Royal Bridesmaids

by Stephanie Laurens

  “Don’t be daft. The little henwit ran away,” Minerva growled. Shaking off her daze at last, she marched over to the door that joined the apartment to the rest of the castle. She was in such a state that she almost forgot to veil her face before stepping out into the marble corridor to speak to the Saardovan royal guards stationed there.

  In low tones, Minerva explained the situation to their captain, Diego, a loyal soldier who had long served under her father. Diego turned ashen when he heard the news. There was no time for the hundred stunned questions that flashed in his dark eyes—nor had she any answers.

  “We must not let the Horse Danes know there is anything amiss. Just find her and bring her back. You have three hours before the wedding.”

  “Do you think you can buy us some time?”

  “Possibly,” she answered. “While you ride out to search the town, I’ll dispatch the maids to look for her inside the castle, though I fear she’s long gone by now.”

  “What will you do, my lady?”

  “I am going to stay here to head off the prince if the need arises. Maybe she’ll come back of her own free will. But if she doesn’t”—she swallowed hard—“this marriage will happen one way or the other, Diego,” she said grimly. “I am not letting her plunge our people back into war. I promised my father I’d see this treaty through. And the House of Messina always does its duty,” she added rather bitterly.

  Diego gave her an uneasy nod. “Yes, my lady.” Then he pivoted to his men and clipped out a command to follow, leaving only two behind to guard the door. Appearances, after all, had to be upheld.

  The proud, cold Horse Danes would not countenance this insult if they found out the royal bride had fled.

  Some thanks for their show of mercy—which, from the barbarians, was unprecedented, truth be told. Minerva knew her people should be grateful, but of course, Giulietta had never been grateful a day in her life.

  As the soldiers marched off behind Diego, she retreated into the apartment and brushed back her veil, turning to the maids. They had calmed down a bit now that she had taken control. She gave them their instructions; they donned their veils and padded out silently into the castle to search for their missing royal pain in the bottom. Minerva, left alone in the apartment, shivered in the morning’s chill so common to this alien land.

  She pulled her silk wrap more tightly round her shoulders. Then she sat down by the window, as if she might be able to see her sunny homeland if she stared hard enough, but it was too far away.

  By the gods, how could Giulietta do this? Never mind the practical facts of how she had managed to slip out in the night! Did the pampered beauty think she could actually survive out there without her servants and her guards?

  Waited on hand and foot since the day she was born, she barely knew how to pour herself a glass of water.

  And where did the little ninny imagine she might go? In spite of her fury, Minerva was worried to death about the royal brat out there on her own. Spoiled, craven coward. Still, she couldn’t help feeling that this was, to some degree, her own fault. How could she have missed it?

  After so many years as her lady-in-waiting, Minerva thought she knew all the princess’s tricks by now. But even she had never anticipated that Giulietta might do anything this selfish. Oh, Papa, why did I ever agree to come here?

  A pang of homesickness moved through her.

  The first hour dissolved away into nothing, and still no word from Diego. The maids returned after the second hour. No sign of her in the castle. What were they to do?

  Dry-mouthed, Minerva watched the clock hands inch down inexorably to the half-hour mark, and then, at last, she stood. Her face ashen, she glanced at the other ladies.

  “Will you help me dress?” she forced out, her usually firm voice little more than a whisper. “The treaty must be saved at all costs.”

  They nodded in dread-filled resolve.

  Filing into the other chamber, they took the royal wedding gown and veil down off the pegs where they were hanging. While one girl sorted out the veil and another set the gauzy white masterpiece of a gown on the bed, Minerva began to undress, her hands shaking.

  She could not believe she was going to do this, but she had no choice. Before the mirror, the women worked together to carry out the deception, while somewhere in the palace, Prince Tor waited for his bride.

  The day unfolded as a kind of dream. A carriage drawn by six white horses with plumes on their heads brought her to the cathedral. The bells clamored; a rain of confetti and flower petals filled the air; and a deafening thunder of cheers rose from a joyous populace. All across Rydalburg, and even down in Saardova, the ordinary people celebrated the peace of this wedding alliance.

