by Jill Myles
A reminder of my poor magic and a verbal slap to boot? Father was in rare form today. I rolled my eyes. “How nice for the King.”
Imogen smiled at Father as if he'd bestowed a rare gift. “I should not want to leave you either, Father. The people need me here.”
“Of course not, my poppet. That is why you will marry no higher than an earl. You can remain here as my successor.” He reached over and patted her hand and she stared at him with an adoring expression.
I wanted to vomit all over the lakeshore path.
“This makes me so happy, Father,” Imogen said. “You are so thoughtful—”
“And me?” I said loudly, interrupting the affectionate conversation. “Am I going to marry some lapdog and stay in Balinore as well?”
My father glanced at me again, as if remembering a pesky gnat. “Alliances with neighboring nations are equally important, Rinda,” he said in a warning tone.
I felt ill, my stomach heaving as I realized that was my answer. I would be sent away, a royal offering to some foreign dignitary who would never realize how much my father despised the sight of me. Princess Rinda offered as a token gesture of friendship to some outlying dukedom, where I'd be too far to return to court and would spend my days raising children with a tenuous thread to the Balinore throne…provided they did not inherit my 'common' brown hair.
Gone from court, forever. From everything that was familiar. I licked the bruised pad of my thumb, sore from where I’d pricked it too often. It tasted like ashes in my mouth.
Imogen had come to the same conclusion about my fate, and cast me a distressed look. “Rinda cannot stay here with us?”
“She can visit whenever she likes, of course,” Father said in a mild voice, and tucked her hand into his arm again.
I bit down on my thumb to keep my frustration at bay. Of course precious, pretty Imogen and her water Birthright were needed here. Lousy Princess Rinda with the brown hair was useless. Marry her off and send her far, far away.
I couldn't hate Imogen for it, though. I loved her just as much as I despised my father. She would make a good queen when he was dead – she cared deeply about Balinore and our people.
Father smiled down at Imogen, as if she were one of the valuable pearls that I’d been feeding to the fish. “The ball will be in a fortnight and you can pick your groom there.” He paused, expecting us to thank him for such generosity, and looked pointedly in my direction.
When my gratitude wasn't forthcoming, he frowned at me. “I can only afford a small dowry, so we'll have to hope for an alliance on the promise of ties to the throne and that face of yours. Luckily for you, it's not half as unappealing as your hair.”
“The throne?” I asked sweetly.
“Your face,” he said in a sharp voice. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Every charming bit of it, Father. Shall I summarize for you? We shall have a ball in two weeks,” I said, ticking off the points on my fingers. “Imogen will have her true pick of royal grooms. Meanwhile, all the fat noblemen with lined pockets will be trotted before me like prize pigs at the fair. I will smile and laugh and pretend that I have some sort of choice in the matter. The one that can stand to be married to one with such a poor Birthright as me will win the prize. And then I will be driven from the castle and out of your hair. Did I forget anything?”
“You do not have any objections?”
As if I could object. He was the king – one did not object, even when one's life was being destroyed. “Just a question, Father,” I said in a bright voice. “Am I invited to the festivities or should I even bother?”
Imogen gasped, her eyes wide at my impudence.
Father swallowed, his brows settling low on his face with anger. “Don't be pert, Rinda. That sharp tongue of yours will do you little good in two weeks. You should practice being sweeter to please your future husband, else you might not find yourself with one.”
“My, that would be terrible, wouldn't it?” I drawled, though the thought did indeed make me ill.
I'd seen all the nobles in our small kingdom many, many times – every time there was a festival or holiday, they flocked to Balinore's royal castle like vultures nearing a carcass. To a one, they were either fat, stupid, or boorish. Some were lucky enough to be all three.
Imogen had a shy crush on one of the nearby earls, but I'd found no one that interested me.
“What if I refuse?” My voice was losing its lightness, an odd strain showing on the edges that I cleared my throat to remove. I did not want to show weakness in front of my father, after all. “What if I don't want to marry at all?”
