Princes and Princesses

by Cartland, Barbara

  Her mother had often spoken of the Crown Jewels, and when Ilona had been allowed to choose what she would wear for her wedding she had gasped at their magnificence.

  She had however chosen to wear only the diamond wreath, feeling that anything more would seem ostentatious.

  Vaguely at the back of her mind she felt they were more the perquisite of the women Magda described as ‘a disgrace!’

  The gardeners had brought her a bouquet of white flowers and she thought as she held them in her lap that at least they would conceal the trembling of her hands.

  It was not only the painful weals on her back which made her feel weak, but also the butterflies she felt fluttering inside her.

  Only years of discipline prevented her from clinging feverishly to Magda before she left the Palace.

  “God bless you, my little M’rnselle!” Magda had said with the tears running down her cheeks.

  It was typical of her father, Ilona thought, that he had decreed that none of the servants at the Palace should be present at the ceremony.

  “Could you not persuade Papa that it would give them so much pleasure?” Ilona asked Colonel Ceáky, “especially those who knew my mother?”

  “I said exactly what you asked me to say, Princess,” the Colonel replied, “and His Majesty replied that as far as he was concerned it was not a ‘peep show!’ “

  It was difficult, Ilona thought, to control the hatred she felt for her father, when with ill-grace he seated himself beside her in the carriage.

  He was looking magnificent – she could not deny that!

  His red tunic was covered with decorations, his plumed hat which he wore as Commander-in-Chief of the Army and the Dabrozkan coat, falling from one shoulder, heavily embroidered with gold thread, were all impressive.

  The gold sword at his side and the jangling spurs on his highly polished boots were all part of his magnificence.

  Only the scowl on his face and the deep resentment smouldering in his eyes were a warning to Ilona that he was like a volcano which might erupt at any moment.

  She had prayed before she left the Palace that everything might go off smoothly.

  If she was to marry for the sake of Dabrozka, a man she had never seen, then it was important that the wedding should impress the people as a happy event and augur good for the future.

  One think was a relief, there was no question of her talking to her father on the way to the Cathedral.

  There were crowds lining the streets, cheering and throwing flowers into the carriage from the moment they left the gates of the Palace until they reached the city.

  The noise in the Square was almost deafening and the crowds were thicker there than anywhere else.

  Ilona could see a number of Jahász and Csikós who tended the herds of cows. They must have come in from the steppes and she thought it amazing how quickly they had learnt about what was taking place in the capital.

  She was also sure, although it was difficult to be certain, that she could distinguish the people who came from the Sáros side of the river.

  It might have been her imagination, but they looked more prosperous, better dressed and happier than the Radáks. There was a Guard of Honour of the King’s Regiment outside the Cathedral, and when they entered the dim solemnity of the great building there was the sweet fragrance of incense and the gleam of the silver sanctuary lights.

  The religion of the Dabrozkans was Eastern Orthodox.

  In Paris Ilona had with her mother attended the Roman Catholic services at Notre Dame and she only hoped that she would not make many mistakes.

  The Cathedral was packed and, although she kept her eyes downcast as she proceeded up the aisle on her father’s arm, she was aware that everyone of importance in the country was represented.

  In their best silks and satins, in their bustled gowns and feathered hats, the ladies of Dabrozka were very beautiful, while the men, whatever their age, were dashing and exceedingly handsome.

  Slowly the King and Ilona proceeded up the aisle.

  Now ahead she could see the Archbishop with his long grey beard, supported by a dozen Priests, while acolytes in their red cassocks and lace edged surplices were swinging the censers containing incense.

  Then she was tinglingly aware that waiting for her at the Chancel steps was the tall figure of a man.

  She kept her eyes on the ground in front of her and she did not dare to raise her head.

  She was to be married to a stranger and she could not look at him, fearing she might become more afraid than she was already.

  She felt her fingers tighten on her father’s arm, then deliberately she relaxed them.

  ‘I must behave as Mama would have wished me to,’ she thought. ‘I am doing this for Dabrozka, for the people to whom I belong so that I may bring them peace.’

  The thought was somehow comforting. Now the man she was to marry was standing on her right, and yet still she could not look at him.

  The Archbishop began the Service.

  Someone took Ilona’s bouquet from her and then she and her husband-to-be were kneeling side by side on white satin cushions.

  She could feel herself vibrating to his presence and wondered if he was vibrating to hers.

  She could see out of the corner of her eyes that he was wearing a white tunic and she knew it was a uniform, although he would not be in any of the Regiments which her father commanded.

  Perhaps the Sáros had their own.

  She thought how ignorant she was not only of the man she was to marry but also of the part of the country he represented.

  She had lost her place in the Service and before she expected it they were actually about to make their wedding vows The man beside her was repeating his after the Archbishop,

  “I, Aladár Sebastyen Ladislas, take thee, Ilona Nandina, to my wedded wife.”

  He had a deep voice. There was something resonant about it.

  He spoke slowly, seriously and with a positiveness which made him sound sincere.

