Chapter 18
The Future Queen
Since the day that Parlan had ridden away from the castle, Katrina’s mind had been occupied with no thought other than his safety. As a member of his household, she had been there with all the others to welcome him home, overwhelmed with relief and delight that he was unharmed. But now the first euphoria of seeing him safe faded a little as she went about her duties, sadness crept in to replace the joy. Instinctively she had wanted to run to him, to clasp him tightly to her and declare her love for him, but she knew she dared not reveal such feelings to anyone, least of all the king. She thought about his soft and tender kiss when they were hiding in the secret passage, and was aware that, for her own peace of mind, now he had returned, she would have to leave. She could not bear to be so close to him day in, day out and yet still so very far. She had already sought permission from the housemistress to change her duties so that she would not have to see him on a daily basis, although obviously not revealing the real reason why. She was now no longer charged with attending the Royal quarters. She had also requested that her employment be terminated at the end of the coming week, offering sickness in the family as the ostensible reason. Whereas in reality, she had no relatives she could visit.
Her final morning at the castle had arrived and although another chambermaid had taken over her duties of caring for the king, she decided to help this new lass clean and tidy his quarters one last time. Content that everything was in order she sadly returned to her room, to pack her meagre belongings into a bag. She didn’t own anything of value, and it didn’t take long to fold away her few clothes and a spare pair of boots. She had decided to head westward where a new town was going up, and where she hoped to secure employment as a nanny or housemaid, anything to pay the rent and buy food. A ride had already been purchased with a pretty smile and a charge of a few coins, from the driver of the supply wagon, leaving just after midday. She gathered up her one small piece of luggage, then, with a heavy heart, made her way towards the main gates, keeping her face averted so that no one would notice the streaks of tears trickling down her pale distressed face. The banquet was scheduled to begin at sunset, the fifty soldiers along with the King’s Council, Judges, Officials, Nemeila, Tyler, Bekka and a wolf, drooling with hunger at the promising odours of roasting meat, were all waiting for their host to arrive. Nemeila and Bekka looked stunning; the housemistress had done them proud with her sewing skills and choice of materials. A maid rapped on the door to Parlan’s quarters, a timid knock, as though she didn’t want it to be answered. The door swung back and a grinning Parlan stood in the opening. The grin faded when he saw the maid was alone, when he had expected her to be accompanied by his own very special guest for the banquet. “She has gone, my lord,” stammered the maid, stepping away from him nervously, afraid to meet his sharp eyes.
“Gone? What do you mean? Gone where?”
“I don’t know, sire. Her room is empty, all her clothes missing from the chest. The invitation you sent was propped on the mantle.”
Parlan stood for a moment, perplexed, trying to think of a possible reason why she might have fled.
“You may go,” he finally said, after a few moments thought. “Ask the housemistress to come here, right away.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey before scurrying off on her errand. The command from the king to hasten immediately to his quarters threw the poor housemistress into a confused panic. She finger-combed her hair, straightened her dress and rushed to find out what she had done wrong. As Parlan jerked open the door to her knock, he demanded the whereabouts of the young girl who had until recently been charged with cleaning his quarters.
For a moment the woman was flustered at the odd question; why would the king concern himself in the comings and goings of staff; the silly girls came and went all the time, especially if they had snared themselves a husband.
“She gave her notice, Sire. She was paid what was due her up to midday, and has now left the castle. Has she done something wrong, stolen something valuable from Your Majesty?”
“No,” said Parlan in rising frustration, “nothing has been taken. Did she say where she was bound?” “She mentioned a relative had been taken ill, and there was no one but herself to care for her.”
“Thank you,” Parlan sighed, “you may go. There is nothing for you to worry about. You have not done any wrong, neither has the girl,” he added at the sight of the woman’s worried face.
Parlan slammed a fist into the wall, not feeling the pain as the blood welled up on his knuckles. He knew why she had deserted him. What was it she had said, ‘When this is over, I’m going to leave to visit distant relatives,’ he knew there were no relatives for her to visit. Her parents were dead, and at their funeral he had heard her say to a friend that she was now alone in the world. Was it because he had kissed her, or was it because she had kissed him? As a frantic Parlan burst into the banqueting room, the servants stood smartly to attention lining the walls, ready to start distributing the food as soon as he had taken his place at the head of the table.
“You’ll have to start without me,” he said abruptly to his astonished guests. “I have something very important to deal with, I’ll be back shortly.”
He strode from the hall before anyone could question him. Aware that there was not much that escaped Cook’s attention, she would surely know if any transport had left the castle today. He directed his steps towards the kitchens, almost running in his anxiety.
The poor woman who governed the kitchens clutched at her ample chest in fear as the king burst into her domain. Her immediate thought was that the food was not to his liking, but food was the last thing on his mind.
“Has any transport left the castle today?” he demanded, desperation in his voice.
