“I don’t think much of yours, Harald. White just isn’t your color.”
“That’s your gown!” snapped the King, keeping a firm hold on his temper.
“I can’t wear that,” said Julia. “There’s nowhere to hang my sword. And anyway, why does it always have to be white?”
“It stands for the purity and wholesomeness of the bride,” said King John coldly.
“Ah,” said Julia, thoughtfully. She studied the wedding gown a moment. “Do you have it in any other colors?”
Harald got the giggles. The King turned to him slowly. Harald immediately had an extremely unconvincing coughing fit.
“Is something amusing you, Harald?” said the King icily. “No? I’m glad to hear it, because I want to make something clear to you and I want your full attention. From now on, there is to be no more quarrelling with the Princess Julia in any public place.”
“But Father …”
“Be quiet! Now, Harald, I want you to do something for me. I want you to go down to the dungeons, find the dungeon master, and ask him to show you the cells directly under the moat. They are damp, dark, not a little cramped, and the smell is appalling. They are also apparently infested with a kind of fungus that eats insects and small rodents, and would no doubt love the chance for a crack at a human prisoner. When you’ve had a good look, go away and think about them. Because if you and Julia raise your voices again in front of the Court I swear by Blood and Stone I’ll have you both locked up in one of those cells and not let you out again till your wedding day! Not one more word from you, Harald! Go! Now!”
Harald looked thoughtfully at his father, quickly decided that this was one time when discretion definitely was the better part of valor, and left the Court with as much dignity as he could muster. Which wasn’t a lot.
King John waited until the doors had closed behind Harald, and then turned to stare steadily at Julia.
“You don’t think much of Harald, do you?” he said finally.
Julia shrugged. “He has his good points, I suppose.”
“He’s a pain in the backside,” said King John firmly. “Don’t try to whitewash him to me, girl; I’ve known him a lot longer than you. Underneath the spoiled-brat image he so studiously cultivates for the courtiers, Harald is what I raised him to be; hard, ruthless, and self-sufficient. In other words, perfect material for a man who will one day be King. Rupert, on the other hand, takes after his mother too much; thinks with his heart more than his head. I’ve always done my best as King, but I was never really cut out for the job. No more is Rupert. But Harald … he could be the best chance this country’s got to get back on its feet again.
“Even after we’ve thrown back the long night, the Forest Land can never be what it was before. Too much has happened. The Barons have tasted power, and they’ll not willingly give it up. Things will probably hang together for a while out of sheer inertia, but whoever succeeds me to the throne will have to be ruthless, determined, and much more of a diplomat than I ever was. Where I once commanded loyalty, Harald will have to fight and bargain for it. He should do well enough at that; he’s always shown a natural talent for deceit and double-dealing. But he’s never made friends easily, and he’s going to need people he can trust at his side if he’s to hang on to the throne. Especially if he has to fight a civil war to keep it.
“Harald has the makings of a great King, but he’ll always need someone beside him to be his conscience, to temper his justice with mercy, to teach him compassion. Someone he cares for, and respects. You’ll make a good Queen to his King, Julia.”
“I don’t want to be Queen!”
“Nonsense.”
“I don’t love Harald!”
“You don’t have to. In a royal marriage, duty is more important than love. And don’t frown like that, as though duty was an ugly word; it is, but we can’t escape it. Just by being born into royalty, you and I took on responsibilities along with our privileges. We get the best of everything because we have the hardest work to do. We live in luxury because we give up everything else that matters. We weigh ourselves down with duty so that others can be free. And unlike any other job, we can’t walk away if the work gets too hard, or we don’t want to do it.
“You’re a strange lass, Julia, and sometimes I don’t understand you at all, but in many ways you remind me of Rupert. You’re honest and you’re loyal, and you’ll fight to the death for something you believe in. That’s a rare combination these days. There are a great many pressing reasons for this marriage to take place, but as far as I’m concerned there’s only one that really matters; the Forest Land needs you.
“So you see, my dear, I don’t have a choice in the matter either. What you or I may want is no longer important; we must both do what we have to. The contract has been signed, and the marriage will take place two weeks from today, even if you have to be dragged to the altar by armed guards.”
There was a long silence. Julia stared at the white frothy wedding dress, her eyes cold and hard.
“Can I go now, Sire?”
“Rupert isn’t coming back,” said the King quietly.
“Yes,” said Julia. “I know. You sent him to his death.”
“I had to,” said King John. “That was my duty.”
Julia turned her back on him, and left the Court.
Out in the antechamber, Harald glared coldly at Sir Blays.
“I know I’m late for your little gathering, Landsgrave; my father insisted on seeing me.”
“Of course, Prince Harald,” said Sir Blays calmly. “I quite understand. Unfortunately, the gathering of friends you insisted on has been underway for well over an hour, and if the promised guest of honor doesn’t make his appearance soon, I fear the party may be over before it’s even properly begun. These people need to see you just as much as you need to see them, Sire.”
“I’ll be along in a while,” said Harald.
“It would be better if you were to accompany me now,” said Blays, and Harald didn’t miss the sudden coldness in the Landsgrave’s voice.
