The Warrior and the Petulant Princess

by Maggie Carpenter

  As the guest of honor Larian was to be seated next to the King, and Lizbett would have been on Larian’s other side, but with the warrior’s request Handerah hadn’t been sure where to place her, then he realized with his wife away she could sit in her mother’s chair next to him.

  All eyes were upon her as she entered the banquet hall, and she smiled happily as she heard the complimentary comments about her dress and overall beauty. It didn’t surprise her, she was used to such attention, and glided forward to the head table where the page showed her where she would be sitting.

  “In my mother’s chair, but where will Larian be?” she murmured as she sat down. “Perhaps I will be next to him after all.”

  There were three tables in all; two long ones facing each other, then the King’s table at the head between the two of them with six chairs. Three permanent places for the King, his wife, and Lizbett, with the remaining three for visiting dignitaries.

  Handerah’s chair was larger than the rest, and Lizbett’s hope that she’d be next to Larian began to wane; she suspected Larian would be next to the King on his other side. She frowned. It would have been much easier to catch his eye if here were anywhere but there.

  The Head Of The Court had been waiting for the Princess to arrive, and when she was finally in her chair he pounded his large wooden stake on the floor; it alerted everyone that the King was about to enter and they were to stand.

  In the chamber next to the banquet room Handerah and Larian had been sharing some wine and special tidbits of food made especially for the two of them. It was a men’s only area, and while there were times the King would have other members of his court join him, tonight he had only Larian as his guest.

  The tidbits of food were being served by two topless maidens who considered it an honor to be chosen for the task. When The Head Of the Court would discreetly put out the word that he was searching for new girls to serve the King and his guests in the chamber before a banquet, he had more applicants than he could interview. The final list was limited to twelve, and it was often by personal recommendations that the young maidens would be fortunate enough to find themselves standing naked from the waist up under the scrutinizing eye of The Head Of The Court.

  His name was Farris, and he had been a servant of Handerah’s for many years. The hopeful maidens would stand in his office, and he would move down the line, studying their overall demeanor before plucking at the ripe cherries topping their breasts. He would calculate how quickly the nipples puckered, for how long they stayed stiff, and lastly, how the girl reacted. Beautiful breasts were a prerequisite, but the maiden had to have a sweetness and purity about her in order to serve in the chamber off the banquet room.

  The practice was well-known and accepted by all. The girls might be toyed with, but their honor was left in tact, and since they were from the modest villages it gave them an opportunity to meet men above their station. It wasn’t a far-fetched notion that they might be serving their future husband; nobles had no quarrel about marrying girls from the village, finding them grateful and eager to please.

  The King had requested one of his favorite maidens, a girl named Starling. She was a fair-haired, comely beauty with bounteous breasts, a mischievous smile, and a look that suggested she was up for more than a little breast fondling. Larian had been partnered with a brown-haired girl named Falayla, who had no such demeanor; she was subdued and appeared almost delicate.

  The men were seated in wide armless chairs, and as Falayla brought forth another dish of delicacies, she perched herself on Larian’s lap. Starling had been on and off Handerah’s knee several times, and Larian guessed Falayla had finally found the nerve to follow suit.

  “Would you like me to feed you, Sir?” she asked softly.

  “Certainly,” Larian replied, and as he opened his mouth the young maiden dropped the bite-sized morsel on to his tongue. “Mmm, that is delicious,” he smiled.

  “Would you care to fondle my breasts, Sir?”

  Larian chuckled. He was well aware of the customs of Handerah’s court, and while he didn’t object he knew it was something in which he would not indulge once married.

  “Do they not please you?” she asked.

  “They are very attractive,” he said warmly, and raising his hand fondled one of her luscious mounds, then the other, lightly pinching her nipples.

  “Oh, Sir, your touch,” she quivered, closing her eyes.

  “What about my touch, tell me,” he said dropping his voice.

  “It is strong, yet…yet…oooh, Sir, it is strong but so tender.”

  “I think that is enough,” he decreed dropping his hand away.

  “Sir, if I may say,” she sighed fluttering open her eyes, “you could touch me that way for a full passage of the moons and I would still ask for more.”

  The sound of the Head Of The Court pounding his stake on the floor broke into the intimate moment, and moving Starling off his lap the King rose from his chair.

  “That was an excellent beginning to our evening,” he declared. “I trust you enjoyed the pleasure of my banquet chamber.”

  “I did, Sire, thank you,” Larian nodded as he began to gently moved Falayla from his lap.

  “Sir?” she squeaked sporting a worried frown.

  “Yes, Falayla?”

  “I…uh…” she mumbled, but her face crinkled as she attempted to suppress a wash of tears.

  Larian stared at her; something was terribly wrong, and the girl was having great difficulty finding the words to tell him what it was.

  “Starling, Falayla, you go and enjoy your meal now. You know where it is served,” the King said firmly. “Falayla, off his lap.”

  Though Larian wanted to uncover the cause of the maiden’s distress, his obligation was to the King, but as Falayla dropped her head in resignation and slid off his lap he promised himself he’d return at the end of the meal to determine her trouble.