Cook relaxed when she realised he hadn’t found a hair in his soup, but was a little disconcerted by the worry etched on his young face. “The food wagon was here earlier, it left well into the afternoon, the driver was moaning about the delay.”
“Does he take paying passengers?”
“Sometimes,” Cook said, “if they are pretty or have enough money he will let them ride with him.”
“Where would he go after leaving here?”
“The driver mentioned he was heading for the new town towards the West, and because he was late leaving here, he’d have to put up for the night before reaching his destination.” “Thank you, Madam Cook,” smiled Parlan, the frown disappearing as if by magic. “By the way, the food looks excellent. Make sure that wolf saves me some!” She puffed out her cheeks in satisfied pride as he raced from her kitchens. She had known him all his life, through chubby little toddler to cheeky young boy always trying to pilfer her almond buns, to the now well-respected good-natured young man he had matured into. She understood his query about the food wagon; she had seen the lovely but fearful young girl climbing aboard with her luggage. Parlan hastened to the stables, interrupting the Head Osler’s dinner. “I want my coach readied now and four of the fastest horses harnessed up. Have it drawn up outside immediately with my best driver at the reins.” He then marched off to the guardhouse, rousing the dozen or so soldiers, who were fit enough after their encounter with Aurek and his invaders, to ride as escort. “There is a girl travelling on the food wagon that left here mid-afternoon. I want her brought back to the castle, whatever her excuse for not returning, you are to ignore, but you will treat her well and speak kindly to her. There is urgency in this matter, so I await your speedy and safe return.” The captain snapped a salute, at the same time barking orders to his men to ready themselves for the ride. Parlan watched in agitated anticipation as the coach rumbled its way slowly over the drawbridge. All he could do now was wait; and it would be the most frustrating wait of his life.
Back in the banqueting hall, he apologised to his guests and slumped in his chair at the head of the table. Nemeila and Bekka sat one place along to his right, next to an empty seat, and to his left, Tyler.
&nb
sp; To the sounds of loud chewing and slurping from just behind Nemeila’s chair, a very contented wolf was licking clean a silver platter, before turning his attention to desert. But although Parlan pushed his own food around a similar platter, he did not eat. The niggling idea that he might have been wrong about the girl who had saved his life was eating into his heart and filled his mind with doubt and fear. He’d loved her from the first moment she had held him in her arms and knew he never wanted to be apart from her. But how did she feel? Had she gone away because she didn’t want and couldn’t return his love? This self-pitying reverie was interrupted when Nemeila lightly touched his arm.
“Is anything the matter, my lord?” she enquired.
As he met her eyes, she knew instantly. The girl who had saved his life was absent. She had seen the fire of devotion in the girl’s eyes, and her fond words as she spoke of the king when they had taken a meal together after the invaders had left, told Nemeila all she needed to know. Parlan would never have omitted her name from the invitation list, so her absence could only mean one thing – she had left the castle.
“Everything is fine,” he replied with false cheer, “I just don’t seem to be very hungry.”
Two hours, which seemed like days to Parlan, dragged by, and then a servant bustled in importantly, bowed to the king and whispered in his ear.
The air of depression surrounding the young man gave way to joy, as he leapt to his feet, knocking his platter to the floor. He muttered his apologies and almost ran from the hall. Through the din of conversation, Nemi heard his falling platter being dragged behind her, hooked on the end of an ever-hungry claw, and further loud chomping noises began. She nodded delightedly at Tyler who also had an inclination why his glum friend had suddenly brightened.
Katrina had been escorted back under armed guard. The officer in charge was bemused as to his order not to treat her like a criminal; after all, why would the king demand her return under guard if she had done no wrong. He assumed she had pilfered a few trinkets and the king, being the good-natured forgiving man he was, did not want to distress or punish her, merely wanting his property returned. She had been detained in the library, close by the banqueting room. Parlan entered, hands clasped behind his back, and dismissed the guard at the door. As the door closed, Katrina turned her face from the wall to meet his gaze and Parlan was moved to see her drawn face, and eyes filled with misery and tears. “Why did you run away?” he asked gently, as he walked to her side. “The castle would be mourning today, not celebrating, but for your bravery. Of all the people present, you have the most right to sit in that banqueting hall.” “I am sorry Sire,” she stammered, “but I did what I thought best for both of us. I cannot be around you every day, dance at your wedding, watch your children grow and pretend that none of it matters, that I don’t care. With your permission, I should like to stay at the castle tonight, but I will be gone in the morning, at first light, as soon as I can secure another ride.” She had tried so hard to be strong, to preserve her dignity, but her voice faltered to a halt and a painful lump came to her throat. A sudden gush of tears betrayed her emotional turmoil.
