by Aaron Kite
Rhosyn’s shoulders slumped.
Too much was happening too quickly, and Gwen found she could do little more than stand there, wide-eyed and tongue-tied, as Rhosyn was escorted to the riderless horse and helped into the saddle by the captain. Though his face was somber, Anifail appeared to be enjoying this immensely.
Gwen and Rhosyn looked at each other briefly as the trio rode by on their horses, and Gwen could see her own worry and desperation mirrored in her friend’s tight-lipped expression. She could think of nothing to say, nothing at all. With the enchantment in effect, even if Gwen could think of something, she was no longer even positive she’d be able to say it.
The three riders rode down the worn, dirt path without looking back, leaving Gwen alone on the grassy hill standing next to Anifail. Within a minute or so they turned a corner of the winding horse trail and were gone.
She was alone. Her best friend had been taken away from her.
What was she going to do?
“Well, that’s all done I suppose,” said Anifail, briefly considering the sun as though attempting to gauge the time. “Pity I neglected to bring a horse for you, Princess. You’ll have to walk back to the castle, I suppose. If you’re going to sulk in this field a while, do try to limit it to a few minutes. I’ve heard that some of the local fur trappers have spotted dire wolves roaming nearby.” He smiled at her briefly. “I’m not certain your new compulsion would be enough to protect you; they can run quite fast. Wouldn’t want you giving some poor wolf a bellyache now, would we?”
Hopelessness turned to anger in her chest. Gwen regarded Anifail with as much scorn as she could muster and readied a scathing reply.
“I… don’t like wolves,” she managed to stammer. “They’re… mean.”
That wasn’t what she’d tried to say at all!
Anifail chuckled at her distressed look before casually turning and walking over to his horse, whistling cheerfully.
Standing alone on the grassy hilltop, she wordlessly watched him depart.
Chapter 5
Gwen wished hiding in her room and crying felt more productive. If tears were ideas for getting out of this situation, she’d have about a million by now.
Presently, she had none.
Maybe it had something to do with suddenly being unable to express herself — that her words had been taken away and replaced with those of a polite but slow-witted child. Thanks to the geis she couldn’t even raise her voice, or yell, or say anything that didn’t make her seem like a flighty, simple-minded little girl. She’d tried hundreds of little ways to try to get around the compulsion, and when it didn’t result in her standing there speechless, it resulted in her saying something completely different from what she intended, using phrases of no real consequence.
Even after only a few days of experimenting with the magical effects of the compulsion Anifail had saddled her with, she realized there was no point. The only sentences she could actually say out loud were polite nothings, or snippets of children’s stories.
And the weather, of course. Oh, how she hated hearing herself talk about the bloody weather, or its effects on the local crops! How could she ever hope to prevent what her father had planned if she couldn’t even find a way to keep from jabbering on and on about flax, or barley, or wheat? Even just remaining silent was better than having to listen to herself drone on about that mind-numbingly mundane stuff.
She snorted softly to herself. Perhaps she could bore the prince so badly he’d leave.
No, that wouldn’t work. If her suitor believed she didn’t possess a brain in her head, he might be even more likely to go through with marriage, thinking her easily controlled. The only thing guaranteed to work was the truth, which would send him running as fast as he could back to Bespir, or whatever kingdom he was from.
Instead of talking about the weather, maybe her best bet was to remain completely silent. Perhaps it would leave him with the impression that she wished nothing to do with him, that she was aloof and arrogant.
She may as well play up that angle, she thought bitterly. After all, many of the new staff already believed she was like that anyway, thanks to Anifail.
It explained why all the new servants had seemed so afraid of her as she’d walked down to dinner that one night, or any night since. Anifail had been busy planting rumours about her amongst the cooking staff, the valets, and the rest of the help that had been recently hired to attend to palace duties. Gwen had stumbled upon this information thanks to two chambermaids who had been discussing her in the kitchen late last night. She overheard a bit of their conversation as she’d been sneaking downstairs to fill her water pitcher, and what she heard had prompted her to hide around the corner and listen a while.
“—carrying on and breaking things like that. A spoiled brat, that’s all she is.”
“Yes, but it’s that smile of hers that bugs me most, like she’s better than the rest of us. She’ll pass by me in the hall without a word, crooked little smile in place, not even sparing me a glance. Look at me; I’m a princess and you’re not, is what she’s thinking, I’d wager. And then she’ll edge away from me as I walk by, like she’s afraid she might touch me and get dirty! Disgraceful, even for a princess!”
“Oh, you don’t want to touch her, Liv. I heard something from Captain Anifail the other day. You remember Heidi?”
“Aye, what of her?”
“We never knew what she was sent away for, right? Well, as I hear it, little miss Gwenwyn was throwing some sort of hissy-fit in the library, and Heidi tried to calm her down, touched her arm. Well, the princess, she calls for some guards, has her locked up! For daring to put a hand to her!”
“No!”
“It gets worse. Not happy with that, she ordered a guard to grab Heidi’s hand, and she had him hold her whole arm over a heating lamp!”
“What?”
