Royal Chronicles of Denmark, Books 1 & 2

by Kiki Leach

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s time we prepare you for the gown and accessories.”

  I swallowed hard and nodded, gradually getting up from the bench and walking over to the gown as it hung from the wall opposite the window. It was as white as pure snow, not a single stitch of color to be seen. Tiny stones surrounded the collar, diamonds which dipped only a few inches below my collarbone. The bodice appeared tight as always, while the sphere of the skirt reminded me of a carriage, so fanned and round, it could engulf a planet filled with nothing but tiny children! I placed my fingers at the edge of it, feeling the softness; I trailed my fingers to the sleeves and spider-webbed cuffs, feeling the contrast, the roughness…

  It took nearly two hours to dress me from head to toe, though I had yet to slip on my shoes. As I stood back looking at myself in the mirror, draped in precious jewels that hung from and covered every appropriate -- and inappropriate -- place on my body, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Part of me felt like I belonged on top of a wedding cake, not in the wedding itself.

  Brigita noticed me staring and came over with my slippers in hand. I looked down at them and went over to the bed, placing them at the corner.

  I slid one my hand around my stomach to my waist and grasped the railing with the other. The room was suddenly spinning and I felt as if I couldn’t keep my stability for much longer. “I can’t breathe,” I told her, slightly heaving.

  She rushed to my nightstand, handing me the cup of tea. “Drink this,” she said. My hands rattled as I took it from her. “Try your best not to spill it on the gown, Miss.” I looked at her face from the corner of my eye. She was as pale as a ghost and as frightened as a hunted peacock in the forest.

  I drank the remainder of my tea and handed the cup back to her, then went back over to the mirror, moving my head about as I stared at myself. “I don’t know who she is. This woman, I… I don’t know her.”

  Brigita slipped her hand around my hair and glided her fingers down between my curls, fluffing them against the middle of my back. When we heard a knock at the door, she looked to me for approval before rushing to answer it. When I noticed her bowing, I realized we were now in the presence of the queen. I rolled my eyes a little; seeing her was the last thing I needed.

  She excused Brigita and shut the door. I was left alone with her and suddenly my nerves turned to antagonism. I patted down my gown and saw her coming up behind me in the mirror, dressed in her best red velvet gown and plethora of jewels and headdress covered in stones. She clasped her hands one in the other, her rings clacking together, and looked me over, disapprovingly. “Brigita did fine in preparing you for today,” she said, her tone as flat as the concrete surrounding the estates. “Though, she was alone. Were the members of my court not satisfactory enough for you dear?”

  “The members of your court were just fine, though much too busy fussing over themselves to give a damn about me, my queen.”

  She pinched her lips and grit her teeth. “I see.” She took a deep breath filled with annoyance. It was early in the day, and already, I was getting to her. “Tell me, how do you feel?”

  “About…?”

  “The gown, of course! I had it made especially for this day, especially for you.”

  “Well in that case, I appreciate having no say in the matter.” I grinned and she narrowed her eyes, clearly disgusted with my mockery. “Would you like to hear one thousand truths or a single lie?”

  She smiled wickedly. “A single truth shall suffice.”

  “Well, then, I feel as if I’m being put on display in the manner of a showpiece, or pigeon,” I answered.

  She bent her head back and laughed. “That’s because you are, dear. You’re no prince or king!” She leaned forward, making certain I heard her quite clearly as she went on. “You’re to be the wife of a prince or king. Your only job is to be presentable, to look as well as you can for the prince as well as the country. You are to take up for your husband and stand by his side no matter what. You have no voice.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  I turned to her in shock. So much of it I already knew, but to hear it aloud, and from her, was devastating. “Is that who you are?” I asked her. “Just the wife of a king? You have no views or thoughts of your own?”

  “Of course I do, Cinderella. But I suppress them. As will you.”

