“There. That will do,” she said with satisfaction.
Clara stared at her reflection, voluminous eyes gazed back, huge in her small face with part of the rich, deep red hair piled on top, the pearls shimmering in the low light.
She stood, giving Olive a gracious nod. “You are most clever with your ministrations.”
Olive gave Clara a deep curtsey, which she bore as she did her other royal obligations.
Clara procrastinated, wandering over to her window again, pressing her face almost to the sphere barrier, its soft but impenetrable surface her prison.
“Princess?”
“Yes, Olive,” Clara said without turning.
“I implore you, do not stand so often or close to the window. You have heard the reports of savages, have you not?”
Yes, she had. Again Clara thought of how she longed to explore, seeing for herself what lay beyond her world, the Kingdom of Ohio.
“Yes, I have heard and it aggrieves me mightily. If some have survived the bounds of this place,” Clara stretched out her hand to encompass the sphere, “who are we to feel disinclination? Should we not welcome others?”
“It is not safe, my Princess.”
“And who has such musings?”
“The Record Keeper, my lady.”
Clara's full lips thinned into a line of distaste. She detested the idea that one individual held the history and direction of so many.
“Please... make my excuses for another half hour hence.”
Olive hesitated, thinking of the Queen's displeasure. “Yes, Princess.”
Clara turned her face, Olive catching sight of it in profile, “You are not to be blamed, tell the Queen that I was obstinate, as is typical.” Clara's mouth curved into a smile, it pleased her that Queen Ada would suffer irritation and keep the dreadful Prince Frederick waiting. A bigger pompous ass the spheres had never seen.
Clara turned to face Outside again, Olive slipping out the door and closing it quietly behind her. A tension slipped out of Clara's shoulders, relieved to own another moment of time before the abhorrent celebration began.
She stood for time uncertain, watching the wind (as she was told that was what it was), caressing the Forest of Trees Outside. As she turned away, her duty before her, she saw movement, whirling around she pressed her face to the sphere's interior, her nose pushing in the softness as goose down. Outside her window, a great male stood, trees flanking his body, partially covered by branches. On his face lay a fierceness. Arrows were slung over a shoulder corded with muscle, a bow in one hand, and strange clothing covering only part of his body, a shocking expanse of skin showing, immodestly so.
He was fascinating and most assuredly... a savage.
Without warning he flew out of the stand of trees that Clara had been admiring since her childhood, rushing straight for the window she leaned against. Clara clenched her teeth, holding her position, knowing that the sphere was impenetrable but stale fear flooded her mouth as she stood watching the huge male advance at an incredible speed. Clara's heart thumped painfully in her chest and when a hair's breadth remained between the sphere and Clara... he stopped.
*
Bracus looked at the female behind the sphere that the Evil Ones had constructed in his grandfather's grandfather's time, her image obscure. He had watched the female for months and had seen her in strange clothing while supervising workers in the fields of sea creatures that yielded shimmering jewels.
He also knew she was beautiful and... he wanted her.
She was unlike any of the females he had seen, which were rare in his clan. A female was highly prized and safeguarded. His eyes caressed her face, the skin like cream from the cow, her eyes like the sea near his cousin's clan...hair the color of fire burnt down to embers. Bracus looked around warily; knowing he must leave, he was too exposed without the trees at his back. He gave a last look at the female, her expression indecipherable, already he felt vulnerable that he had revealed himself after his careful months of hiding. Turning, he ground up the hill toward the stand of trees, his long and powerful strides eating up the ground ahead of him. Reaching the forest he looked back at the window where the female watched him, then he turned, disappearing into the stand and made his way back to the clan.
Clara released the breath she had been holding, letting it out in a rush. Light-headed, she sat upon the fainting couch and put her head between her knees. Between the strange episode with the savage and the absurd corset, she could not regain her breath. This is how Olive came upon her when she returned to escort her to the celebration. How could that hold a candle's excitement to what had just transpired Outside?
Olive rushed to her. “Princess, what ails you?”