“It’s true! Burns like you never saw before! I seen ‘em! Guard didn’t want to, but Princess Gwenwyn threatened to have him beheaded if he refused.”
“Surely not!”
“It’s the truth! Captain’s own words, my hand to the sky.”
“Goddess! I had no idea! And I thought what I heard was bad! Why, just the other day, she—”
Gwen departed quietly rather than listen to any more of what the two women had to say. It made her ill to know these sorts of things were being said about her, but it also made an awful kind of sense. Hiring new staff and spreading these lies about her, sending Rhosyn away like they had: her father and Anifail wanted to make certain there was nobody at all she could turn to in this, her hour of need.
It worked, too. She was friendless, idealess, utterly helpless, and—
Gwen realized she was working herself into another crying fit.
She shook her head as though clearing it, took a deep breath and sighed, smoothing her dress over her legs as she sat there on the bed. She chastised herself for slipping into this frame of mind. Crying wasn’t what she needed to do right now; she’d already done quite enough of that. What she needed to do was think, and quickly, because she was almost out of time.
The prince from Bespir had already arrived, and word had it he was somewhere in the castle.
From her small window, she’d been able to watch the standard-bearing honour guard as they’d rode up that morning to the newly decorated and freshly oiled gates of the castle. It had already been about four hours since the prince had arrived, and though her father hadn’t yet sent anyone to fetch her, she knew it would only be a matter of time.
And so Gwen had been thinking furiously, trying to force her brain to come up with some new ideas. Though it had already been several hours, all too soon there came a tapping on her door.
“Princess Gwenwyn?” a cautious female voice asked through the door. A moment later the brass handle turned, and the massive door was slowly pushed open, reve
aling a frightened-looking young girl Gwen had never seen before.
Gwen stood up from her bed. Her motion attracted the notice of the servant, who abruptly halted the door’s progress, and somehow managed to look even more frightened.
“P-princess? It’s… your father wishes to, uh…. That is, he wants you to come downstairs to the rose garden. To meet your guest.”
The girl was quite obviously terrified of her, which was almost enough to make Gwen burst into tears again. Instead, she held her emotions in check, nodded slowly and gave the young maiden as reassuring a smile as she could manage, softening her expression and trying to put the girl at ease. Never in her whole life had the expression on Gwen’s face been so at odds with how she was feeling inside.
Without even a smile of recognition or nod of acknowledgment the girl quickly turned and disappeared into the shadows beyond the half-opened door. After a mere second or two, the urgent whisper of the girl’s slippers retreating down the stone steps faded into silence. Gwen herself would’ve probably had trouble running down those stairs so fast.
Sighing once more, she walked over to her hazy metal mirror to make some last minute adjustments to the dress she was wearing. She’d been instructed to wear this specific dress today, and though Gwen had been tempted to wear something completely different, she’d eventually thought better of the idea. Anifail and her father always seemed to be one step ahead of her, and she had no desire to see what sort of punishment they’d mete out in response to some token defiance. Best not to find out.
And the dress was beautiful. It was so beautiful Gwen hated it.
Long and flowing, it was made from silk the colour of corn flowers. It had matching elbow-length gloves, as well as thin straps crossing behind her neck that left her shoulders and back completely bare. The lack of fabric on her shoulders did make her feel the slightest bit naked, though the rather daring neckline might also have had something to do with that feeling as well. It fell wonderfully on her, and although it probably couldn’t hold a candle to what a princess from a more prosperous kingdom would wear, it was nicer than any article of clothing she owned. Looking in the mirror, Gwen found herself torn between admiring how she looked in this dress, and despising it for what it represented.
It was bait, plain and simple. And she was the trap.
If only she knew how she could stop this!
Sighing, Gwen closed her eyes and murmured a small prayer to Eirene, begging Her for the wisdom needed to foil her father’s plan. That done, she gave the mirror one last look, adjusted her gloves, and then walked out of her bedroom.
If anything, wearing the dress made her feel even more awkward and isolated than previous trips down the castle hallways had. People she encountered still regarded her fearfully, or edged closer to the wall as she passed by. Rather than acknowledge these encounters, Gwen chose to focus her attention on some of the improvements and fixes her father had ordered done in the now slightly unfamiliar hallways. Threadbare tapestries and other familiar items had been taken down and replaced with ones she’d never seen, or with nothing at all. Various walls had been whitewashed, painted over, or even rebuilt in some cases. In fact, she was surprised to find that the entrance to one particularly dingy hallway had been walled over completely, as though attempting to prevent passers-by from witnessing any evidence of neglect or disrepair.
After some reflection, Gwen realized she felt a kind of kinship with the castle itself. She wasn’t the only thing being dressed up and made to look like something else entirely.
Eventually she navigated her way to the rose garden, where she found a uniformed Anifail standing, relaxed, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched two figures walking some distance away. Soon Gwen was standing next to him.
“Princess,” he murmured, giving her a sidelong inspection. “You look lovely today.”
Rather than try to say anything, Gwen chose to look away.
“Indeed. Quite lovely, actually. Surprising. Very princess-like. Who knew such a thing was even possible?” he added, quiet laughter in his voice. “I owe your father a silver.”