  As the carriage halted in front of the cathedral, Minerva couldn’t believe the honor Giulietta had chosen to forfeit in doing this service for her people.

  As half a dozen dashing uniformed officers from the prince’s own regiment assisted her and her ladies down from the carriage, Minerva turned back and blew the crowd a kiss. The cheers grew even louder.

  She smiled in spite of the fear of what might happen to her when all this came unraveled, but bracing herself, she headed into the cathedral with her frightened bridesmaids in tow. She herself was to have been the maid of honor, not the bride, of course, but she played her part with dignity despite the slight change of plans.

  She held on tightly to her composure and glided forward, determined to set the example for the other girls. Hidden behind their pink veils, the other bridesmaids’ faces were pale with dread. All were wondering if she’d really get away with this, and what on earth had happened to the real princess.

  There was no time for self-doubt as dignitaries from all the surrounding lands bowed to the imposter bride.

  Minerva nodded back with what she hoped looked like regal self-possession. Meanwhile, the entire aristocracy of Rydalburg filled the pews. Lords and ladies craned their necks to get a look at her when she came to stand at the back of the cathedral.

  Her heart thudded like it might break right out of her chest; she clutched her bouquet and refused to fidget, waiting for her cue.

  Holding very still, she fixed her gaze on the tall, powerfully built warrior standing at the front of the church. The pale sunlight streaming through the rose window illumined his long, blond hair and danced on the gold epaulets on his wide shoulders.

  Silently, she gulped. Of course she was terrified at the prospect of deceiving such a man. The stern, magnificent barbarian could kill her with one blow if he ever had a mind to.

  But this was also a moment of strictest honesty. For she could not say she was not attracted to him.

  In blind faith, she had no choice but to keep putting one foot in front of the other as she set out on her long march down the aisle, refusing to look back.

  Prince Tor stared at her as she joined him in front of the Bishop of Rydalburg. Then the ordeal of marrying him began in earnest.

  Somehow she found the presence of mind to force out the appropriate answers as the Bishop asked each question in turn. Did she pledge herself to this man in loyalty until death? She braced herself with a last mental curse for Giulietta, and bravely gave her word: “I do.”

  Rings were exchanged; the Bishop joined their hands in matrimony and spoke his final blessing. Then Prince Tor turned to her and with the Bishop’s smiling nod of permission, took hold of the lower edges of her veil.

  Minerva trembled deep in her very core as the towering blond warrior captured the lacy edges of her veil and lifted it over her head, letting it waft gracefully down her back.

  He stared at her for a second, his gaze traveling over her face with a look of fascination. She watched him anxiously, unsure if he was pleased with her or not—or if he had instantly seen through her deception.

  What if his spies had somehow found out what the real princess looked like? She could not read him.

  But then he offered her a courteous smile of reassurance. He laid hi
s white-gloved hands on her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her.

  She shut her eyes abruptly as he pressed his lips to hers amid thundering applause.

  It was the first time any man besides her own blood kin had ever seen her face, let alone touched her, claimed her lips. Oh, my.

  It was then she knew she was truly in over her head. The thunderous cheering was so loud as he went on kissing her that she marveled the reverberations did not break the stained glass windows. His kiss lasted another few seconds: deliberate but restrained; chaste, polite, as cool as a mountain evening.

  How the lusty Prince Orsino would have laughed at him for this studied, schoolboy peck.

  But Minerva understood. It was a kiss Tor only gave from duty. Her heart sank a bit. When he ended the kiss and straightened up again—glorious specimen—she was suddenly inspired with a strategy for how she might survive this.

  In all likelihood, it was only a matter of time before her charade was uncovered. Impersonating royalty usually spelled death. But there was one way she might be able to mitigate the prince’s coming wrath.