Although not her favorite transgression it was effective and she lied smoothly to Olive, “I think the stays may need loosening.”
“Oh! For the love of the Guardian! Please... forgive me.” Olive rushed around to loosen the stays but Clara knew that would just lengthen the horror of the event and incur additional wrath from the Queen.
“Never mind, it matters not, Olive... hand-span it shall be.”
“As you wish, Princess.”
As she began walking to the doorway, she turned, giving one look back to the window, where the savage had looked at her so intimately. He had been so alive... vital. She knew one thing she had seen would distract her during the entire celebration.
The savage had gills.
Turning away from the window, Clara made her way to the door, swinging it open to the hallway which led to the Gathering Room, a place of joy. But not for her... not today.
CHAPTER 2
Clara entered with Olive at her heels, a lady-in-waiting who she also called friend. Royalty was a lonely role, every friendship sacred. Clara searched the crowd for Charles, surely he was somewhere around the room, nowhere... drat.
Her eyes continued to scan the Gathering Room, taking in the rich tapestries that lined the walls. Which was a misnomer, there was no puncturing the interior of the sphere. They had been hung cleverly with scaffolding to adjoin the material with copper fasteners. The huge Gathering clock donged, chiming at three hours past noon. Clara loved the enormous time piece. It had a symmetry that gave one pause, its beauty striking as sure as the chime she felt reverberate in her chest. Ten feet in diameter, the gears moved and clanked, clearly seen through a layer of crystal, steam running it seamlessly. The hot vapors rose to the highest apex of the sphere, flowed through unseen air portals, which fed to a central ventilator.
Relief swept through Clara as she saw Charles moving toward her. He had finished his studies one year past and begun to work in the fields. He would stay by her; especially with the understanding that she would have to spend a good portion of her time in the presence of her betrothed.
She noticed that he wore his clothes with alacrity, unlike herself, (formal clothing adding no joy). And indeed he did look dashing, his hat a shining wonder topping soft black hair, his time piece tucked safely in the front pocket of a smartly striped brocade vest. His soft velvet pants were charcoal, tucked into tall boots that rose to the knee and a deep black coat, its interior lined in scarlet, swirled mid-thigh.
Charles bowed. “Princess Clara.” His eyes twinkled as the sod knew very well how she hated the title.
Clara returned a perfunctory curtsy automatically. “I see you are in good spirits.”
“Ah yes, a Day of Birth celebration for my dearest friend, what must I feel badly about?” Charles said, raising a brow, tapping a finger on his head as if confused.
Olive giggled behind them, she found Charles amusing. Clara did as well, but not so much this day.
Charles examined her expression. “Clara,” he lowered his voice, “there is no alternative, you must persevere.”
His sadness cloaked her. Charles would rather slay himself with the sword he practiced with than have her married to Frederick.
Clara felt shame redden her cheeks, he was her dear friend, and as
constrained by rules as she. Taking his hand she squeezed it and he leaned down, whispering in her ear, “That is the Clara I know, brave heart. Take my arm, Princess.”
Clara slipped her arm through Charles', noticing how tall he had become, the top of her head able to brush his chin. His dark eyes regarded her solemnly, it was time to greet Queen Ada, her mother.
They approached the throne which sat upon a circular dais. The steps leading to her throne shone in the warm light of the steam-chandeliers, their crystal orbs casting a golden glow directly over the dais, spreading like molten water over the floor before them.
The Queen regarded them with thinly veiled disdain, her tapered finger eternally running up and down the crystal stem of her emerald wine goblet that shimmered like a jewel in the light.
“Daughter of mine,” Queen Ada said with silken menace encasing every syllable, “what reason have you for being late to your own Day of Birth celebration. Leaving,” she gave a slight incline of her head, “Prince Frederick, in a most unescorted plight.” Her gaze bored through Clara with talons.
She allowed herself to look at Prince Frederick, whose thunderous expression told her that her mother was not the only one from whom she would have to assuage temper.