“Nonsense. The kingdom is low on money,” he said, his gaze straying out to the pond and his mouth growing hard and angry again, no doubt thinking of the dozens of expensive pearls now swimming about in the stomachs of fish. “I'll either have to raise taxes for the next year or rid myself of unnecessary expense. And I cannot marry you off and not marry Imogen as well.” He took another bite.
I swallowed hard. Unnecessary expense. Lovely. Imogen was special but I was simply an expensive inconvenience. “And what if I don't find anyone that I like at this charming ball, Father?”
“I'm sure you will find someone pleasing,” Imogen began in a soft voice.
Father gave me a cold, hard smile, his neatly trimmed blonde beard stretching in a pleased look I'd rarely seen before. Father was never pleased with me. “If you do not select a husband for yourself, then I will pick one for you, Rinda.”
I said nothing, though my arms prickled with fear. I did not even want to consider who my father would pick for me.
~~ * ~~
“Must you antagonize Father?” Imogen swept into my room several hours later, after court had been dismissed for the evening and all courtiers gone to bed. I was propped up on one elbow, reading an old book of legends, and barely glanced up as my sister entered. Around my room, my maidservant Dorcas pulled expensive dress after expensive dress from my wardrobe, shaking out the dust and wrinkles before she packed them.
The fairy globes that lit the room (courtesy of the Birthright of a neighboring countess) cast a lovely silver gleam to Imogen's pale hair, the light making her even more beautiful and ethereal. It simply turned my hair a muddy brown.
My sister moved to the side of my bed and sat on the edge, frowning down at me. “You were deliberately trying to provoke him tonight.”
I rolled my eyes and lay a ribbon between the pages of the book to mark my place, seeing as how I'd get no more reading done tonight. “Of course I was trying to provoke him, Imogen. Did you hear him ordering me about like a dog? Sit, Princess Rinda. Fetch, Princess Rinda.” I looked thoughtfully at my ornate wardrobe. “Maybe I should start wearing a dog collar to official dinners—”
“Rinda!” Imogen bounced on the bed, trying to get my attention so I could see her outrage. “It's not like that! You just go too far. You deliberately provoke Father.”
“My very existence provokes Father, Imogen. You know he hates me.”
“You're his daughter,” she tried to explain in that sweet voice of hers. “Of course he doesn't hate you—”
“He hates me,” I said over her, “He hated mother and everyone says I look like her. Brown hair, small magic, common. All the things he loathed in her, he despises in me.”
Imogen shook her head and reached out to take my hand in her own. “Father is just desperately unhappy, Rinda. You must try and understand him. Things are very difficult for him. Running a kingdom takes a lot of work.”
Oh, of that I had no doubt – but I was also certain that my father was a terrible leader. He cared nothing about the military of Balinore, preferring to let Lioncourt's well-trained troops guard us. As we were sandwiched between the massive kingdom of Lioncourt and the sea, Father's plan had worked so far, but we had acquired the reputation as spoiled, lazy hedonists. And perhaps we were.
Maintaining a rich cultural court here at Balinore was expensive, and the coffers of the kin
gdom were dangerously low. The harvests were rich, but Balinorans were not known for their thriftiness with money. I pulled my hand from Imogen's and fingered the delicate hand embroidery on my bed coverlets, watching as my maid ran past with another gown, this one of a rust-colored watered silk. It was ghastly expensive, with dark red jewels sewn into the bodice. It was also ugly and made me look like a brown robin. I'd worn it once before banishing it to my closet.
I glanced back at Imogen's worried face and my heart softened a little. Her brows were low with worry, and I hated to see Imogen upset over anything. I reached over and patted her hand, then sat up on the bed. “Don't worry. I'm sure I'll think of some way to get out of this marriage between now and the ball.”
“But Father said—”
I waved her off. I remembered all too well what Father had said. If you don't select a husband, then I will select one for you. “I've already got several things working against me, Imogen.” I turned to face her on the bed and gave her a wicked grin. “My magic isn't useful, I'm dreadfully brown, and like Father said, there's not enough money to dower me.”
