Ginny Hartman

by To Guard Her Heart

  Rosalind wasted no time ridding herself of the heavy velvet gown, stripping it from her person and discarding it carelessly on the floor. She eagerly walked to the tub, reaching one hand down to swirl the rose petals that were floating on top of the water, before gingerly placing one toe in, testing the temperature, before fully submersing herself into the water’s warm cocoon. She propped her head on the back of the tub, easing her body into the full depths of the water. She suddenly realized how exhausted she was and allowed her eyes to drift shut. She wanted nothing more than to sleep but her mother was right behind her, pushing her head into the water causing all thoughts of sleep to flee as she quickly inhaled a breath of air, holding it as her face was submersed completely in the water.

  As soon as her mother's grip loosened, she bobbed to the surface and inhaled. "Can't I relax for a moment before you attempt to drown me?"

  "You had all day to relax." Rosalind rolled her eyes and was grateful that her mother couldn't see her antics.

  What she had envisioned as a long, relaxing bath was cut short by her mother's hurried motions. In less time than it took the servants to fill the tub, she was washed, dried, and now sitting in a chair before the fire as her mother brushed her waist length hair. The silence grew thick between them, and Rosalind was surprised her mother wasn't taking the opportunity to prattle off last minute advice and threats on her night’s performance.

  The long, repetitive strokes of the brush were soothing. Since as long as she could remember, Rosalind had always loved the simple joy of having her hair dressed, and tonight was no exception. It relaxed her, causing her scalp to tingle with pleasure. Her mother hummed softly in the background, seeming as relaxed by the chore as Rosalind was herself.

  When her hair was nearly dry, her mother instructed her to rise, as she fluttered towards the bed to retrieve her gown. The dressing was nearly as ritualistic as the dance. Both of them remained silent as her mother dressed her for the first time as a woman would dress. After slipping into a thin chemise, her mother laced her into a corset that had been custom designed to fit her slender frame. The white linen hugged her body like a second skin, that is, until her mother began to vigorously tighten the laces in the back of the bodice, forcing her breasts nearly up to her chin and her lungs into her throat.

  "Is this contraption really necessary?" she asked breathlessly.

  Her mother answered her with an annoyed look before slipping her dress over her head. The customary white dress was made of the finest of silk, feeling luxurious against her smooth skin. The bodice fit snugly over her torso and hips before belling out slightly around her legs. The sleeves covered her entire arm coming to a point at the top of her hands, a thin gold thread looping around her middle finger to keep the sleeve in place. She reached down to smooth the delicate silk of her skirt as her mother moved behind her to drape a sash woven of the finest gold thread low on her hips, tying it in an elegant knot at her waist, the tails of the sash falling nearly to the ground.

  Stepping back, her mother proclaimed, "Oh sweet Rosalind, you are a vision."

  Reaching one hand up to twist in her thick, brown locks, Rosalind replied, "Not quite yet; there's still the matter of my hair to attend to."

  "You could have no hair whatsoever and you'd still be the prettiest girl in the kingdom."

  Rosalind giggled. "Mother, you are biased."

  "That may be true, but I know there are many that would agree with me. Just you wait and see; I don't think it'll take long for you to make a match."

  Rosalind's shoulders sagged with the reminder of what this night was truly about. "Is this all necessary, Mother? Aren't I still too young to worry about such things?"

  "You are ten and eight years of age, the age that every young woman seeks her entrance." Then, exhaling a wearied breath, her mother continued, "We've been over this at least a dozen times and the answers are all the same. As daughter of the Lesser King of the Southwestern Territory, you are not only expected to make your entrance as soon as the time permits, you are expected to make an advantageous match as well, and quickly."

  Rosalind threw herself heedlessly into the chair. "But mother, do you truly believe it to be that simple? As if by magic, I will meet the right man for me as soon as I am granted my entrance? I do not like the pressure put upon me by all of these expectations. I don't want to marry simply because I feel the pressure to do so as daughter of a king. And besides, I'm not ready for marriage." She voiced the last statement after folding her arms indignantly across her chest, as if it would somehow help her get her point across.

  When her mother spoke her voice was sharp, "Would you rather your father and I had betrothed you to somebody you don't even know? That's how it was done not so long ago, and that's how it was done for me. Don't you think I would have been grateful for the opportunity to have a say in my own future, to have had a chance to marry someone I loved?"

  Rosalind eyes widened at her mother's admission. "But don't you love father?"

  "Of course I do—now. But to be frank with you, initially our marriage was an arrangement by our parents and nothing else. I'm simply letting you know that you should be grateful that your uncle, King Cedric, saw fit to change that tradition and that you will have some say in your future. If only he would have been so courteous to change the law when I pleaded with him to do so, things would have been very different for me.”

  She was momentarily caught off guard by the bitterness that she could hear in her mother's voice. “What do you mean?” she asked hesitantly, not sure if she was prepared for the answer.