“Do not look at Prince Frederick,” Queen Ada roared, causing the crowd to gasp, “address your queen!”
Charles moved behind Clara, unlacing their arms and putting his hand at the small of her back.
Queen Ada's razor stare turned to Charles. “She is not to be coddled.”
Charles hand fell away from Clara's back and she stood, vulnerable and seemingly alone before Ada.
Clara took a stoic breath, bracing herself, knowing the shock wave she would send through the crowd. “I have a tale of great magnitude.” Every eye was upon Clara, a feeling of great excitement stole around her heart, squeezing it. “I have seen a savage.”
The gasps were as one, loud in their combined softness.
Queen Ada stood, her goblet temporarily forgotten, as Elvira, her lady-in-waiting, swooped forward to steady it. Clara watched her regain her balance, swaying only a little.
“You lie.” She stood in her swirling gown of deep purple, her favorite color, a long, sensuous rope of black pearls looped and knotted, reaching her knees. Samuel's pearls, only the rarest for Ada. She never thought of her mother as such, it was always Ada, or The Queen.
“I do not. I was taking my leave before this celebration,” Clara turned to the many faces, some of which she was close enough to reach out and touch, and spoke to them, giving her back to Ada, a brave thing, “and saw him at the border of the Forest which lays Outside.”
More gasping. The sightings of the savages had increased in number, along with the sentries at the critical sphere passages between kingdoms.
Charles grasped her elbows, turning her to face him. “You say you saw one? How close, Cla... Princess.” Charles corrected.
“I ask the questions here, not you.” The Queen turned her fearsome expression to Clara. “Perchance you use this ridiculous story as a ruse to grant you my mercy for the disrespect you show us by your lateness.” She looked at Clara, for all her drink, brightly and with a keenness that Clara knew very well.
Clara ignored the question, hoping to distract with her tale.
“He ran with great speed to my window which faces Outside.” Many voices began at once and Clara was forced to stop her commentary.
“Silence!” Queen Ada bellowed and the crowds' voices faded.
Ada swung her attention to Frederick. “What say you? Does my daughter bear tales?”
As if he would have a fig's reckoning of her state of mind.
Frederick glared down at Clara, she a terrible but necessary inconvenience, one he would obtain to further his wealth, she was but a pawn on his kingdom's chessboard.
Frederick sat slightly lower and to the left of Ada, the King of Kentucky to Ada's right. It was he, not Frederick who answered, “If I may, I feel disinclined that Princess Clara would falsify such a tale at a time when these savages are unveiling their presence.”
Clara gulped back her anxiety, eternally thankful for King Otto, who inadvertently paved the way for her next comment, “I may know why they survive Outside,” the silence was that of a tomb but Clara continued, “the male had...” Clara gestured to the slender column of her neck, and the many faces of the crowd followed her motion, “...gills. They appear to aid in his breathing.”
Excited conversations exploded all around Clara and she hazarded a look at Queen Ada, who looked as if her breath had been robbed, sitting down in a very un-royal heap upon her throne.
Charles studied Clara, his hand still encircling an elbow when Prince Frederick was suddenly there. “Unhand my betrothed, Mr. Pierce.”
Charles stared at the Prince with an unwavering gaze, his brown eyes steady, his fingers loosening... then falling away. Clara looked at Charles, her eyes warning him. She saw in his eyes a wish to maim, which would not do, it would not do at all. Her gaze traveling and finding the Prince's guards.
“Come Clara,” he said her name with an intimacy he would never earn, “sit beside your future king.”
Clara would rather drown in the oyster fields than be near him. She turned to look at Charles, and he mouthed, I will be here.
Clara lifted her skirts to assure her footing as she climbed the dais, sitting in the small, gilded throne at the lower left of Ada, sandwiched between the loathsome Prince and her drunken mother, the one who would whore her for free grapes, giving up their precious legacy of pearls for her love of the cup.