“Your magic is useful,” she protested, as she always did when I tried to play down my Birthright.
“Wrong,” I said, gesturing at the gilt mirror that hung on my wall. “Take that, for example. One of Father's ancestors could use it like a scrying glass with her Birthright. She spied on everyone in the kingdom through it.” Now that was a Birthright I admired. Too bad it had driven the ancestor mad. “All I can do is magic the mirror with a bit of luck so it won't break if it falls.”
“That's a good Birthright,” Imogen said in a cheerful voice. “Think of the money you've saved the kingdom on broken mirrors and glassware.”
I snorted. “Truly a royal Birthright, indeed. At any rate, it does not matter. We'll both be at the ball, and once they see you and your beautiful golden hair, they won't care a bit about me.” I leaned over and hugged her, knowing it for a fact. Imogen was so beautiful and sweet that it hurt my heart to look at her sometimes. I wanted to be jealous of her – she had everything: Father's love, beauty, a sweet personality, and a remarkably strong Birthright– but I couldn't be jealous of Imogen. It was impossible not to love her with my entire heart.
A dreamy look crossed Imogen's pretty face. “All the handsomest lords in the land will be here in two weeks. Surely you can find someone to fall in love with?” She was thinking of the eldest son of Earl de Bourgh. He was attractive and dashing, with blonde hair so pale that it might be white, and broad shoulders.
He was also a bit of a dunce, but I never admitted to such things in Imogen's presence.
“Ah, but Father isn't going to give me enough time to fall in love,” I said, my voice sounding bitter even to my own ears. “Just enough time to find someone that is idiot enough to cart me out of Father's castle.”
My sister's green eyes filled with tears at the thought. “I will miss you if you leave. Oh, Rinda, what are you going to do?”
I put my arm around her shoulders, hugging her to soothe her anxiety, as if by doing so, I could somehow soothe my own. “Don't worry, Imogen. We'll think of something. After all, perhaps we'll get lucky and none of them will want to marry me. Then, Father cannot possibly try to marry me off…” My voice trailed off as a plan began to spiral through my mind.
Of course. It was so simple that I broke into a wide grin. I simply had to make myself completely unmarriageable in their eyes and I’d be free to do as I pleased.
Imogen lay her shining head on my shoulder, oblivious to the wicked smile making its way across my face. “I'd find it very hard to believe that no one would want to marry a princess, even a poor one. Despite what Father says, Rinda, you're very pretty.” She gave a huge, dramatic sigh, her shoulders heaving. “It's hopeless. There’s no way to avoid marriage.”
I squeezed the puffy linen shoulder of her plain pink gown. “People want to marry princesses if they find them appealing in some way. I shall have to go out of my way to make myself as unappealing as possible.”
Imogen lifted her head from my shoulder, giving me a wary look. “What do you have in mind, Rinda? Would Father approve?”
Oh, Father would not approve in the slightest. I intended to make him the laughing-stock of the kingdom. But I just patted Imogen's shoulder. “Leave it all to me.”
Chapter Three
The next two weeks passed in a blur of motion as court readied for what was already being called the Royal Engagement Ball. People began to trickle in from the neighboring lands, from the coastal duchies and the borderland earldoms. The wave of carriages entering the capital city of Balinore was something out of a storybook, and the castle rooms were rapidly filled with excited nobility. When no more rooms were available for the visiting nobles, colorful tents were pitched around the castle bailey and scattered about the green fields as far as the eye could see.
Since it was summer, my sister was gone during the daytime to use her Birthright on the fields to ensure that they would grow to their full potential. Ever dutiful, Imogen was out from sun-up to sun-down on her small pony, dressed in a straw hat and plain gown, helping the peasants water their crops. Father spent his days cloistered with the visiting nobility, the throne room a constant source of conversation and merriment. Minstrels and mummers from miles around had followed the nobility to the castle, and the festival was merry for all.
