s backside get smaller in the distance. “I said, ‘She is not even that pretty.’”
“Wha-- ?”
Glory punched Colin in the arm as hard as she could and stormed off.
***
“His Majesty, The King,” the herald announced.
All seven princesses bowed deeply as their father stepped down from his carriage. Lord Davenport remained in the carriage and was driven to the lawns of the wedding. King Balthazaar greeted each daughter with a kiss until he came to Glory. He caressed her face and drank her in. “My Glory.”
Glory smiled her best, cooing sweetly. “The Glory be thine for ever and ever, dear father.”
Balthazaar chuckled and kissed Glory’s forehead tenderly. Glory wrinkled her nose as her father’s beard tickled her face.
“My dear, where is your crown?”
Glory reached to her head. The garland was gone. Her mind ran wildly. Colin must still have it! She could hear her sisters whispering amongst themselves. Surely Alexa had told them what she had overheard. “Forgive me, Father,” Glory bowed, “I must have left it in my room. I was so excited to see you.”
The king regarded her with a smile and patted her shoulder. “No matter.” He crossed to Lucullia and offered his arm. “We have more pressing matters to attend to.”
As Balthazaar led Lucullia to the wedding, Glory breathed a sigh of relief, even though all of her sisters’ eyes were boring into her.
Although Lucullia was miserable, she hid it well. Lord Davenport did not seem so bad to Glory. He was clean-shaven and kind and very excited about being chosen as a husband for Lucullia. Glory watched all the guests make themselves merry through food and good drink, dancing and laughter. Alexa was batting her eyes at every male on the lawn whenever her husband wasn’t looking. Murtia was bribing the servants well to get her husband good and drunk so she wouldn’t have to cater to him later. Lucullia was trying to buy out horses and households. Portia was hiding behind the banquet table, stuffing her face. Odessa, whose betrothed had traveled far to visit, was bawling him out for stepping on her toes as they danced, while Ophelia was in a corner being consoled by her excessively happy future husband. Ultimately, Glory thought they all looked pretty miserable. She loved her father fiercely, but she felt he had terrible tastes in mates for his daughters. How lucky she was to have taken fate into her own hands with Colin. Dear, sweet Colin… with whom she was still very cross, she might add! Glory sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. How dare Colin look at another woman, and one not nearly as beautiful as she, for that matter! No matter. Tonight they would elope. She would be his. He would be hers. That would be that. Glory huffed restlessly and moved to the edge of the tent where the air was cooler. She leaned against a tent support and looked at the stars. There was an eerie howl and rumble in the nearby woods.
Giants,
flicked through Glory’s head. She brushed the absurd thought away and shivered. Where was Colin anyway?
“Psst! Glory.”
She turned to see Colin peering out from behind a marble statue of one of her ancestors, heroic Prince Maghnus.
Glory made sure no one was looking and went to him.
Colin stole a kiss and whispered, “Forgive me?”
Glory nodded emphatically.
“At midnight tonight, we’ll run away. I will wait by the garden for you.”
“I will be ready.”
Colin ran off to release the wedding doves, and Glory returned to the party. Her stomach fluttered with excitement and apprehension. The guests clapped as white blurs flew by the open-air tent.
Balthazaar raised his goblet and stood. The party fell to a hush. “On this, the day of my daughter’s wedding, I am both pleased and most enthusiastic. I hope this marriage will be fruitful in both children and worldly riches. To aid Lord Davenport in this high expectation, I wish to give with Lucullia a dowry.” Balthazaar smiled at the bride. “The Paladin’s Flask at Monmouth Flail, which I purchased quite recently, five fine horses of Lord Davenport’s choosing, a trade galleon to seek riches abroad, and a trust of ten thousand Imperial Rupees for the private acquisition of land and trade. I have no doubt, my boy, you will turn these gifts into the most profitable annuities in no time.”
Lord Davenport looked incredibly humbled, while Lucullia looked relieved that there might actually be a bearable life after she left the palace. The guests applauded Balthazaar’s flowing generosity.
“And finally an announcement. Most exciting news indeed. You may know that I have seven daughters, but only five sons or sons-to-be. My youngest daughter, Glory,” Balthazaar raised his glass to her, “has yet to wed. However, it has been brought to my attention that there is a match for her.”
Glory’s heart raced; the room started spinning. How could he know?
“On this most auspicious night, I wish to celebrate the betrothal of Princess Glory to Eoghan, Prince of The Blood Realm.”
CHAPTER THREE
The Midnight Run of Princess Glory
The world was spinning.
No
, Glory thought desperately,
No, no!
Her lungs were tight, no air would come.
I am marrying Colin. This must be a dream. Wake up, Glory.
She pinched herself hard.
Wake up!
But this wasn’t a dream. It was all too real. The guests were either stunned now, that she was being married to a mystery prince, or applauding the announcement, but Glory heard none of the clamor, for the roar in her ears was too loud. She ran.
Glory cut her way through the darkness to her father’s quarters. She wilted into the soft chair near his desk, her face pressing onto the desk top. She swallowed. Her lungs burned from running through the cool night air. She wanted to scream. She wanted to weep. Neither would come. She pounded the desk. Her head lifted when she heard the door creak open. Servants preceded her father and his jolly laughter. Balthazaar paused in the doorway. “Is that you, Glory?”
Servants lit lamps in the room, chasing out the shadows.
Balthazaar crossed to the desk. “You left in an awful hurry. Is everything alright, my dear?”
He reached out to stroke Glory’s hair, but she pushed his hand away and rose from the chair. “No, Father, everything is
not
all right.”
Balthazaar lowered his creaky bones into his chair with an achy groan. “It is about your betrothal, isn’t it? Come on, let’s hear it then.”
Glory pressed her palms into the front of the desk, glaring at the king. “How could you do this to me?”
“It is time you take a husband, Glory. You are nearly fourteen.”
“Fifteen,” growled Glory.
“Oh,” Balthazaar shook his head, “I am more behind on your betrothal than I thought. You shall marry at sixteen.”
“You can not make me love another!”
Balthazaar’s fingers wove together, his old joints rounded like snubbed tree branches, knobby and ashen. He rubbed his white beard over the top of his hands, most likely wondering what had gotten into his young daughter. He was quiet a long time, then simply asked, “What’s love got to do with anything?”
Glory straightened. “Everything.”
Balthazaar sat back against his chair and chuckled. “My dear child, do you honestly think I loved your revered mother the day we wed?”
Glory’s brow furrowed.
“Love is a splendid thing, Glory, but true love is forged and tempered over time. It is a thing we learn to do. I grew to love your mother more than anything, and miss her every day now that she is gone, but I would not trade some frivolous young love for what I came to feel for her.”
“I love Colin!” Glory blurted. The words left a dry taste in her mouth the instant they fled her lips.
Balthazaar did not seem nearly as shocked or enraged as she was sure he would be. He was as placid as a mountain lake. “No, Glory. You do not.”
“I love Colin, and you can not make me love any other. Who are you to say who I can and can not love?”
“I am your father and, more importantly, your king. I have every say on this matter. You will marry the suitor I choose for you, as I have done with your sisters. Lord Regent Barwn Xander and I signed the pre-nuptial papers at Council’s Realm. It is already done. He is on his way to collect you.”
Glory froze. She had heard that name as a child. Xander was a fearsome warlord. His name had been screamed in nightmares by refugees escaping to their kingdom. Whispered rumors flew that the gods had cursed his son and made him deformed as repayment for the sins of Xander. A monster for a monster.