by L. Danvers
“Just imagine,” Lillian said. “You will be married soon. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“It would be if I were in love. But picking a husband from a handful of suitors my father chose? There’s nothing special about that. And Sir Hartley...” Daphne’s voice trailed off as a chill raced down her spine.
“King Edgar’s chief advisor’s lust for you is, admittedly, a tad off-putting.”
“A tad?” Daphne laughed. She had found him charming when she was a girl. Those deep blue eyes, that stubbled black beard. But he was thirty years old now—almost twelve years her senior. Far too old for her taste. “I swear, Lillian, all he sees when he looks at me is a girl who would put him two heartbeats away from the throne.”
It was the first time she’d expressed her fear about him to Lillian. She could trust Lillian, though. She was loyal and true. Were they not separated by class, they would make fine friends.
The maidservant pinched Daphne’s cheeks until they were nice and pink. “At least you have two other suitors to choose from,” she said after a while.
“I suppose,” Daphne said, sliding her gold ring back and forth over her knuckle. It bore the crest of Vires, in the center of which was a scaled dragon. Beneath it read: Post Tenebras Lux, which meant Light After Darkness. “I just have no desire to be shipped off to a foreign land with a man I don’t love—or know, for that matter. It isn’t fair. I turn eighteen and am forced to marry. All Phillip has to do is go on some foolish quest.”
Lillian’s mouth fell open. She shook her head in disbelief. “You don’t really find it foolish, do you? It’s tradition.”
“Of course it’s foolish. Since when does finding something make you more of a man?”
“I suppose you’re right, my princess,” she said. She was half-listening as she reached for the bottle of rose oil. She dabbed the sweet scent on the princess’s wrists and behind her ears. “Nevertheless, this is an important night for the prince. It’s his birthday, too, after all.”
The princess and the maidservant rushed downstairs. Lillian was unable to contain her smile as they neared the banquet hall. One of the king’s guards stood watch by the door, covered from head to toe in polished metal. He gave a nod upon seeing them. His plum cape swept across the floor as he reached for the door and pulled it back so they could enter.
A minstrel recounted the tale of the Battle of Gargantem over the mumbling of the many guests. Daphne and Lillian stepped through the threshold. Hundreds of eyes fell upon them. Daphne tugged at the hem of her bell-shaped sleeve to make certain her bruises were covered. The last thing she needed was the whole kingdom whispering about her.
The air was heavy with the scents of wine and fresh-baked bread. Lillian departed to join the other servants, leaving the princess to cross the hall alone. Daphne scooped up the fabric of her gown and weaved between the tables. They were topped with heavy plum and gold silks and floral arrangements. A spread of candles sat on the tabletops. Their flames danced back and forth as guests spoke over them.
Daphne took a seat beside her twin.
“I was wondering where you were,” Phillip said. He filled her chalice with wine. He smiled as the minstrel finished singing of their great-grandfather’s bravery.
A few seats down, the white-bearded Bishop Montfort cleared his throat and stood. He adjusted his white robes and waited for the room to fall silent. When it did, he led a prayer thanking God for Phillip’s success in the day’s tournament. He implored protection for the prince on his quest.
When the invocation was complete, servants descended upon the hall carrying trays of food. Phillip was ravenous after a day of sword-fighting and jousting. Without any sense of decorum, he sunk his teeth into a turkey leg. He ripped the meat from the bone and swallowed the mouthful without chewing. He chased it down with wine and wiped the dribble with the back of his sleeve. Daphne watched in disgust as he proceeded to slurp a spoonful of stew. The thought of how many girls in the kingdom lost their heads at the mere sight of him baffled her. She knew he was next in line to be king. And he was decent-looking, she supposed. But she imagined girls would find him far less appealing if they watched him eat.
“Do you really have to go on this quest?” Daphne asked, half because she wanted to know and half because she couldn’t take the slurping any longer.
“Yes, Daphne. I must.” He drew his dark eyebrows together, perplexed that she would ask such an absurd question.
“But why? What purpose does you leaving serve?”
“It is tradition,” he said with a shrug. “It’s not for us to question.”
His answer was annoying, but expected. While Daphne felt suffocated by the laws of the land, Phillip felt they gave them a sense of purpose. He wasn’t driven by a thirst for power, but by the desire to make their father proud. It was a futile pursuit, but the prince was blind to that truth. He felt certain that if he did things the way they were supposed to be done he would earn favor with their father.
King Edgar sat on the other side of Phillip. He downed a chalice of wine, then he leaned over and prodded his children to dance. Daphne rolled her eyes. This was her least favorite part of banquets. There was nothing more awkward than dancing with Phillip. He was a great dancer, but still. He was her brother. But it pleased their father to see them dance, so they did.
Phillip led her to the center of the room where other guests were already taking part in the merriment. She rested one hand on top of his, and she placed the other on his shoulder. They twirled across the floor with forced smiles on their faces.
“What’s with the long sleeves?” Phillip asked.
“Lillian thought it best to hide the bruises. You owe me, you know. You might not have won today’s tournament had I not spent so much time practicing with you last night.”
