A Touch of Poison

by Aaron Kite

  The procession itself was impressive — a dozen riders and about fifty or so uniformed men on foot forming two columns, several of them bearing standards or strange, ribbon-like flags that trailed in the wind like horse tails. The horses were amazing to behold. Any one of them could have easily shamed anything Calderia’s meagre stables had ever produced. Directly between the two columns, near the back, were six horsemen riding a few lengths ahead of a very posh and tastefully decorated two-horse carriage.

  The sound of the approaching assemblage caused the three peacocks that wandered the garden to hastily retreat from view, their presence rendered meaningless now that they could no longer be seen. How much effort had her father expended just to bring them here, only to have them run and hide from the very people they were meant to impress? The thought amused her somewhat.

  Gwen watched, feeling both nervous and slightly awe-struck, as the columns of standard-bearers and soldiers advanced towards them. When the lead foot soldiers were ten feet or so from the gazebo, Gwen heard a faraway voice bark unintelligible orders, and both columns came to an abrupt halt, turned to either side, and marched outward with crisp, military-like precision. It became obvious the two columns were making room for the horsemen and coach in the rear, both of which were slowly bearing down on the gazebo.

  It was equally obvious that the soldiers and horsemen before her had practiced doing this sort of thing. A lot.

  She became aware that she could sense a bit of nervousness coming from her father, whose eyes had widened slightly at the display. Even Anifail looked a little tense and uncomfortable suddenly, and Gwen allowed herself a tiny smirk. Calderia was nowhere near the size of some of the other nearby kingdoms, after all. Perhaps the two most important men in the kingdom were questioning just how important they really were, comparatively speaking.

  Gwen kept her eyes lowered as the coach and riders got closer, doing her best to remain small and insignificant. Given the circumstances, it wasn’t difficult.

  The majestic carriage and lead horsemen advanced on the occupants of the gazebo, and Gwen noticed that somehow the gait of the horses were synchronized — that each horse’s step was coming down upon the grassy earth at precisely the same time, almost like soldiers at a military parade. Everything about the procession seemed designed to leave the viewer gaping in wonder, and impressed beyond measure.

  She had a sudden flash of insight; this was royalty. Real royalty, and not the make-believe, self-important dressing up that Bryn and Anifail played at. Her father was a mere chieftain compared to what she was seeing here.

  The thought should have made Gwen more afraid, and yet she wasn’t. She was elated, in fact. Prior to this moment, she hadn’t even considered that there was someone in the world her father didn’t outrank. Seeing all this, she knew there were people out there — rulers of other kingdoms — who were considerably more powerful than her father.

  The Prince of Rhegar might just be one of those people.

  There wasn’t much for her to do aside from standing there on the gazebo, watching things unfold before her. The unnaturally well coordinated horses trotted forward, two by two, the resplendent carriage trailing not far behind them. Gwen watched the horses with an appreciative eye, and then let her eyes wander upwards to inspect the riders of those horses.

  The sight of one rider three lengths behind the lead horse on the left caused her breath to catch, and her heart to skip a beat.

  He was, quite simply, the most perfect man Gwen could imagine.

  His hair was dark, and fairly long, with just enough curl to make it bounce every time his horse took a step. He sat in his saddle like someone born to it. The cleft in his chin was barely enough to cast a shadow, but it squared his otherwise pointed features perfectly. Even were he not several inches taller than his immaculately dressed companions, he would have stood out.

  He wore peasant gear — a deep red tunic and brown leather vest, well-worn riding gloves, thick brown leather trousers, and sensible riding boots unadorned by decoration or spur. If Gwen had happened upon him in the woods, she would have assumed he were an ostler, or farm hand, or something of that nature.

  And he was beautiful. She’s never even considered that a man could be beautiful before this particular moment, but it was simply what he was. Watching him ride towards them, Gwen suddenly felt like she understood some of the love poetry that had eluded her for years. Just watching him — his expressions, how he moved — was unlike anything she’d felt before.