Parlan tenderly tipped her chin up towards him, at the same time brushing a stray lock of silky hair from her temple. Lowering his head, he kissed her pale cheek, tasting the salt of her tears. “I love you,” he murmured, “if you will not be my bride, there will never be an heir to the throne, for I swear I shall not marry another.” As she raised her head in disbelief at his words, their lips met, brushing together gently at first and then the kiss became more urgent as they finally found each other. Parlan knew that without her, his life would be empty and meaningless. He fumbled inside a velvet pouch tied to his belt, and produced a delicate but intricately worked silver casket, inside on a bed of purple silk nestled a ring, a huge diamond encircled with emeralds of the purest green. “This belonged to my mother, it is the most precious thing I have,” he said, smiling at her memory. “Would you honour me and her by placing it on your finger?” As he slipped it into its rightful place, she clasped him tightly to her. “It will never leave my hand. I love you Parlan, my King, my life. I always have and always will.” “Shall we go and join our guests my love?” Parlan suggested. “I am sure they must be wondering where their king keeps disappearing to, and besides what better occasion than this to announce our betrothal. And I don’t know about you, but suddenly I’m very hungry.” Katrina knuckled her tears away and thought of one last objection. “But Sire, kings do not marry commoners, the council would never permit it. The law says...” “Shh… I will change the law then. As king, I have the right to review any Law of the Land. The Council will have no choice but to agree, but with or without their consent, we will marry.” She took his hand and stroked his strong fingers, declaring intently, “If this dream is true and I am to become your wife, I will try and live up to your faith in me and be a good queen, never let you or your people down.” As Parlan and Katrina entered the dining room, Katrina clinging nervously to the king’s arm, there was a sudden hush. The clatter of crockery ceased and raucous voices fell silent, as everyone in the hall clambered none too soberly to their feet, to honour and respect their sovereign.
“This is my guest for the evening,” Parlan bowed slightly towards the trembling girl at his side, “she had been unavoidably delayed. Please be seated and finish your meal.” The cacophony resumed as they all fell on the food and drink once more.
Nemeila noticed Parlan’s new and relaxed happiness, but realised that Katrina was very anxious and ill at ease. Bekka leaned across Nemeila to introduce herself, chatting and asking the kind of questions intended to get to know a new acquaintance better. Gradually Katrina began to let her defences down and all three girls were giggling merrily together by the time the banquet was drawing to a close. Parlan signalled to Katrina that the time had come as he stood and banged his goblet loudly on the trestle, calling for quiet.
“I have an important announcement to make,” he said, turning and indicating Katrina. “This beautiful girl has tonight made me the happiest man in the kingdom by consenting to be my wife. We will be married within the coming month, so that she has no time to change her mind.”
After a moment’s silence, there was sudden uproar as everyone scraped back their chairs to stand and raise their goblets in a clamorous toast to the happy couple. Notably still in their seats, frowning in deep displeasure, were the members of the Council.
The following morning, as Parlan had expected, the Council demanded an audience with him. When his aide finally ushered them into his office, Parlan remained seated behind the vast desk, overflowing with stacks of parchment and documents requiring his seal. He had deliberately kept them waiting, to reinforce his position as king and hoping it might defuse the situation.
“Gentlemen, what could possibly be so urgent that you all demand to see me; and so early in the day?”
The most senior Council member coughed delicately into his fist and stepped forward, looking round at his fellow councillors for support. “Sire, with all respect, you were not serious last evening about marrying that girl.”
“I was,” said Parlan, calmly, steeping his fingers under his chin
“But Sire, she is a commoner, a servant here in the castle; as were her parents. She has no ancestry that connects her to the gentry in even the remotest way.”
Parlan’s mild gaze hardened and his attitude changed to one of stone, all trace of flippancy gone. He met the eyes of each of the men before him, noting how they cast their gaze down as his own travelled across them. In a voice like flint he asked, “What would you have me do, then. Dismiss her and marry someone the council approves of, one that has a noble lineage, whether I love her or not? Is that what you would want for your king?”
“But Sire, there have been many instances where love has blossomed after the marriage has taken place. Your own parents were one such case.”
“But I am not my father!” Parlan shouted, jumping to his feet. “I will
do my duty and serve my people well, but not at the expense of my own happiness. That commoner, as you call her, saved my life. But for her selfless bravery and devotion, I would be dead. She risked her life to drag me out of danger from the midst of the battle and stayed at my side, caring nothing for her own safety. She tended my wounds and removed the arrow from my back, had she left me where I’d fallen, Kaleb would be on the throne and I doubt very much if any of you would still be sitting in the Council chamber.”
Although obviously taken aback by this uncustomary outburst, the elders still refused to acquiesce with his decision to marry the servant girl. One of them cleared his throat uncertainly and spoke up.
“It is not just us, Your Highness. The very laws of the land do not permit a member of the Royal family to marry beneath him. Their chosen partner must, at the very least, be of noble birth or have some royally appointed social standing.”
The Wolf and the Sorceress Page 30