Well, almost all.
Since Imogen was busy trying to save the kingdom from my father's stupidity, and I was mostly useless, the preparations for the Royal Engagement Ball had fallen to me. And to everyone's surprise, I had fallen to the duty with a great zest. After all, I knew where to hit my father where it hurt.
“Spare no expense,” I told Cook as handed me a lengthy menu with rich, decadent foods.
“Spare no expense,” I announced as the royal decorators came to show me the window hangings and banners they had specially prepared for the event.
“Spare no expense,” I told the mummers, the minstrels, and the acrobats that demanded advance payment for the revelry. My father's steward had frowned at the cost, but I'd smiled and given him some ridiculous line about wanting our special evening to be perfect…and hired another troupe of dancers on top of the already-planned festivities.
I had caught Father frowning at a few of the pricey silken draperies that were covering the walls of the throne room, and could practically see him counting pennies in his mind. It made me gleeful, and I continued to spend money in shocking amounts.
“Spare no expense,” I told the royal wardrobe when my sister was fitted for her gown, but on this one, I truly meant it. Imogen was lovely and deserved pretty things. She knew of the kingdom's money troubles and tended to wear the same gowns over and over again while I ordered new dresses in the latest fashions and ignored the price. “Imogen's gown must be trimmed with the finest ermine. And I want no less than a dozen emeralds in her belt and her circlet each.”
The mistress of the wardrobe had gulped but nodded.
My gown for the Royal Engagement Ball was going to be something special as well. Whereas Imogen would be gowned in a soft green velvet that would play her pale hair and green eyes beautifully (and call to mind her life-giving powers), I'd decided upon severe black taffeta. The cut of the dress was crisp and fashionable, but the color was perhaps a shade too stark against my pale skin and warm brown hair. Jewelry encrusted with gemstones of onyx and black pearls adorned my circlet, and my belt was made entirely of jet beads. I glittered like a dark raven in the rich outfit, and the wardrobe mistress had pursed her mouth and shook her head at the sight of me in it. “You look as if you are in mourning, Princess Rinda,” she had whispered to me.
“Do I? That's perfect,” I said smugly, and did not elaborate when she gave me a confused look.
All was ready by the day of the ball. My trunks were packed in anticipation of my nuptials, my tower room stripped of all personal items. Our dresses were complete, and the castle was transformed i
nto a gaily garbed spectacle of Balinoran excess, and the halls rang out with the merriment of hundreds of nobility.
Once it was time, I was bathed, perfumed, groomed and changed into my chemise, corset, and heavy ball gown. My hair was pulled back into a shining knot, and my onyx and pearl circlet was laid upon my brow. As I held still, my maid outlined my dark eyes with kohl to make them luminous, my face dabbed with rice powder.
When I looked in the mirror, the face that stared back at me was delicate but too pale, with my mother's deep brown eyes and the graceful bone structure of my father's royal ancestry. If it weren't for the brown of my hair, I’d have looked like a grieving noblewoman. While normally I was just as beautiful as Imogen, today I looked like a hollow-eyed widow, the extreme appearance made more so by my somber garb. My father would hate my appearance, from my sickly-pale face to my rich gown and the crust of jewels upon my brow.
And the waiting court had no idea what they were in for tonight. I gave my reflection a smile, grabbed my thick, heavy skirts in my hands and went out to face the ballroom.
~~ * ~~
Imogen was waiting for me at the head of the stairs. Where my hair was worn up in a sleek knot, her golden hair had been teased into a thousand spirals, held back from her face by the emerald circlet. The golden curls spun about her head like sunlight, and her green eyes sparkled as she twirled in her lovely gown. “Father was so generous in our dresses, wasn't he? I daresay that there is nothing finer in the kingdom.”
I leaned in and kissed her cheek with affection, saying only “Father was indeed generous.” The smile on my face broadened – Father actually had no idea what I'd spent on our dresses, but I was sure to hear about it on the morrow. Provided I was still in the castle, of course.