  Gwen barely even registered the elegantly-dressed fellows riding with him, or anything else that was going on. All of her attention was focused on this dark-haired rider, who crowded out anything else she might have noticed.

  He glanced over at her briefly at one point, their eyes locking for just a moment. He gave her an indecipherable look before hastily lowering his gaze, shifting slightly in his saddle.

  The two lead horses carried their riders forward until they were about twenty feet away from the gazebo staircase, at which point they came to a sudden and abrupt halt. As they did so, it seemed that every other horse behind them came to a complete stop as well.

  The instant the horses had halted their advance, the peasant boy leaned forward and slid off his horse with practiced ease. As he did so, the finely dressed boy beside him widened his eyes.

  “Majesty!” the fellow said, sounding alarmed, practically falling off his own horse in an effort to reach the ground quickly. “Please, I’m supposed to get down before—”

  “Trevor? Who’s prince?” the peasant boy asked tiredly, eyebrow raised.

  “Yes, of course,” said the elegantly dressed boy, stepping backward and bowing respectfully.

  Gwen’s eyes widened, and her heart gave an extra loud ‘thump’.

  This plainly dressed fellow garbed in earth tones, wearing a plain outfit and sensible riding kit befitting a stable-hand or ordinary horseman, he was Prince Gavin?

  Silly though it was, she suddenly found herself regretting not having spent more time on her hair.

  Almost immediately after this revelation of hers, there was a sudden commotion originating from somewhere near the carriage.

  “—quite enough of that! Can’t you see this is making them nervous? Help me off of this accursed thing, you— … no, not like that! Give me your hand! There! Now, help me out of this. Ready, and—”

  A well-dressed man with an impressive white beard groaned mightily as he emerged from the side of the carriage, accompanied by several pages, each of whom was offering their assistance as he made his way out of the horse-drawn vehicle and into view. He spent a few moments straightening himself and brushing out his sleeves. When he finally turned to face Bryn, a beatific smile lit up his face, and he raised his arms to either side, as though he were the one who was welcoming them.

  “There they are… at long last! Our newest family. Oh, just the sight of you all fills my heart with joy,” he said, striding forward around the horses and toward the gazebo, looking as though he was coming to give them all a tremendous, grandfatherly hug. Gwen could sense consternation coming from her father, like this whole thing wasn’t going exactly as he’d expected.

  “It...yes, welcome! Mine too! And—” Bryn furrowed his brow, managing to look even more confused. “Sorry, ambassador is it? I’m afraid I was only expecting the arrival of Prince Gavin, and haven’t made any—”

  “Ambassador? Ha!” the boisterous old man laughed, seemingly oblivious to the fact he’d cut off her father mid-sentence. “No sir! Why, I may be older than dirt, but I dare say my age wasn’t about to stop me from lugging these old bones here and attending my only son’s wedding!”

  “Son? Then you’re—”

  “King Alwyn Vargasmedt of Rhegar,” he said, giving them a bow suggesting that his bones weren’t quite as old as he’d deprecatingly claimed. “And I’m honoured to finally meet you, King
Bryn. You’re a man after my own heart, I can tell already.”

  “It… King? You’re—” stammered Bryn, looking like a man who was completely out of his depth. Doubtless he’d prepared a courtly speech to be recited for Prince Gavin alone, but was completely at a loss with how to respond to this newest development.

  “Yes, I know it’s unfair, me showing up like this without mentioning anything about it in my letter, but I simply had to come!” The white-haired king quickly made his way up the gazebo steps and stood before Bryn, regarding him with a smile before opening his arms and enveloping him in a hug, as though they were old friends. Bryn’s perplexed expression deepened, though he did eventually manage to return the embrace.

  Gwen decided she liked this wizened old king. Anyone who could interrupt her father and cause him this much consternation was okay in her book.

  King Alwyn stepped back after a few moments, still beaming delightedly at her father, and then swiveled his head to look in Gwen’s direction. If anything, his smile got even wider.