“Daphne, please.” His dark eyes darted around the hall, checking to make sure no one was within earshot. He puffed his chest and said, “I am the best swordsman in all of Vires.”
“Precisely. Best swordsman.”
“Alright, I get the point.” He extended his arm and spun her, then he brought her back in. “Thank you for practicing with me.”
They danced some more until a shadow crossed his face. Phillip looked past her. Daphne turned and saw Sir Hartley standing there.
“Excuse me, my prince,” he said, his voice as rough as the stubble on his chin. “May I borrow your sister for a dance?”
Dancing with Phillip was uncomfortable, but if given the choice, she would have danced with her brother all night rather than spend even a moment in Sir Hartley’s arms. She looked to Phillip, eyes pleading, but he didn’t pay her any attention. He didn’t give her as much as a passing glance before offering Sir Hartley her hand.
Thirteen-year-old Daphne would have swooned at the thought of dancing with her father’s chief advisor. But with age came wisdom. She once thought he had an air of mystery about him. In time, though, she realized she was sensing his untrustworthiness. She feared his influence over King Edgar grew stronger by the day. She’d been brave enough to bring it up to her father on two separate occasions. Both times he disregarded her concerns. He told her she shouldn’t worry her pretty little head about such matters. She knew her worries were discounted because she was a girl. She brought them to Phillip’s attention, hoping he would speak to their father about it. But he dismissed her, too.
Sir Hartley kept a firm grip on her hand as they danced, kicking their feet along in rhythm with the song. He found her eyes wandering more than once, and each time he turned her chin so she would face him, subjecting her to his penetrating gaze. A wrinkle formed just above his brow, and she focused on it alone while praying for the music to hurry up and end.
Before Sir Hartley had finished bowing, Daphne rushed back to her seat. She wiped her hands on the skirt of her gown, trying to rub off the lingering feeling of his touch.
The king stood and clanked a spoon against the gold brim of his chalice. The hall silenced at once, and
everyone turned to hear what he had to say.
The silver hairs around his ears caught the light of the flickering candles. It hit the princess how much he had aged since her mother passed away. He had loved the queen intensely, and her death changed him. Daphne and Phillip had hoped they would grow closer to their father after her death. Instead, his heart hardened, and he pushed them away. Phillip took it hard. Daphne had always been closer to their mother, though. There was a fierceness about her she envied. But there was a difference between fierceness and harshness, and the king was harsh.
“We have gathered here tonight to celebrate the eighteenth birthdays of my children.” His voice boomed throughout the hall. His hand rested on his gut as he spoke, his gold rings flashing as his belly moved up and down with each labored breath. “Tradition dictates that once the tournament is complete, the prince must go on a quest. Upon his triumphant return, we will have a grand banquet to celebrate his success. And at that time, my daughter will announce who will take her hand in marriage.”
Daphne choked on her wine, and she felt her father’s eyes pierce her like daggers. Phillip piped up, to her relief, and asked, “What is my quest, Father?”
The padded feet of wooden chairs scraped against the stone floor. Guests turned in closer to hear what the king had to say. King Edgar stretched out his arms and grinned. “You have all heard the tales. Many moons ago, King Cedric defeated the giants at the Battle of Gargantem. The ruby at the center of his crown was lost during the battle. Your quest, my son, is to find the ruby and return it to the castle.”
Phillip frowned. “My quest is to find a ruby?”
“Do not be naïve, boy. As I’m sure you recall, the battle took place all the way in Proelium. It will not be an easy journey. You must venture through Nemoria, across the Acerbus Sea and through the Perdeus Ruins to get there. You will face many trials along the way that will test your strength, wit and endurance. Your success in completing this task will prove to the people of Vires you are indeed worthy of wearing my crown and ruling the—”
King Edgar stopped mid-sentence. The room filled with shrill cries and the scraping of metal at the drawing of swords. Sir Hartley whispered something in the king’s ear as they stood there, watching in horror as an icy mist seeped into the hall. From the windows. From the doors. From between the stones themselves.
For the first time all evening, Daphne was cold. She clung to her twin as the fog rolled in, swirling about the floor. Every candle went out at once, and they were in darkness. There was shouting and footsteps and the shattering of chalices as they crashed to the floor. In a flash, the flames reappeared. A woman with eyes as silver as the moon stood in the center of the room, her wiry hair creeping out from under the cover of her hooded cape. Her thin lips separated, and she held out her finger. She gazed about the room until her silver eyes fell on Phillip. She pointed at him and cried, “Beware, my prince!”
Daphne looked to her brother, her nails burying through his finery and into his flesh. He stood there, unblinking. He startled at the sound of their father’s fist slamming against the table.
“Enough,” he boomed.
“I have come to warn—”
“Guards! Remove this wretched hag at once.”
“This is a grave mistake, my king. You should heed my warning.”
The king’s men, swords drawn, narrowed in on the woman. She swept her arm through the air, and the fog swirled around her until it covered her completely. There was another flash, and the fog lifted. She was gone.