Gwen’s cheeks burned, and she attempted a small scowl. When the geis prevented that, she decided she’d simply stand and say nothing.
“Are you looking forward to meeting your new husband, Princess?” he asked. “Heart all a-flutter? He’s very interested in girls, you know, especially the brainless variety. The two of you should get along like a house on fire.”
Lips pressed together, she continued staring off into the distance.
Then, suddenly, Gwen caught a hint of motion to her left. The world twisted sideways for a moment, and she managed to catch herself before she stumbled. Confused, she turned to Anifail, who was already pulling his hand away from her cheek.
“So sorry, Princess. Just wanted to make sure everything was still working as it should.” He gave her a thin smile.
Gwen tried sending him a withering glare in return, and unclenched her jaw enough to remark, “It’s rather sunny today, Captain Anifail. Very bright.”
Again, nothing at all like what she’d meant to say, and even her facial expressions were refusing to cooperate with her. Anifail chuckled softly as Gwen turned away and looked at the ground.
Was this what a puppet felt like? If it was, she’d burn every single puppet in the kingdom, for death by fire would be a mercy compared to this torturous compulsion. She could never recall having been so frustrated in all of her life!
She’d find a way to stop this. Somehow, she’d find a way.
Within minutes the king and his companion appeared from behind a large rose bush, the two of them unhurriedly walking down the cobbled path in Gwen’s general direction. Anifail stood a little straighter, his arms falling to his side as they approached. When they were a dozen or so feet away, he gave the two figures an uncharacteristically crisp salute.
“Highness. Highness,” he said, nodding to both of them in turn. He then faced Gwen and gave her a small bow, something she’d never received from him before. “May I present Princess Gwenwyn, heir to the throne of Calderia. Princess?” He gestured to the attractive young man beside her father. “His Highness Tremaine Caine, Prince of Bespir.”
His name was Tremaine Caine? Seriously?
Lowering her eyes, she gave the prince a slow and deliberate curtsey and said nothing. Almost immediately she regretted her decision. Should she have looked him in the eye? Would that have given him the impression she was willful, or arrogant? Or is that how princesses usually acted? She was hardly ever introduced to anyone, so teaching her the protocol for meeting a prince had probably been a low priority for her father. Still, Gwen wished she knew what he expected, if only so she could do the exact opposite.
Prince Tremaine responded to her curtsey with a bow from the waist that was so low to the ground its only practical function had to be for showing off how flexible he was. After holding it for a few seconds he returned to an upright position, extending towards her a single pink rose in his left hand.
Gwen reached out to take the proffered rose.
Before she had a chance to react, he snatched her gloved hand in his and tossed the rose aside. Then he kneeled before her, and gave the back of her glove a long, lingering kiss.
Startled by this unexpected gesture and not knowing how to react, she found herself looking down her arm at him, his bright hazel eyes staring intently into hers as he completed his kiss. Then he straightened up and took a half-step to close the distance between them.
“Oh, Princess Gwenwyn,” he said, smiling ruefully as he shook his head sadly, “you’ve put me in such a difficult spot. I find I’m torn between leaving here this very minute and staying here forever.”
Leave? He wanted to leave? What was he talking about?
A little puzzled, Gwen decided to furrow her eyebrows at him. At least she could still control some of her expres
sions.
“Well, you see,” he continued, squeezing her hand gently, “when I’d received word about how stunningly beautiful you were, I had several serfs imprisoned for daring to exaggerate to their prince. I see now I should rush back and give each of them both their freedom and a heartfelt apology, for I can scarcely remember the last time I beheld anything quite so beautiful in all of my life.”
And then he smiled at her.
It was a remarkable smile, different than any smile she’d ever been given before, confident and charming. Gwen felt the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach. She could feel herself blushing, and for a brief instant she—
Wait… butterflies? Why were there butterflies? What was going on?
It was the moment, she realized. It was just like that moment she was always reading about in fairy tales, where the boy met the girl, and the girl met the boy, and they stared into each other’s eyes and knew—
The Prince’s charming smile transformed itself into an amused grin, and laughter danced in his eyes.
“Liked that, did you? One of my better ones,” he murmured through his cheerful, cocksure smile. “I debated all the way up here which line I was going to use, spent a little bit of time cleaning that one up. I had a backup line ready — a very tactful one, of course — just in case you turned out to be a total dog. After all, my sources have been wrong in the past.” He stood at arm’s length and looked her up and down appraisingly. “They certainly weren’t wrong this time.”
Her blush deepened, and her reaction caused his smile to become even wider, and even more amused.
“Oh, you’re going to be fun! I’d heard you mostly kept to yourself, and your father has been telling me you weren’t very worldly, but I wasn’t expecting this,” he laughed, his tone delighted. Then, turning his head, he focused his attention to her father. “And she’s how old?”
“Seventeen, Highness,” Bryn replied, quietly.
“Marvellous! A full five years my junior! Younger wives are very much in fashion at the moment. And I’m nothing if not fashionable.” He gave her a sly look. “Still, there are other things to consider. If it’s alright with you, Highness, I think I should like to spend some time getting to know your daughter.”