  She stepped over to the bed, glaring down at the slippers. I peered, examining her stiff body language and callous demeanor as she patted her ribbed collar. It was no wonder she was as cold as ice.

  “I would hope that’s not what Norvack wishes for me to become. I would hope that he wishes for me to continue to speak up, to say my peace and continue to be who I am. I couldn’t dream of being married to a man, even your son, if all he wished of me was to stand beside him and say nothing. To remain as suppressed as you. I couldn’t dream of it.”

  “As suppressed as me.”

  “Yes. I don’t wish to be who you are.”

  She looked at me for awhile as tears filled her eyes. One fell to her cheek and she quickly brushed it away. Perhaps the ice was beginning to melt? “You would --” She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and choked on her words as the tears continued flowing. “Excuse me, you would be quite lucky to have otherwise, my dear. Enjoy the rest of your time alone before the ceremony.”

  She exited the room in haste. I partly felt bad for speaking to her in the manner that I had, but another, much bigger part of me felt she deserved to hear it and more.

  Within the hour, I felt every nerve in my body start to dissipate. I stood by the window, watching the guests arrive in their carriages, escorted inside the palace by various servants and staff as they were to be served hors d'oeuvres in the main ballroom prior to the ceremony. It was against custom for them to see me so soon, so I tried to stay as hidden as I could behind the curtains, though it wasn’t easy given the size of the gown.

  When I heard my door creaking back and saw Norvack entering, I became rigid. “What are you doing in here?!” I hissed, bustling toward him. He looked as handsome as ever in his white uniform with proper gold trimming, but I hadn’t time to fully acknowledge it, given the circumstances. “You’re not supposed to see me before the wedding, it’s bad fortune!”

  He said nothing, only looking at me in what appeared to be astonishment. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Cinder. Breathtakingly beautiful.”

  The serene sound of his voice made me shiver, but I hid it as best I could. “You should not be in here,” I informed him. “Tradition.”

  “Whoever thought of such a tradition was a fool, or a man who never wished to marry his bride.” He slid his arm around my waist and pressed me against him. I extended my hands to his chest and pushed back a little, leaning away from him. “You are devastatingly delectable.” He kissed the center of my breasts -- my heart fluttered, an impossible ache formed between my thighs.

  “I feel like I’m being put on display.”

  “You are, for the night.”

  Something clicked in my brain in that very moment. Something unpleasant.

  I shoved him away and removed his hand from my waist.

  He made a face and crinkled his brows. Then he smiled nervously. “What’s wrong?”

  I straightened myself and scowled. “I don’t wish to be your wife.”

  He stopped and chortled a little, looking aside then back into my eyes. “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I…” I moved near the bed and wringed my hands. “I don’t wish to be like your mother. I--”

  He moved in, slamming himself against me. He repositioned my hair behind me and breathed hard onto my skin. “You will be nothing like my mother.”

  “Really? Your mother is put upon display each night, Norvack. She dresses for your father and this country. She never speaks a word until the king speaks first, and only then repeats what he says in a more tranquil tone. She has no vital say
within the palace, no voice of her own -- she is little more than a trophy. I never realized it before now, but I have so many ideas for this country, for poverty and people like me. There are so many dreams I never believed would come true as I rotted away in my cottage back in Hadenville.” I slipped out of his grip and turned to face him. “I don’t wish to be your trophy, something equivalent to a prized possession. I don’t wish to be your wife and nothing more, I” -- I tossed my hands out -- “I refuse to give up any freedoms I had before agreeing to this arrangement.”

  He looked to the floor and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. A line formed between his eyes and he pursed his lips, annoyed. “And what freedoms would you be surrendering at this moment, Cinder girl? The freedom to steal from the bakery at any given day of the week? The freedom to sleep on a ratty mattress inside your tiny cottage? To wear clothes from a dead man’s corpse?”

  “That’s not fair,” I snapped.