  “And you! You must be Princess Gwenwyn! Oh, the rumours were indeed true.” He gave her a playfully wry look. “I fear you may be about to create an unintended economic crisis, marrying my son. When they start stamping your likeness on our new kingdom’s coins, why, they’ll be so beautiful that surely nobody will wish to part with a single one!”

  Yes, Gwen definitely liked this old man.

  Smiling her first genuine smile in a long, long time, she gave him a curtsey while bobbing her head respectfully.

  “You honour us too greatly, Highness,” Bryn said through a tight-lipped smile. “I’m sure Princess Gwenwyn appreciates your kind words, though she cannot actually say so at the moment, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, a Calderian wedding custom — the bride-to-be takes a vow of silence once her hand has been promised in marriage, so that the very next person to hear her speak is her husband, once they’ve been joined.” Bryn increased the intensity of his smile. “My daughter takes tradition very seriously, and is nothing if not dutiful.”

  “Really?” King Alwyn looked a little perplexed by that, but then gave a light shrug. “Well, it takes all sorts, I suppose.”

  “Indeed,” Bryn agreed, smiling. “I also wished to apologize for this highly irregular greeting spot, but I’m afraid that with the wedding mere days away, the throne room and the main hall are a bit of a mess. We have craftsmen working in there day and night to make sure everything looks perfect for the big day.”

  Well, that explained why they were all meeting here in the garden, at any rate.

  “Oh, there’s no need to apologize! This whole thing probably came as a bit of a surprise for you, what with Rhegar proposing this marriage out of the blue and all. Quite understandable that you’d need a bit of time to prepare. I’m sure everything will be quite satisfactory, and all will go as planned. Which reminds me.” Alwyn looked behind him. “Gavin! Come along, boy. There’s a certain young lady up here who has been waiting quite patiently to meet you.”

  The plainly-dressed prince had been attending his horse, but upon hearing his name stood up a little straighter and turned to regard them. Then, he came over to the gazebo entrance and slowly walked up the steps, eyes lowered and head slightly bowed. Once he’d arrived beside his father, the king, he straightened his back and simply stood there, stiffly.

  He was also studiously ignoring Gwen.

  “Highness, Princess, if I may introduce—” Alwyn began, turning towards his son. It was at that point he seemed to notice what the prince was wearing, and his entire posture changed slightly. He regarded Gavin with a flat, disappointed look. “Really?”

  “Do you wish me to change, Highness?” Gavin asked quietly.

  King Alwyn gave a light sigh, shaking his head and turning back to Gwen and her father. “If I may introduce my son, Prince Gavin. Gavin, if I may introduce you to King Bryn, and your betrothed, Princess Gwenwyn of Calderia.”

  Prince Gavin said nothing, but simply bowed to each of them in turn, not even looking at them as he did so. When he was finished he turned his head slightly to one side and stared off into the distance, as though inspecting some feature of the garden.

  The grey-haired king gave his son a look of consternation, then walked up to him and whispered something angrily in his ear. Gavin’s posture became even straighter, and his eyes went hard. He turned and considered Gwen, his grey eyes reminding her of smooth river rocks lying in the sun for some inexplicable reason.

  Gwen tried not to focus on the uncomfortable pitter-pat of her heart.

  Gavin continued staring at her a few seconds, and eventually his expression softened into a look of resignation. He took a step forward,

  “Oh, Princess Gwenwyn,” he said quietly, his voice a monotone, “your presence humbles me. My night of starless skies has become a sunny dawn upon glimpsing your beauty.”

  That said, he took her gloved hand in his and bowed his head, pantomiming a kiss upon the back of her knuckles.

  It was quite obvious to Gwen that he hadn’t meant a single word.

  Prince Gavin finished his bow and returned to his stiff-backed stance, his hand still holding hers awkwardly.

  “I can see now that this place is paradise,” he continued glumly, averting his gaze, “for I’ve heard it said that paradise is where love dwells, and I now consider myself the most blessed man in all the world to have been chosen as the one you shall soon call-your-husband-may-I-please-be-excused-now-Father?”