  In contrast, Ilona thought, her own voice sounded weak and helpless.

  She felt the Prince’s hand take hers to place a narrow gold ring on her third finger.

  She had a sudden moment of panic in case it was too small, and thought that, if it were, the congregation would take it as a bad omen.

  The Dabrozkans were, very superstitious about such things.

  But the ring fitted perfectly, and the manner in which he held her hand as the Archbishop joined them together was as firm and positive as his voice.

  “I now pronounce that you be man and wife together,” the Archbishop intoned above their heads.

  For the first time Ilona raised her eyes to look at the man whose wife she had become.

  For a moment she stared at him incredulously and thought she must be dreaming.

  Then she realised that far from marrying someone unknown to her and whom she had never seen, she had in fact not only seen Prince Aladár before, but he had actually kissed her lips!

  His blue eyes regarded her quizzically. Then with her heart thumping in her breast, she forced herself to attend to the rest of the Service.

  When it was over Ilona turned to curtsey to the Kin; while the Prince bowed his head ceremoniously.

  But as they did so her father rose from the carved seat on which he had been sitting during the service and walked ahead of them down the aisle.

  It was an unprecedented action, but Ilona knew that he did so to show not only the congregation but also her husband that he was the Monarch!

  He was the most important person present, even at the marriage of his daughter!

  The Prince had offered Ilona his arm and she took it, moving at his side down the aisle behind her father, determined that there should be no expression on her face save one of happiness.

  She forced a smile to her lips, she bowed to the people on the left side of the aisle, knowing they were finding it difficult having curtsied to the King to curtsey again so quickly to herself and
her husband.

  The King had already left in his carriage before they reached theirs.

  It was not the same vehicle in which she had arrived at the Cathedral. It was also open, but now the hood and the high seat on which the coachman was seated were decorated with white flowers.

  There were white plumes on the horses’ heads and their harness was of white, the accoutrements of gold.

  It was so pretty and so ornamented that as Ilona stepped into it she knew that this carriage had not come from her father’s stables but must in fact belong to the Prince.

  There had been cheers when she entered the Capital, but it was nothing to the enthusiasm with which the crowds greeted them as Ilona and Prince Aladár left the Cathedral for the Palace.

  There seemed too, to be more flowers, more waving handkerchiefs, more flags, and a more genuine welcome in the voices of those who acclaimed them.

  She glanced shyly at the Prince but saw that he was intent on waving to the people on his side of the carriage, and because she knew it was expected of her she concentrated on those on her left.

  There were four horses pulling the lightweight vehicle and it did not take them long to cover the distance from the City and to climb the steep hill up to the Palace itself.

  Behind them there was a long line of carriages bringing all the dignitaries and nobles, landlords and clergy of Dabrozka to the Reception.

  The courtyard of the Palace was full of soldiers and as the carriage drew up outside the door the Prince said,

  “I think it is intended that we should inspect the Guard of Honour!”

  “Yes, of course,” Ilona answered.

  She looked at him and now there was no mistaking the amused expression in his eyes and the smile on his lips.

  “We have met before,” he said.

  Because she thought he was remembering that he had kissed her, the blood rose in her cheeks and her eye-lashes fluttered, then lay very dark against her white skin.

  She had the feeling that he was laughing at her embarrassment.

  Then they were walking down the lines of the Guard of Honour. The Prince stopped occasionally to speak to one of the soldiers while, as the Officer in Charge was Major Kassa, Ilona told him how smart the troops were, knowing it would please him.

  By the time they reached the Throne Room where the Reception was to be held, the mirrors were reflecting the colourful and distinguished guests and the very chandeliers seemed to tinkle with the excited chatter of their voices.

  There was a six tiered cake in front of the dais on which stood the thrones, and Ilona wondered how the Chefs of the Palace had managed to complete so elaborate a cake, so quickly.

  She thought that she must remember to thank them and also to be quite sure that Magda had a piece.

  But it was almost impossible to think of anything except the people crowding round her offering their congratulations.

  Many of them spoke of her mother and how much she had been missed, but some stared at her critically and she was quite certain that they came from Sáros land on the other side of the river.

  The Reception seemed to go on interminably and Ilona was glad when Colonel Ceáky brought her a sandwich to eat and a glass of champagne.

  “We had hoped that His Majesty would propose the health of the bride and bridegroom,” the Colonel said in a loco voice which only she could hear, “but he seems to have disappeared!”

  “Perhaps it would be best to ask the Prime Minister to do so,” Ilona answered.

  She had the feeling it would be unwise to press her father to take an active part in the celebrations.

  Colonel Ceáky nodded and a moment later the Prime Minister stepped onto the dais in front of the thrones.

  He held a glass of champagne in his hand.

  “Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, Your Highness, my Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began. “This is a very happy day in the history of Dabrozka. I believe that from this moment the problems and the difficulties which have been ours for the past few years will be swept away.