CHAPTER 3
Clara's gaze fell upon the crowd so deeply engaged in the titillating news of a close sighting of a savage. Not a glimpse, no, but an entirely intimate appraisal. She could feel the uncomfortable presence of Prince Frederick at her back, his displeasure with her a thing he bore. He had made it clear that she was not suitable for him. With her very unfeminine desire to man the oyster fields, he had been quite vocal in his dislike of her duties.
His irritation pleased her.
It was well-known (at least in her sphere) that the Kingdom of Kentucky was ill-managed; Prince Frederick acted not in the least concerned for his peoples' prosperity. There had been rumors of poverty which included starvation, unheard of in most spheres.
A hand gripped her collar bone painfully and Clara checked her expression so the pain would not show. “Smile, my dear, let them all know how happy you are that I have deigned to show my affection for you,” the Prince whispered, his breath so like a rotten fruit that Clara stifled a gag. She plastered a false smile on her face which immediately alarmed Charles, his foot resting on the bottom step of the dais. Clara gave a minute shake of her head, stay there, the look said. She was stuck as a butterfly with a pin through its wing; the Prince abused her in a multitude of subtleties. She could guess what a marriage with him would entail. He released her and the numbness where his hand had been faded, to be replaced with a throbbing that kept pace with her heart.
Ada leaned forward. “You will explain this later, my daughter, in detail.”
“Yes, my Queen.” Ada placed her hand at the back of Clara's neck and squeezed hard, a favorite tender spot to abuse. At every vantage point, she was higher than Clara, as tall as most men, and always higher on the dais, always. Clara struggled not to whimper at the double abuse of both the Prince and the Queen. It was a near thing and difficult to hide from her people.
Ada and King Otto had their heads pressed together in royal commune which suited Clara very well. It meant that the Queen's attention lay elsewhere. Finally, amongst the noise of the peoples' conversation, King Otto clapped his hands three times, causing Clara to flinch, which amused Frederick as the crowd quieted.
“Hail the People of the Kingdom of Ohio. On this day it is not just a Day of Birth Celebration, but also a day of exciting news,” a somber expression rode his face, “your Princess claims to have seen one of these savages near-at-hand and wi
ll now explain them to us.”
Once more, all eyes were on Clara. As unprepared as she felt, she knew the violence that awaited for non-compliance, so she began, “He seemed of rugged countenance but not a danger.”
A person from the crowd shouted, “How can that be? We know they are to be feared.” Clara's eyes narrowed, taking in the stance of the speaker.
“That is what we have been told by the Record Keeper.” A disquieted silence fell, “and this may be, but this savage offered no violence. It is my belief that he was... curious of us.”
“Of you, Princess.” This came from one of the men which captained the pungy boat, used to navigate the oyster fields.
“Mayhap of me or it could be happenstance that I stood by the window, giving opportunity at just the right moment.”
Olive spoke next, “Tell us, your highness, what did it look like?”
The group in front leaned forward to catch her words, “He was of huge body and limb, with long hair to here,” Clara indicated her shoulders, “and of fierce expression.” Clara did not indicate clothing as it would be an embarrassment in front of the People, his nakedness scandalous.
The great time piece chimed four times, its deep timber reverberating inside the Gathering Room like a quaking of the earth. Steam rose to the sphere's arc, the hissing vapors seemingly disappearing.
The Queen broke through the questions with a final, “Enough of the supposed savage, let us celebrate my daughter's Day of Birth.”
Clara knew Queen Ada wished to know everything in private; an interrogation she would not escape.
Servants came forward with laden plates of grapes, cheese, and all matter of meats and pastries for the last course. A great cake was piled four tiers high. It was an absurd extravagance, more appropriate for a Wedded Joining than a birthday. They laid the feast at the foot of the royal dais on tables which had been arranged for the buffet. Another table was piled high with lavishly packaged gifts from her people.
Clara stood on feet grown shaky from stress and said, “Thank you all most kindly for your presence at my Day of Birth Celebration; I am most grateful for your allegiance and loyalty.”
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