  Nobody did or said anything for a good, long while. Gwen felt as though she’d been splashed with ice water, and could sense her cheeks were beginning to redden.

  Eventually, King Alwyn managed a scowl.

  “Yes, fine,” he muttered angrily, waving a dismissive gesture at his son. “Go. Attend to your horse, or something useful.”

  The prince gave them all a slight bow of his head before turning around and stomping his way down the gazebo steps, his shoulders hunched and his hands bunched into fists. The four of them watched in silence as he stalked back to his horse and led it away.

  King Alwyn coughed apologetically and smiled wanly at the three of them.

  “Ah, my most humble apologies for that undeserved behaviour. It’s entirely my fault, I’m afraid.” The grey-haired monarch sighed heavily, shaking his head. “Despite spending all these years attempting to impress upon him the seriousness of his duties and the art of statecraft, outright telling him what would be expected of him, I’m afraid the prospect of this marriage has dashed some rather unfortunate romantic hopes he’d had.” He smiled sadly at Bryn. “A girl back home, one he kept secret from me. Forbidden love, all that. I only just found out about the whole thing myself fairly recently.”

  “Is that going to be a problem?” Bryn asked, sounding a bit rattled.

  “What? Oh, no-no-no,” Alwyn said, shaking his head vigourously. “No, he’s a good boy, and he’ll do what he’s told. Just a smallish tantrum meant to embarrass me, I expect. Kids, hey?” His gaze wandered over to Gwen, and his expression became even more apologetic. “And you certainly didn’t deserve that, Princess Gwenwyn. Why, you’re even lovelier than I’d expected, and I’d heard a great many things about how lovely you are. My son’s a lucky boy.” He gave Bryn a crooked grin. “Must have had to beat suitors off with a stick as she got older, hey?”

  “Yes, quite.” Bryn smirked. “In fact, you wouldn’t believe the lengths I had to go to just to keep her virtue intact.”

  Alwyn laughed good-naturedly at that, clapping Bryn on the shoulder. “Well, come, let’s discuss some of the preparations, if you’re not too busy. If you like, I could even order my staff to assist with some of the decoration, if you have need of them.”

  “That would be very much appreciated,” smiled Bryn. “We’ve hanged most of the bunting already, but there’s still—”
<
br />   Gwen stopped listening at this point, as she realized something. Prince Gavin’s reaction to seeing her had been unexpected, it was true, but eventually she’d understood something more important, and her thoughts now raced as she considered it.

  A girlfriend.

  That was it — the thing she was looking for. A tiny sliver of hope.

  If Gwen were to reveal herself and cause Prince Gavin to flee, she’d be blamed, and Rhosyn would suffer the consequences. However, she’d just learned this prince had a reason not to want to marry her. If Prince Gavin, smitten as he was with this other girl, just happened to flee in order to return to her, Gwen wouldn’t be the one held responsible.

  If she could find a way to covertly encourage him to sneak away, to race back to his kingdom on horseback and marry his sweetheart, well, he couldn’t very well marry her, could he? She just had to find some way to convince him to follow his heart.

  Gwen didn’t know how she could do that yet, but then, she’d only just thought of the possibility. She’d have to give the notion serious consideration later.

  The best thing about it was this wasn’t something her father or Anifail had planned for. Bryn hadn’t expected this complication at all. His reaction to the prince, and even the surprise appearance of King Alwyn, made that perfectly obvious. He might recognize the danger something like this posed to his plans and take steps to prevent anything from happening, but then again he might be too busy with his preparations to give the matter his full attention.

  Gwen wouldn’t let anything go wrong this time. She’d be as smart and as careful as possible. She could do this.

  The beginnings of a tentative happiness bubbled through her, and Gwen felt her arms and shoulders relax marginally as she let go of some of the stress she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding there. Only half-listening to her father and King Alwyn talk, she took a deep, careful breath and let out a quiet sigh. She suddenly felt more relaxed than she had in days, perhaps weeks.