“Better?” said Harald. “Better for whom?”
“Better for all of us, of course. We’re all in this together, Prince Harald.”
“I’ll be there.”
“You’d better be.”
The two men stared at each other warily. Something was changing between them, and neither was sure exactly what it was.
“That sounded almost like a threat,” said Harald softly.
“Think of it more as a friendly warning,” said Blays.
“Like the warning Sir Bedivere so nearly gave my father not an hour ago? If those farmers hadn’t been there, that bloody berserker of yours would have killed him!”
Blays inclined his head slightly. “A regrettable incident.”
Harald let his hand drop onto the pommel of his sword. “Is that all you’ve got to say about it?”
“I’ll deal with Bedivere later.”
“That’s not good enough.”
Sir Blays smiled politely. “I’d hate to see our alliance fall apart, Sire, especially after we’ve all invested so much time and effort in it. Right now, there are a great many people waiting to meet you, Prince Harald, all of them gathered together in one place at your request, at no little inconvenience and danger to themselves. I therefore strongly suggest that you don’t keep them waiting any longer. This way, Sire.”
Harald didn’t move. “You seem to be forgetting which of us is in charge.”
“No,” said Sir Blays. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Without me, everything we’ve discussed comes to nothing.”
“Precisely. You need us, Harald, and you’ve come too far to back out now. My fellow Landsgraves and I can always leave this Castle and return to our masters. Sooner or later the King’s forces will become so thinly spread they’ll be unable to defend him and, when that happens, the Barons will just move in and take over. They won’t need your help, and they certainly won’t need you as K
“Yes. Very clear.”
“Good. Work with us, and we’ll make you King. Certainly the Barons would prefer it that way; they can see a great many uses for a constitutional monarch.”
“You mean a figurehead.”
“Yes, Harald. That’s exactly what I mean. Now, I think we’ve wasted enough time on unnecessary discussion, don’t you? It’s time to go; your guests are waiting to greet you.”
Harald’s shoulders seemed to slump a little, and he looked away, unable to face the open disdain in Blays’s eyes. “Very well, Landsgrave. It seems I have no choice in the matter.”
And then they both jumped as behind them the double doors flew suddenly open, and Julia stalked out of the Great Hall and into the antechamber. She slammed the doors shut behind her, swore loudly, and then glared resentfully at the watching Prince and Landsgrave.
“Ah, Julia,” said Harald quickly. “I’d like a word with you, if I may.”
Julia shrugged angrily. “Suit yourself.” She folded her arms, and leaned back against the bare panelled wall, frowning at nothing.
Harald turned back to Sir Blays. “I will join you at the party in a few minutes. I give you my word on it.”
Blays glanced at Julia, and then smiled tightly at Harald. “Of course, Sire, I understand. Please accept my congratulations on your imminent wedding. I shall speak with you further at the party. In a few minutes.”
He bowed to the Prince and to the Princess, and left the antechamber. Harald looked at Julia, and frowned worriedly. Her head was bowed, and her eyes stared blindly down in quiet desperation. There was a simple tired, defeated look to her that touched Harald strangely. In all the time he’d known Julia, he’d never once known her to give in to anybody or anything. But now all the strength seemed to have gone out of her, until she had nothing left with which to hold the hostile world at bay. He moved forward to stand beside her.
“Julia; what’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Something’s wrong. I can tell.”
“Wrong? What could be wrong? In two weeks’ time I’m marrying a man who’s going to be King!”
Harald hesitated. He knew instinctively that if he said the right thing now, he could win her over to him in a moment, but say the wrong thing, and he’d lose her forever. He was surprised how much not losing her mattered to him.
“Julia, things will be different between us after we’re married, you’ll see. I know how much Rupert meant to you, but you’ll get over him. Whatever happened, I’m sure he died bravely and honorably. As soon as this business with the Darkwood is over, we’ll take a troop of guards and search the Forest until we find out what did happen to him. And then, together, we’ll take a vengeance the Forest will never forget.”
“Thanks,” said Julia quietly. “I’d like that.”
“He is dead, Julia.”
“Yes. He is.” Julia stared listlessly at Harald. “I’ve known that for ages, but I could never quite bring myself to believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. For a long time I kept hoping, but there’s no hope left now. Not after all this time. No hope … I should have gone with him, Harald; I should have gone with him!”
Harald took her in his arms. She tensed, and then relaxed against him, her head resting on his shoulder.
“If you’d gone with him,” said Harald, “the odds are you’d have been killed as well. He knew that; that’s why he made you stay behind.”
“I know that,” said Julia. “It doesn’t help. I wasn’t there to stand at his side, and now he’s dead. Rupert’s dead. Every time I think that, it’s like someone hit me in the gut. It hurts, Harald.”
“I know, Julia. But you’ll get over it, once we’re married.”
It was the wrong thing to say, and Harald knew that the moment he said it. Julia stiffened in his arms, and when she lifted her head to look at him, her face was cold and unyielding. Harald let her go, and stepped back a pace. He searched for something else to say, something that would bring back the closeness they’d felt, but the moment had passed. Harald shrugged mentally. There’d be other times.