  That kiss made her wonder if Tor was used to the half-frigid nature of Rydalburg women. So she had heard. Perhaps the famous sensuality of the Saardovans would be her salvation. If she could enthrall her northern prince as a man, bind him to her with pleasure and seduction the likes of which he’d never had, then even the great barbarian might find himself unable to punish her to the full extent of the law for her deception. He might just spare her life.

  While these thoughts churned in her head and the prospect of it began to heat her blood, Tor took her hand, turning her to face their audience.

  She reached habitually for the covering of her veil, but he stopped her with a gentle touch. “No, my wife, do not hide your beauty from my people,” he instructed. “That is not our custom. Besides, once a Saardovan lady is married, she is allowed to show her face. Is it not so?”

  She stared at him in surprise, shocked by the big brute’s gentlemanly tone and his obvious familiarity with Saardovan ways. In truth, she was even more distracted by the strangeness of having this stranger tell her what to do.

  But she nodded warily. “You are correct, my Prince. It was merely habit. I meant no offense.”

  “None taken.” With a guarded smile, he caught her hand between his own and lifted it to his lips, bestowing a quick kiss. “I daresay it is time for our old habits to change—for all of us.” His pointed look informed her he was speaking of their people’s tradition of warfare.

  To show him she wholeheartedly agreed that it ended now, she clasped his big, strong hand more firmly. Tor gave her a subtle nod, reaffirming their newly forged union. Then he led her down the endless aisle of the cathedral.

  At the wedding feast that followed, Minerva had no choice but to accept the lavish praise of the people as her due. She nodded her thanks with what she hoped resembled regal self-possession, and soon forgot all about Princess Giulietta.

  There were toasts and songs and speeches, and in all, the only person who seemed suspicious was Queen Ingmar, the mother of the groom. The Queen gave Minerva a piercing stare that worried her greatly. But if Her Majesty had an inkling of the switch that had been made, she did not utter a word about it.

  Perhaps, as a mother, she, too, wanted an end to the killing above all else.

  Then came the entertainments. First, in the cleared, empty center of the vast banquet hall was a performance of the elite Horse Danes. The cavalry officers in shiny plumed helmets streamed out in formation on their white prancing stallions. The horses seemed to dance to the clipped, measured music, enchanting the crowd with the equine version of a ballet.

  They wove through an array of symmetrical formations with stunning precision. Minerva watched in wonder. It was like nothing she had ever seen. The riders made the horses leap in midair and then freeze, balanced on their hind legs while another row swirled by. Others marched to and fro, lifting their front hooves high with every stride while their necks flexed handsomely. Four of the horses spun, while others crisscrossed the open space with mischievous jumps, kicking out their back legs.

  At the end of their performance, the riders lined up before the wedding table and finished with a bow, the horses bending down on their front legs. Charmed, Minerva applauded enthusiastically. Her ladies followed suit. And then it was the Rydalburgers’ turn to be treated to a performance typical of the lowland culture.

  The lights were dimmed to add theatrical flair; colored lanterns were quickly raised around the edges of the stage. As the Saardovan musicians set the mood with a pizzicato on their strings, down from the ceiling were lowered two trapezes and half a dozen long streamers of strong, colorful silk.

  On these silken streamers the male acrobats descended, naked from the waist up, their arms, chests, and backs glittered with pearl dust. They were the finest aerial acrobatic dancers in Saardova. They swung on the silks, flipped and flew and leaped from place to place. Minerva enjoyed their marvelous stunts, thumbing their noses at gravity.

  Most Saardovan youngsters played on the giant ribbons called silks at some point in their childhood. Doting Saardovan parents hung them from trellises and trees for their young acrobats to swing on, but it took years of dedicated practice to do the daring feats these artists displayed.

  Even Minerva winced now and then, watching them, certain one of them would fall and break his neck. The Rydalburgers barely seemed to know what to make of the performance. The crowd gasped each time the acrobats seemed they would surely collide in midair. Then the performers raised the stakes with their favorite stunt: juggling fire.