The room was busy with whispers and cries, and Daphne could tell by the tightening of her father’s jaw that he had had quite enough. He cleared his throat, and everyone froze. “My apologies for the interruption,” he said. He turned his chalice upright. There was hardly a mouthful of wine left in it after his fist had sent it tumbling across the table. He raised it high. “To my son, Prince Phillip of Vires. May he be ever victorious on his quest.”
“To Prince Phillip,” everyone replied.
DAPHNE GASPED AND CLUTCHED her covers. She pulled them up over her shoulders as the chamber door creaked open. Phillip peered in, his face all lines and shadows in the moonlight. He looked much like the portrait of a young King Edgar that hung in the hall.
“You scared me.”
“I’m sorry. I came to say goodbye.”
Daphne relaxed and scooted over so her brother could sit beside her. He rested his head against the backboard of the four-poster bed and sighed.
“Are you nervous?” she asked. She wasn’t teasing. She wanted to know.
“No,” he said plainly.
“But that woman—”
“That woman was mad, Daphne. Pay her no attention.”
“I suppose you are right.”
The prince and princess sat together in silence for some time. They had never been good at goodbyes. Daphne wanted to wish him well and tell her twin how much she loved him. She didn’t, though. That wasn’t their way. Nonetheless, she hoped he knew.
“You know,” he said, “the next time I see you, you’ll be announcing your engagement.”
Daphne shoved him, and he smiled. He knew she had no interest in getting married. He had spent much time lecturing her about why it must be done from a political perspective. He explained that the expectations of her were not arbitrary. They were there for good reason. It was easy for him to say, though. The expectations of him aligned with his own plans for his life.
She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and yawned. Phillip pushed himself off the bed and got to his feet. “I apologize for waking you so early. I’ll let you rest. I should be going anyway.” He slipped out of the chamber, and before Daphne knew it, she drifted back to sleep.
The warmth of the summer sun kissed her cheeks, and she rolled over and gave the bell on her nightstand a ring. As if she’d been standing outside the door waiting, Lillian hurried inside and bowed. “Good morning, my princess.”
She helped Daphne dress. Lillian went on and on about how skilled a fighter the prince was while she laced the princess into a gown. She said if anyone could retrieve the lost ruby, it was him. Daphne appreciated her reassurance, but she wasn’t all that concerned about him. She knew her brother was brave and strong, and she had every confidence he would return victorious.
“Let’s go to the village,” Daphne said while Lillian cinched her up tight.
“Shouldn’t you be being courted by your suitors? You have to choose a husband before the prince returns. If I know you’re brother, I don’t expect it will take him long.”
“Oh, come now, there’s plenty of time for that later. What’s more important, Lillian? Choosing a husband or looking after the poor?”
“When you say it like that, I’d have to say looking after the poor, my princess.”
“It’s settled then.”
They wasted no time setting off for the nearest village. Daphne loved riding. There was something invigorating about being outside the castle walls. The stones could be stifling sometimes. But here, in the morning air, she could breathe. The wind blew through her hair, and the sun shone upon the girls. Satchels filled with bread and cheese slapped against their horses’ backs with each gallop.
The ride was over too soon for Daphne’s liking. The village wasn’t all that far from the castle. Once there, the princess and her maidservant tied their steeds to an oak tree. The bags were full and heavy. Lillian struggled to carry them both. Although it was unprincesslike, Daphne offered to help. She took one of the bags. Together the two of them made their way through the grass, the hems of their dresses drenched in dew.
The village had always been a poor sight. Today, though, things looked worse than they had since the last time they had visited. The villagers murmured and whispered amongst themselves, pointing at the princess and her maidservant as they neared them. Daphne’s heart ached upon seeing their sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. Many were covered in dirt and dried blood. They reached out to the princess, be
gging for just a bite of food. Tears raced down a child’s red cheeks, and his mother bounced him on her hip as she tried to settle him. Daphne remembered seeing them before when the boy was just a babe. His cheeks had been nice and plump then. Daphne offered them an entire loaf, and the mother cried in gratitude.
Daphne was sure the latest tax increase had been Sir Hartley’s idea. He loved nothing more than to counsel the king on finances. All she knew was that she never saw anyone starving when her mother was alive.
While she knew the taxes were high, she hadn’t realized how badly the people had been affected. It made her sick to think of last night’s feast and of how much food had been wasted. It pained her to see the people of Vires suffering. It wasn’t right.
Daphne and Lillian gave bread and cheese to each villager they came across. They wandered the cobblestone streets until they came upon a path. It was nestled between two crumbling homes, the roofs of which were covered in holes. The path strayed from the main road, but it was the fastest way to cut back across the village.
The blazing sun intensified the stench of old meat and rotting vegetables. The girls ducked out of the way of garments that had been hung out to dry. They stepped around spare cart wheels and water-filled jugs. Daphne was overcome with guilt when she happened to see inside an open window. Her stomach twisted at the thought of the silk sheets and decorative pillows that topped her comfortable bed. Families here slept on nothing but straw.
Her thoughts were cut short by a tug at her sleeve. She was jerked back. She whipped her head around and found herself face to face with the same woman who had interrupted the banquet the night before. Lillian gasped when recognition dawned on her.