  “Just because my father had already arranged my marriage, it didn't mean I was without feelings, without dreams. I had the grave misfortune of falling in love with a man I could never wed. I foolishly thought that, if only I brought the matter to King Cedric's attention, he would change things, allow me out of the contract my father had made promising me to your father. I was wrong. He refused to break the arrangement and the wedding went on as planned. It was like a knife had been twisted into my heart when only a short while later he changed the custom, allowing a woman a say in whom she wed. You have no idea just how grateful you should be that your fate will not be what mine was.”

  The reminder of how things used to be humbled Rosalind. For the first time in her life she felt a strange sense of pity directed towards her mother. Maybe having been forbidden to wed the man she had loved was the cause of her underlying unhappiness. Feeling contrite she muttered, “You're right, Mother. I will promise not to complain of my circumstances any further.” And though she promised not to complain, she never once promised that she'd like it.

  Chapter 3

  The Princess's Entrance

  Rosalind stood solemnly in the corridor leading into the great hall. Her physical transformation into a woman had been completed, as her mother had finished carefully coiffing her hair. Two small braids were pinned back on either side of her face, while the rest of her hair cascaded down her back in long, sable locks. Next, her mother had woven a slender, gold ribbon intricately through each braid, finishing it off with the addition of several small sprigs of jasmine.

  Standing by herself waiting to be announced, she couldn't help but feel nervous. She didn't want to be on display, as all eyes would carefully watch her every move—some hoping for her to make an error so they could secretly gloat about it later, and some, her parents included, anxious for her to perform the Saylatee perfectly.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath she moved guardedly down the corridor, and as she did so, a strange sensation began to occur. A calming warmth poured over her, causing her arms to relax as her balled up fists unwound at her sides. She felt herself stand a little taller, as her eyes focused on shimmering wisps of incandescent color twisting and flickering towards her. It seemed as if the same strange spell that had woven itself over her earlier had returned and was working its magic on her now.

  But this time, she noted as the whirls of color danced closer, she didn't feel
ill or fatigued at all, she felt alive. A strange confidence washed over her as the wisps breathed over her, ever so lightly winding themselves into every fiber of her being. She didn't have long to ponder on the strange occurrence, as she heard the announcement being made that it was time for her to make her entrance. The thick, wood doors were pushed open with a flourish, and she confidently, almost excitedly, stepped into the great hall.

  ***

  Terric de Valle's stomach rumbled in response to the enticing scent of roasted meat he could smell wafting in the air. Looking longingly at the bowl of fruit in front of him, he wished it wouldn't be considered poor form to reach out and pluck that beguiling plum from the bowl and sink his teeth into its juicy fruit. Folding his arms across his chest to keep them from reaching out, he leaned back in his chair and glanced around the room.

  A wooden table was situated at the top of the great hall on the dais, a raised platform where only the highest of nobles sat. Sitting in the center was the High King, of whom Terric was lead defender. His sole responsibility in life was to defend the king, to protect him at all costs. His quick thinking and fierce loyalty had been an asset in gaining the position he had sought since he was but a wee lad.

  On the right of the High King sat his brother, King Lawrence, the lesser king who oversaw the south eastern territory of Darth. His wife, Queen Margaret sat next to him, her back stiff and an apathetic look on her face. On the High King's left sat his second brother, King Eustace, along with his wife Queen Constance. Their daughter was seeking her entrance tonight. Two long tables stretched out from both corners of the King's table, taking up almost the entire length of the room, leaving the center of the floor empty for King Eustace's daughter to perform the Saylatee. Terric sat on the table on the left, almost directly in front of King Eustace and Queen Constance where he could have a clear view of the High King at all times.

  As everyone eagerly waited, the minstrel began playing the lute, and all eyes turned towards the double doors at the end of the great hall that were ceremoniously being opened to reveal the young princess. All eyes watched with rapt attention as the princess floated into the room and began her dance.

  The dance started slowly but continued on in a slowly elevated measure of excitement and anticipation. Terric had sat through his fair share of entrances, but this one was different. This princess was different. The women dancing before the entire room was confident and elegant, not nervous as most of the girls usually were. She performed each step with grace, and as she moved further into the hall and closer to where he was sitting, he had the chance to behold her exquisite beauty.

  Brown, silky hair wove around her bodice as she twirled in time to the music. He watched mesmerized, as waves of hair curled around her arms and chest, touching her in places that he suddenly wished he could reach out and grasp. Then the music slowed and he watched as her movements slowed with it, grateful that her hair was no longer caressing her body alluringly. But the relief that he felt was short lived as she began to sway her hips seductively. His mouth went dry as he watched her move with assurance, her arms twisting through the air, her hips continuing that tantalizing sway that was starting to drive him mad.

  He reluctantly peeled his eyes away from her long enough to glance at her parents, to see what their reaction was to the little vixen who was seducing the crowd. King Eustace and Queen Constance sat watching with pride gleaming in their eyes, seemingly completely unaware of the effect she was having. He thought about looking around to gauge the reactions of the other guests in attendance, but already his eyes had been off of the princess for too long, and he was loathe to miss another second of her mesmerizing dance.

  Focusing his eyes once more on her, his hand clutched his goblet of wine tightly, his whole body fraught with awareness, as he watched her intently. Soon, the young princess turned and looked directly at him, her wide violet eyes piercing his soul. It was the girl he had encountered earlier in the woods! This revelation did nothing to ease his escalating desire as their earlier encounter played out in his mind.