  The two girls curtsied and disappeared behind a heavy dark green curtain at the end of the room, and doing his best to shake the girl from his thoughts, Larian followed the King to the door that would take them into the banquet.

  “Are you ready to face your adoring public?” Handerah smiled.

  “I am, Sire,” Larian replied, but there is only one I truly look forward to seeing, only one whose eyes I wish to see gaze up at me.

  Farris banged his stick one more time; it meant all had risen and it was time for the King to enter. Lizbett stared at the door, knowing that a bare-breasted maiden would have been serving Larian, and praying that she had not turned his head.

  “Stop worrying,” she muttered to herself. “You are a Princess. A mere village girl would not cause him to change his affection for you,” but in spite of her argument she remained unconvinced.

  As the door opened and Larian walked into the room, she glanced around and saw every woman, married or not, gaze at him.

  His height, his broad shoulders, the shimmering burgundy vest and white shirt barely covering the muscles underneath, the man that was Lord Larian Lobergene was taking their collective breath away. His hair, though no longer hanging in golden ringlets as it had when they were younger, was still curling around his handsome features highlighting his aqua eyes.

  I must be on my very best behavior. I cannot have another stealing him away. I cannot.

  As the page ushered Handerah and Larian to their seats, Larian smiled across at her and sent her a covert look; it was a look that touched her heart, that made the area between her legs warm and moist, but it was also a look that said, I’ll be watching you.

  The guests stood waiting; no-one was permitted to sit before the King had settled into his throne, and he had chosen to remain standing; it meant he was going to say a few words about the man for whom the banquet was being held.

  “Friends of the Court of Verdana,” he began, “I honor my guest this evening, Lord Larian Lobergene from the Principality of our most treasured neighbors, the Zanderonians. These great people
have fought side-by-side with our forces, ensuring our many victories, and it is with great pride I welcome Lord Larian to my court. He was named Warrior of the First Order, but an even greater title was bestowed upon him. He was named Commander and given his own retinue of men, the youngest warrior ever to have ever achieved such status.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd, and Lizbett, shocked at the news, leaned forward attempting to see him better. Her stable boy, her Larian, was a Commander! A quiver of pride and lust shivered down her spine; it was no wonder his authority had overcome her.

  “Please raise your goblets and welcome our most revered guest, and join me in congratulating him on his accomplishments. To Lord Larian!”

  The crowd repeated the name, making it sound like a chant, then lifted their goblets and drank. As was the custom Larian waited until all the goblets were back on the table, then began to speak.

  “I am humbled and touched by this warm welcome, and I thank the King most humbly for having me here as his guest. I bring greetings from my Prince, and am to report that there is a carriage on its way bringing some delicacies from my realm which I hope you will all enjoy. If I may, I would like at this time to ask that you raise your goblets and toast your mighty monarch, a man known to be both fierce and fair, King Handerah!”

  The crowd raised their drinks, chanted the King’s name, and drank. It was only then that the King sat down, which allowed everyone else to follow suit, and the feast began.

  But Lizbett wasn’t hungry. She wanted to behave, but she wanted Larian to see her behave, and she also wanted him to see her in all her finery.

  How can I do this? I can’t get up and parade around, I can’t even leave my seat until we have finished with this soup being served. Oh, I don’t want to wait, I want him to see me now. What to do…what to do…maybe I could offer another toast, but it’s probably too late. I must think of something.

  A bowl of the steaming brew was placed before her, and lifting her spoon she was about to take a sip when a subtle but distinct aroma tickled her nostrils; instantly she knew something wasn’t right.

  Urgently she looked at her father and tugged at his sleeve, but he was so busy engaged in conversation with Larian he ignored her. Trying to calm the pounding in her heart she stared down at the bowls in front of both him and Larian, and saw that neither of them had yet picked up their spoons.

  “Father,” she whispered, tugging on his sleeve more aggressively.

  Still he did not respond, and when she saw Larian lift his spoon she knew what she had to do.

  As quickly but as discreetly as possible she slipped from her chair, hurried behind her father’s throne, and just as Larian was about to raise the spoon to his lips she touched his shoulder, causing him to pause

  “Lizbett?” he frowned.

  Dropping her lips to his ear she whispered,

  “I fear the soup may be poisoned, at the very least tainted. I could smell it. Please, I promise you, I am not pretending.”

  He stared to her violet eyes, and he could see her fear.

  “Lizbett? What is the meaning of this?” her father demanded in a hushed but angry tone.

  “Thank you,” Larian smiled at her. “I will handle this. Please return to your seat.”

  She wanted to hug him, to kiss him, to fall beside him and thank him for believing her, but she knew such a display would have to wait, and she hurried back to her chair.

  “Sire,” Larian said softly to Handerah as she left, “it is possible there may be foul play at work…with the contents of your bowl. I see the guests at the other tables seem to be taking it and have no problem, but I believe Lizbett when she says she is worried.”

  A heavy frowned crossed Handerah’s brow.

  “Did she say how she knew?” the King asked softly.

  “She said she could smell it,” Larian replied.