  “What is fair, my favorite girl? If you wish not to marry me, as I said prior, I shall not push you to do so. I will keep quiet about my brother if you choose to return to Hadenville as I still wish to keep you safe. But I won’t allow you to stand here and accuse me of --”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything, I--!” I moved around him and clutched my throat, swallowing. “I am not accusing you, Norvack.” I took a moment and turned to face him once more, breathing deep. “I am merely stating facts that within this monarchy, women are less than. You should know that better than anyone, given your misogynistic treatment of women over the years. Even in your ‘proposal’ of marriage, it was a demand, not a request. The mentality is built into your psyche, no matter how you wish to present yourself! No matter your purpose. I can’t blame you for it, but I certainly won’t keep quiet about it either. I am not equal to you. I am devalued, and can be easily disposed of and replaced by another by sunset or dawn. I don’t wish to be your mother, blindly accepting of such rules.”

  “Though you wish for tradition on the lawn this afternoon?”

  “If only to not annoy your parents any further! I think of you there, not me. But in this case, one has nothing to do with the other. I refuse to ignore whatever happens to come my way within this marriage. I refuse to ignore whatever you choose to do when I’m not around.”

  He waved his hand. “Whatever I choose to do? You mean that of a mistress?”

  “If you so choose to have one. It’s common within the hierarchy. No need to look any further than your father.”

  “My father? Oh ye of such little faith,” he remarked with a snide grin and chuckle. “Why would I choose another when the one I have always wished for stands before me in her bridal attire?”

  “Because you can.”

  “But I have chosen to marry you.”

  “And your father chose to marry your mother.”

  He raised his hand to his face, clutching his chin, and looked around the room. “Did my mother come to you this morning? What did she say to you?”

  “Nothing that I wasn’t already aware of. She only made things all too real for me, all too clear.”

  “Things, such as?”

  I sighed. “Such as informing me that I am nothing more than a display. And you said the exact same thing.”

  “No--”

  “Yes. I told you I felt as if I were being put upon display, and you informed me that I was.”

  “For the night--”

  “Possibly forever if nothing changes,” I said. “Your mother said I’m to be your wife and nothing more.”

  “And, what did you inform her?”

  “That I hoped you in fact wanted more from me, which is why you chose me.”

  “Do you believe that I want more from you?”

  “I would hope so, otherwise--”

  “Do you believe it?” he asked, stern.

  I wavered, looking away. “Before now, yes.”

  “Before now. Before I came to you?”

  “Yes.”

  He stepped back and glanced at the ceiling. Silence engulfed us; it was deafening, overwhelming. I rattled my foot and hands and chewed the inside of my cheek. He ran his fingers up and down his throat, avoiding my eyes as best he could. I suddenly felt ill.

  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with all of this,” I said. “I just needed you to be aware of how I felt.”

  “Now I am.”

  “Yes.” I swallowed hard and let out a breath of air. “And?”

  “And, what?”

  “Where do we go from here, Norvack?” I asked.

  He lifted and steadily lowered his shoulders. “We go…” He looked to me without a blink or a flinch. “And we get married.” He moved up, closing the space between us and I suddenly felt an odd wave of relief. “I wish for more than your body, Cinder, though it may be hard to believe, or resist. I wish for so much more than that -- I always have. In my desire to have you, I’ve always wanted every inch of you, mind, body, soul. I wish for your heart and intellect. I wish for you to continue being the person I fell in love with as a child, a fighter -- someone who never apologized for her actions if she felt she were right. Even if not.” He laughed. “Someone who stood up for herself as well as others. If I wished for a meek wife who never spoke her peace, she would be standing in your place as we speak.”

  “The princess, I assume?”

  He grinned. “Possibly.”

  “Well, I must admit that what you say is reassuring. But, what about this country?”

  “Screw this country.” He bent forward and kissed atop my heart.

  I grabbed his face and forced his eyes to focus on mine. “I meant, the hierarchy. You may want me to speak out, it does not mean your court will accept the same.”