  He didn't have long to think back on the earlier events, for her dancing was utterly distracting him. He didn't know if it was his imagination, but he could have sworn he saw recognition flash across her lovely face, as she continued her dance right in front of him. Everything in the room faded but her. He wouldn't even allow himself to blink for fear of missing even the briefest of moments of her dance. She was so close to him now, so close his hands itched to reach out and grab her full hips and pull her down into his lap. He flexed his hands instinctively, wanting nothing more than to touch her, that is, until he looked at her lips. He nearly groaned in agony. Nay, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her.

  Long before he wanted it to, the song ended. The room was silent, everyone completely mesmerized by the little enchantress, but nobody more so than him. His breath caught in his chest, as he watched her hands fall to her sides and her eyes fall from his, as she slowly turned towards the High King. The only sound that could be heard in the great hall was the sound of her delicate slippers tapping on the stone floor as she purposefully made her way to the king's table.

  As she approached, she bowed herself gracefully before the High King and uttered softly, “I, Rosalind Fiona Mildred Alison Taran Violet Harcourt, humbly bow before you and ask of thee permission this day to enter into womanhood. May my request be granted?”

  The room was silent as everyone leaned forward slightly in their chairs, eagerly awaiting the High King's response, but nobody anticipated it more than Terric. His eyes studied King Cedric's face, a face that was as familiar to him as his own, and he knew that he would surely grant her entrance, for nobody had ever danced the Saylatee more perfectly than her. A tremor of jealousy washed over him as he awaited King Cedric's response. For a moment he hoped that he would deny her request, for the thought of any other man seeking her attention made his blood simmer in rage beneath his skin. But on second thought, he wanted nothing more than her entrance to be granted, for her to be officially available. To him.

  “Permission granted,” the High King's voice bellowed proudly throughout the great hall.

  The princess rose and immediately the crowd began gathering around her, anxious to offer her their congratulations. Terric rose swiftly, making his way out onto the balcony that wasn't far from where he was sitting. His body needed a dose of coldness that only the night's brisk air could provide.

  Looking up at the full moon above, Terric ran one hand through his thick, dark locks as he exhaled slowly. He wasn't sure what had come over him as he watched the princess dance, but now was not the time to be distracted by a woman's beauty, the High King's niece no less. Propping one booted foot up on the stone balustrade in front of him, he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees and closed his eyes. He tried thinking about the latest attack on Brantonwall Castle that had occurred only four days prior to the High King and his party traveling south for Princess Rosalind's entrance, in hopes that it would take his mind off of the princess herself.

  It seemed that the formerly infrequent attacks on the High King were becoming increasingly frequent as of late. He had to defend the king’s very life more times in the past several months than he'd had to in the last three years spent as lead defender. This last attack had been the worst yet. Even thinking about the occurrence now caused him to mutter a prayer of gratitude that he had been in the right place at the right time to save the king's life, despite the loss of two of their best defenders. He shuddered to think about what King Cedric's death could have meant for the Kingdom of Darth.

  And still the mystery remained. Who was behind these attacks, and would they not cease until King Cedric was dead? Terric knew that the only person who wanted answers more than him was the king himself, for it maddened him enormously to know that there was somebody out there intent on ruining the peace that Darth had fought so hard to gain over the last several decades of ongoing strife with the neighboring kingdom of Moar.


  For the second time that night, Terric felt his blood begin to boil, but this time with barely suppressed anger instead of lust. That is, until his thoughts were interrupted by the delicate clearing of an undoubtedly feminine throat. In a casual manner that betrayed his inner feelings, Terric glanced over his shoulder to see who had intruded on his privacy.

  Standing several short feet from him was Princess Rosalind. Bathed in the silvery light of the full moon, she was even more beautiful up close than she had been in the dreary cavern of the castle walls. If he had thought her beautiful before, she was absolutely exquisite now. His mouth went dry, and all coherent thought fled from his mind as he stared into her face, trying to memorize every line, every curve of her perfectly formed features.

  With careful skill, he was able to compose himself enough to ask casually, “Is King Cedric looking for me?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then perhaps you are looking for me?” he inquired lightly, his voice laced with the faintest trace of hope. When she didn't answer him right away he asked, “How did you manage to slip away?”

  Princess Rosalind shrugged as she closed the gap between them. “It's easy to escape when nobody is paying you any attention.”

  Terric smiled. “I don't know how you failed to notice, but everybody in that room was very aware of you while you danced.”

  “That's the fickle nature of humans; they only remain interested in something until the next greatest thing comes along. As soon as the food began to arrive I was all but forgotten.”

  Terric lowered his foot to the ground, straightening before the princess. “I haven't forgotten you,” he whispered huskily.

  For a moment they stood in silence, her violet eyes boring into his own. The combination of moonlight, the sweet scent of jasmine drifting up from her hair, and the after effects of her dance, combined to make his skin tingle in awareness. He lowered his gaze from her eyes, focusing on her soft, red lips as he felt his head beginning to lower towards hers.