  “They’re mad,” Tor said with a low laugh as the men tossed burning torches through the air.

  Princess Katarina was staring at the half-naked male bodies, wide-eyed.

  When the acrobats were finished, the carnival clown skipped out to delight the serious Rydalburg children with his spoofs and illusions. He beckoned a small boy onto the stage to help him find out what was in his brightly painted box. The boy dutifully assisted, then shook his head at the clown. “There’s nothing in there, sir.”

  The clown frowned with exaggerated sorrow and showed the audience the boy was quite correct. The box was empty.

  All of a sudden, the illusion was unleashed as half a dozen white doves came fluttering out of it.

  Minerva smiled—the symbol of peace. She glanced at Tor and saw that he recognized the meaning of the trick. Everyone applauded, and as the clown retreated with a bow, King Hakon rose and lifted his gold goblet for a toast. “To my son. Tor, you have opened a new chapter in our people’s history. Hear, hear!”

  Minerva lifted her glass to her new husband, as well. He smiled modestly and nodded at everyone in appreciation. Minerva gazed at him a moment longer than she probably should; he glanced over and met her stare, and they both seemed to forget what they were about. A thrilling spark of wordless speculation passed between them at the prospect of the night ahead.

  Once darkness had descended, fireworks were set off from the highest mountaintop so that the people for many miles around could enjoy their brilliance. As the bright, wondrous colors illuminated the night sky, countless hearts must have thanked the gods that for once, the booming noises across the land weren’t cannon fire.

  Minerva caught a sudden glimpse of a weary, dusty Captain Diego in the crowd. At a time like this, she was grateful he did not risk coming to speak to her privately about their delicate situation. But he shook his head discreetly to signify they still hadn’t found the runaway princess.

  She nodded back at him in subtle thanks for this grim news. It seemed like she would have to go through with the wedding night, after all. Give her virginity to the man who had cut off her father’s leg. Oh, help.

  It wasn’t much longer after that that Tor captured her hand in the velvet darkness of the night and looked into her eyes. Sparing her maiden modesty from public laughter, he drew her away alone with him while the rest of the world
remained dazzled by the fireworks.

  Heart pounding, she offered no resistance. Enthrall him with pleasure? She scoffed at herself. This was her first time. She barely even knew what she was doing.

  He took her to his chamber and softly closed the door. “I hope you will be comfortable in your new home, my lady.”

  “Oh—I’m sure I will.”

  “I’ll try not to make this too unpleasant on you.”

  “P-pardon?”

  “I am a-a large man,” he said awkwardly. Her eyes widened as she realized what he was talking about. “I will try to do it quickly to minimize any discomfort you might feel.”

  She stared at him, frozen.

  “Bloody hell, I’m already botching this, aren’t I?”

  Words escaped her.

  “It’s just I know you’re a virgin, and I’m sure you already think me a barbarian, so I just wanted to try to assure you before all this begins that Rydalburg men put their wives up on a pedestal.” He faltered and stared at her imploringly, and Minerva was shocked, utterly shocked by the honesty, even the vulnerability, in his eyes. “I come from a warrior people, you know that. But you must also know I will always treat you with the utmost respect.”

  She studied him in awe. Why, his earnest struggle to find the words to comfort her and allay her fears were more potent on her than the charm of ten suave, cocky Prince Orsinos.

  “I won’t bother you too much—if you are at all concerned about your, um . . . duties.” He nodded discreetly toward the bed.

  “Thank you, my lord.” Minerva lowered her head, blushing scarlet and trying not to laugh. He was adorable. She had not expected this for a second. “Thank you for that kind reassurance.” She could not resist glancing up at him from beneath her lashes, still holding back a laugh. “You need not be embarrassed, sir. I will comply with your wishes.”

  “Embarrassed? I’m not embarrassed!” The quick denial sounded even more awkward and chagrined, especially as his cheeks flushed.