  “They shall. In due time.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “They will.”

  He tasted my skin and I slipped my hands around him, twisting my fingers into the hair at his nape, and looked down at him. His lips were so full and soft against my skin. I wanted him to take me in my wedding gown, the frock it was, I didn’t care in those moments if it were ruined. He draped his hands around my waist and moved his face from my chest to my throat, sucking the skin at my pulse.

  “Norvack,” I said under my breath, fervently moving my lips toward his.

  He pulled back and took my face in his hands. I swallowed hard, preparing for his lips to embrace mine. But they didn’t. I opened one eye to look up at him; he was beaming as he stared down at my face. I opened the other eye and scowled. “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting,” he said. He inhaled a deep breath and exhaled between his lips. The taste was pleasurably delightful. He fell to one knee before me and reached for the glass slippers on the bed. He reached underneath my gown, squeezing my calf. I dropped my head back, shutting my eyes as I licked and bit my lip. He slipped one shoe on the right foot, the other on the left. And then he gradually arose, sliding his hand up between my thighs. I clasped it before he reached my sweetest spot and looked down at him. He slid the other hand up to my backside and I groaned. He looked at me with an urge in his eyes and a bulge in his pants. I released his hand and he swooped down to my face, whispering. “We shall belong to each other soon enough.” He placed his hand at my throat and glided his finger up to my chin, lifting it. “You own me, my favorite girl. You own each part of me.” He took my hand and placed it on his cock. I squeezed my thighs together; my clit throbbed with excitement. “Tonight,” he said. I moaned as he leaned down to kiss the corner of my lips. I was desperate to lick every inch of his smooth body then, but shoved him out of my chambers before allowing it to happen.

  I could wait.

  The king approached me in the corridor as I stood in the corner wringing my hands, and peeked out once more at the growing crowd of guests, watching as they returned from the ballroom and finally took their proper places on the lawn. Everyone seemed to be anxiously waiting for the prince and his mother to arrive, as he was to walk with h
er down the white carpet leading to the flowered archway, followed by the king and I.

  “Are you nervous?” he asked me in a gruff tone.

  I dropped my hands to my sides and looked into his pale green eyes. They were hard, critical. He reached up and began stroking his white moustache and beard. He fixed his crown as it began to slip from the center of his head.

  “I’m prepared to marry your son,” I said, facing my hands. They were red from so much wringing. I clasped them together, hoping he wouldn’t notice and shifted my eyes. “My nerves are of no matter now.”

  “But they were, it seems. Perhaps it would’ve been wise to end this ‘engagement’ before it began.”

  “Perhaps. Only for your son to marry a woman he could never desire.”

  “Perhaps not, though she would be willing to bear his children.”

  “If he allowed it,” I shot back.

  Belarus stood back and clutched his stomach, bellowing, the noise carrying out past the corridor and into another room. Then he refocused his eyes on my face, staring at me as if I were a complete idiot. “Dear girl, in case you have not been so keenly aware, my son has always been weak to the flesh of women.”

  “I have been aware,” I muttered.

  “Then you realize it would have only been a matter of time before the true princess found herself carrying Lars the II.”

  I narrowed my eyes and grit my teeth. “Yes. Assuming that Norvack would have been willing to touch her,” I snapped, fidgeting with my fingers. “I’m not as convinced as you are that he would have succumbed.”

  His words were successfully burying beneath my skin one by one, and he knew it, continuing on.

  “Oh, he would have been willing, my lady. He would have succumbed as much as any man with two eyes to see her great beauty and” -- he knit his brows and looked up, peering toward the drooping light fixture as he searched for the right word -- “suppleness,” he finally said with glee. “When he informed me that he had planned to marry a maiden from Hadenville instead of her, I was of the mind that he seemed to lose whatever was left of his. And when he informed me of which maiden he had chosen, to say I was more than flabbergasted at the very idea of you is quite the understatement.”