  “This is not widely known,” he sighed, “but she has been gifted with her mother’s keen sense of smell. We must be very careful how we proceed.”

  “If it was placed in her bowl it may well have been placed in yours as well. With your wife away, should something happen to you, the Kingdom would be vulnerable…perhaps it was also placed in mine to cause even further chaos, maybe even start a rift between Verdana and Zanderone.”

  “Such evil,” Handerah frowned. “How to proceed? This is the question.”

  “If we pretend to fall ill, perhaps the guilty party might make himself known,” Larian suggested.

  “Perhaps, but that will take time, and there’s no guarantee that the man who steps forward is not doing so to save the realm, not harm it further. No, there is another way, and I believe that rests with my daughter.”

  “Lizbett?”

  “We must pretend we are not supping the soup because we are drinking and eating the breads and cheeses. In a moment you are going to make a grand gesture and ask Lizbett to dance to entertain the crowd, then you will escort her out of the room, ostensibly to have a quiet moment, but you will whisk her into the kitchen and she can put her nose to work. She will be able to smell who is carrying the poison. It will be an easy task to get the truth from that person before the powers behind him have any idea.”

  “Sire, I do see risk, but I believe it is the best course of action. Let us clink our goblets and eat the bread, then I will fetch Lizbett and take her to dance.”

  They laughed and joked as they raised their drinks, and Lizbett knew they’d quickly formed a plan. Much relieved she reached for some bread herself, covertly glancing around the room.

  Was anyone watching them? Was someone eager for them to sup the soup? She saw nothing, but if her father had a plan she was confident the guilty party would soon be uncovered.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As Larian moved Lizbett across the dance floor he whispered the plan, and when the musicians came to the end of the song they bowed before the crowd, then taking her hand he led her from the room. There were whispers and giggles, and while the King was smiling broadly he was darting his eyes at the faces before him; in their midst were traitors, but he couldn’t fathom who or why.

  Lizbett hurried Larian down the empty passageways to the kitchen. It wasn’t far, sitting just behind the banquet room chamber, and as she was about to burst through the door Larian stopped her.

  “You walk around the kitchen, as though casually giving me a tour, and when you smell the culprit don’t say anything, just show me with your eyes then leave the rest to me.”

  “But I-”

  “Lizbett!”

  “Sorry, yes, Larian, I’ll do as you say.”

  Taking a deep breath she pushed open the heavy door and moved inside. A thousand fragrances washed through her, but nothing distasteful, nothing that smelled like the tangy foul thing that had alerted her. She began to move slowly around the large kitchen, smiling and nodding as the cooks and servants did their work, but still she could not detect the aroma.

  Was I mistaken? Was there no such smell? No, I’m sure I…

  Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the vaguest scent, and it was wafting from the alcove that led into the chamber. Larian was behind her, and turning she looked up at him, then nodded her head towards the door.

  Not sure what might lay in wait on the other side, he moved in front of her, pulled the latch and allowed the door to swing open; to his surprise there was only Falayla and Starling, still bare-breasted, seated at a small table eating their meal. Without warning Lizbett swiftly moved past him; her nose had detected the aroma and it was leading her directly to Falayla.

  Almost upon her, Lizbett wanted to grab the girl by the hair and drag her from the room; she wanted to slap her and call her every name that came to mind.

  “Princess!” Larian called sharply, causing her to stop and spin around to face him.

  “Larian, it’s-”

  His aqua eyes glinted across at her, his message clear, stop and come back here at once.

  Starling stared at them both, confus
ion written across her face, but when Larian glanced at Falayla all he saw was fear, guilt and shame. He flashed back to the moment just before he and Handerah had entered the banquet hall; she had wanted to warn him but terror had gripped her.

  He could see Lizbett was still fighting her rage and moved quickly to her side.

  “Lizbett, would you please return to the banquet,” he whispered urgently in her ear. “Be sure to be all smiles. Tell your father what has transpired, and make sure knows that I’ll be back to join him very soon.”

  Her need to remain and interrogate the culprit surged through her, and she stared at him intently, silently pleading with him to let her stay, but his resolve was unyielding.

  “Go,” he said firmly. “I will deal with this.”

  Realizing any argument was futile she frowned angrily, and was about to march away when Larian smiled down at her.

  “Lizbett, you saved the day,” he breathed. “Now keep your head, smile, act happy, don’t alert anyone. There is evil afoot and it will be watching.”

  She took a deep breath, and sighing heavily she nodded her understanding.

  “I know what to do,” she replied, and hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.

  “Sir, what is all this? Is there something wrong?” Starling asked completely bewildered.

  “I just need a private word with Falayla,” he replied calmly, “but you may continue your meal. Falayla, if you would please step on the other side of the curtain with me?”

  He could see her dread, and as she attempted to rise from the table she was unsteady on her feet.

  “It’s all right, I’m sure you have been badly used,” he said softly as he reached out to help her, and wrapping his muscled arm around her shoulder he allowed her to fall against him. “Starling, do not leave this room. If anyone asks where Falayla has gone, no matter who it is, you tell them she had to leave for a moment but you don’t know where. This is extremely important, do you understand?”