“What did Sir Blays want?” asked Julia evenly.
“He was reminding me I’d agreed to attend a party of his. I really ought to be getting along; I’m late as it is.”
“A party? Why didn’t I get an invitation?”
Harald raised an eyebrow. “I thought you had a woman’s army to train?”
Julia smiled sweetly. “I thought you had a dungeon to visit?”
Harald laughed. “Touchè, my dear. The dungeons under the moat are something of a family joke. Father’s been threatening me with them for as long as I can remember. The more upset he gets, the more he dwells on their gruesome details. I suppose there are still cells of some kind under the moat, but nobody’s used them for centuries. Our dungeons are little more than holding cells; once the prisoners have been to trial, we send them out to work off their sentences on the farms. Why waste manpower?”
“What happens when they run away?”
“They can’t. The Court magician puts a compulsion on them before they leave.”
“Never mind all that,” said Julia, suddenly realizing just how far Harald had led her from her original question, “About this party …”
“You don’t really want to go, do you? You wouldn’t enjoy it, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” said Julia, rather nettled at being openly excluded from the party. Not that she actually wanted to go, but … “Who’s going to be at this party?”
“Oh, the Landsgraves, some High Society, a sprinkling of others. I’m not too sure myself. Trust me, Julia; you wouldn’t enjoy it. And anyway, this is one party where admission is most definitely by invitation only. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going. I’ll talk with you some more later, I promise.”
And with that he hurried out of the antechamber, before she could ask him anything else. Julia glared at his retreating back. Just for that, she would go to his damn party, and heaven help anyone who tried to keep her out. She frowned thoughtfully. A party the size this one would have to be, couldn’t be easily hidden away. Somewhere, there was a servant who knew, and who could be persuaded to talk. And then … Julia grinned. What with one thing and another, she was just in the mood for a little rowdy gate-crashing. She chuckled earthily, and strode off to look for a weak-willed servant.
Prince Harald strode casually down the dimly lit corridor, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. His footsteps echoed dully back from the oak-panelled walls; the slow, regular sound eerily loud on the silence. From time to time, as he drew closer to Lord Darius’s quarters, a guardsman in full chain mail would emerge from some concealing shadow to challenge him, only to fall back on recognizing Harald’s grim features. The Prince ignored them, but was quietly impressed by the thoroughness with which Darius protected himself. Obviously he didn’t intend for his little party to be interrupted, and by setting his guards in ones and twos he avoided the attention that a large number of men would undoubtably have drawn. As it was, Harald estimated that a full troop of guards stood between Lord Darius’s chambers and the rest of the Castle, acting as both an advance warning system and a strategically placed fighting force. Harald smiled slightly. The rebellion seemed well planned, if nothing else. He was quite looking forward to seeing who would be waiting for him at the party.
Two tall, brawny guardsmen stood before Lord Darius’s door. They wore a featureless leather armor, with no colors to indicate allegiance. Their faces were impassive, but their eyes were cold and distrustful, and they held their swords at the ready as Harald approached them. They inclined their heads slightly as they recognized the Prince, but made no move to step aside. Instead, the taller of the two guardsmen indicated with his sword a small table to his left. Harald moved forward, and picked up a plain black domino mask from a pile on the table. He looked at the guardsmen, and raised an eyebrow.
“With the compliments of Lord Darius,” said the guard. “A masked Ball, in your honor, Sire.”
Harald chuckled softly. “Masks; how delightfully apt. But I don’t think I’ll bother, myself.”
He tossed the mask back onto the pile. The guard sheathed his sword, picked up the mask, and held it out to Harald.
“The Lord Darius was most insistent, Sire,” said the guard. “Nobody gets in unless they’re wearing a mask.”
“He’ll make an exception in my case,” said Harald. “Now stand aside.”
The guard smiled, and shook his head slowly. “I take my orders from the Lord Darius,” he said calmly. “Just as you do, Sire. Now put on your mask.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll put it on for you … Sire.”
Harald hit him just below the breastbone with a straight finger jab, and all the color went out of the guard’s face. He bent slowly forward, as though bowing to Harald, and then fell to lie still on the floor. The other guard lifted his sword and stepped forward, only to freeze in place as the point of Harald’s sword pricked his throat. The guard lowered his blade, and tried hard not to swallow. He’d heard the Prince was good with a sword, but he’d never seen anyone move that fast …
“Who do you take your orders from?” asked Harald, his voice calm and quiet and very dangerous.
“You, Sire,” said the guard. “Only you.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Harald. He stepped back a pace, and sheathed his sword. “Open the door for me, guardsman.”
“Yes, Sire.” The guard glanced quickly at his companion, who was still lying on the floor, curled helplessly around the bright agony in his chest, and then moved forward and knocked twice on the door. There was the sound of heavy bolts being drawn, and the door swung smoothly open. Harald stepped over the fallen guardsman and strode unhurriedly into Lord Darius’s quarters.
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