  “There will be no more divisions, no more partitions, neither in our country, nor in our hearts. Prince Aladár and his beautiful wife will bring a new spirit to the land we love.” He paused to say impressively,

  “May we, each of us, make our contribution, not only in words and actions but also with our very hearts and souls.”

  The Prime Minister spoke with such sincerity that it was very moving.

  Then he raised his glass to say,

  “I propose the toast of the Bride and Bridegroom, God give them many years of happiness together and bring us what we need so greatly - peace!”

  There was a cry of “The Bride and Bridegroom!”

  Glasses were raised, the toast was drunk.

  Taking Ilona by the hand the Prince stepped onto the dais.

  “I wish to thank the Prime Minister on behalf of my wife and myself and assure him that we dedicate ourselves to the service of Dabrozka. There will be no more enmity between the Radáks and Sáros and the divisions which have kept us apart for so long no longer exist.

  “I believe that with your help we can create a new country, as we begin a new family life which we hope will set an example to generations of future Dabrozkans, of peace and prosperity.”

  Everybody clapped and a number of men cheered as the Prince turned to Ilona and raised her hand to his lips.

  She felt his mouth hard and insistent on her soft skin and felt a little tremor go through her.

  Then as she looked up at him, feeling she should say something but not certain what it should be, there was a voice behind her.

  “His Majesty wishes to speak to Your Royal Highness and to you, Sir!”

  It was one of her father’s Aides-de-Camp and Ilona fancied there was something hostile in his tone.

  She glanced at him apprehensively, but he walked ahead, leading them through an adjacent door into one of the antechambers which adjoined the Hall of Mirrors.

  The King was waiting for them alone and one look at the expression on his face made Ilona’s heart feel as if it had stopped beating.

  He was glowering in the same way as he had glowered at her yesterday. As the door closed behind them he said harshly to the Prince,

  “I heard what you said!”

  “I hope it pleased you, Sire.”

  “Pleased me?” the King ejaculated. “Did you think it would please me that you should speak as if you intend to sit on my throne and breed children who will usurp my position?”

  “I have no wish to usurp your position, Sire,” the Prince replied. “But I understood that my wife was to be your heir and when the time comes to reign over Dabrozka –”

  “When the time comes!” the King said. “And by that time - you upstart - you will be dead.”

  Ilona felt the Prince stiffen beside her, but before he could speak the King went on, working himself into one of his tyrannical rages as he shouted,

  “I understand only too well what is in your crafty mind. You think that if I will accept you I will accept your children! You are mistaken! You will not touch my daughter, and if you dare to do so I will kill you with my bare hands!”

  He pointed his finger derisively as he yelled,

  “You are nothing but a common bandit! The so-called Princes of Sáros are no better than the rebellious peasants over whom they rule!

  “If you want a woman, then take one from among the dirty gypsies you have encouraged to break my laws, and who are undoubtedly the right companions for a man of your sort! Maybe your father was a gypsy, if the truth be known.”

  The King was crimson in the face and spitting with rage as he said,

  “I have been forced - yes, forced - to give you my daughter in marriage. But make no mistake, it is only a farce, a charade to deceive the Russians! It is not an invitation for you to exercise your filthy lust or to treat her as if she were not your superior by birth and breeding.”

  Shaking his fist now he shouted,


  “She loathes you, as I do, and to her you are nothing but a lackey! If I had my way, I would have you whipped from this Palace and hanged as the prisoners you released the other night will be hanged as soon as they are caught!”

  Ilona had stood mesmerised into immobility by her father’s tirade.

  She felt as if his grotesquely contorted face and his snarling voice hypnotised her so that she could not move and could not even protest at what he was saying.

  Then she felt the Prince take her arm and move her towards the door which led not into the Hall of Mirrors but into the corridor.

  As they reached it and the King realised what they were about, he shouted,

  “Come back! I have not finished with you, yet, Sáros. I have more to say - more I wish you to hear!”

  The Prince turned and bowed his head correctly. As if he told her to do so, Ilona curtseyed. Then he opened the door and they were in the passage.

  He drew her towards the Great Hall and because she thought he did not know the way she tried to turn left to the Throne-room.”

  “We are leaving!”

  The Prince’s voice was quite expressionless, but when she looked at his face she saw his eyes were hard and his chin was square-set.

  She could feel the waves of anger emanating from him and her heart which seemed to have stood still during her father’s outburst began to beat apprehensively.

  She wanted to protest, to suggest they should go back and at least explain what had happened to the Prime Minister. Then she thought it was quite unnecessary.

  He would doubtless learn from the King himself what had happened, but in any case it would not be hard for him to guess at the reason for their precipitated departure.

  They reached the Hall and the servants on duty looked at them in surprise.

  “My carriage!” the Prince ordered.

  The Major-Domo hurried through the open door and descended the steps to call up the flower-decorated carriage which was waiting in the shade. The coachmen had obviously not expected to be required for some time.

  Hastily it was driven to the bottom of the steps and as if she was an automaton with no will of her own Ilona stepped into it. The Prince sat down beside her.