Sword of Mist

by Tara Brown

  My shoes click on the stone floors, announcing me before I am ready. The eyes below glance up the stairs to find me, paused and worrisome. The crowd of hundreds is spread across the wide-open gathering room and at least half have noticed me. The smiles are forced. They match my own. We all pretend everything is fine; it will be an entire night of it. And then, once I am married, it will be an entire life of it.

  The crowd moves, adjusting for someone making their way to me. I expect my father but a man comes from behind my so-called friends and family and townsfolk.

  He’s handsome and young, and I have to assume he’s one of the princes. He doesn’t appear to be tainted by the stain of recent pain and death, unlike the rest of the room. He is fresh and revived. But it too could be an act. People like us are skilled at it. The best actors in all the kingdoms do not dwell in the playhouses but rather the castles. The closer I get to him, the more intrigued I become. He is handsome but there is something else to him. Maybe a secret. I want to know it, whatever it is. I want to know him. It’s an odd feeling to be instantly intrigued by a stranger. He doesn’t smile at me as a stranger would; perhaps I have made his acquaintance before.

  My father peers up at me from his goblet. His stare pulls my eyes from the face of the intriguing man coming my way. Unlike the stranger’s, my father’s face is filled with something morbid. I read the thought maybe or silent wish in his gaze. It’s one that he dares not say aloud but it fills his heart. Why her? Why is she the last of the blood? Why not one of my boys?

  His silent questions match my own, though I would never reveal this to him. I would never wish a bad thing upon myself, but why me?

  Why not one of my brothers?

  How is it possible I am the last standing heir of my family?

  Are the gods so cruel?

  My father excuses himself and crosses the room to me, parting the sea of people much smoother than the man almost begging to make my acquaintance. Father clears his throat and holds a hand up when he reaches us. “My daughter, Princess Estelle Dumont, last of the blood and heir to my throne.”

  The man steps toward me as if we are well acquainted. Perhaps we have met and I was young, too young to have paid him much notice. He does look a touch older than I am. He clasps his hands around mine, holding them like they are something breakable. “My princess, I am Prince Edmond Lamont, and I’m honored to make your acquaintance.”

  My wicked brain has a thought, If he’s the less attractive one, the other prince must be perfection.

  “Prince Edmond.” Ignoring my own imaginations, I curtsy and smile. I don’t have to force it as much when I gaze into his dark-blue eyes. He looks like he’s from the North: dark-blond hair, dark-blue eyes, ruggedly handsome, and massive. Other than his size and my pale blonde hair, we could pass for brother and sister. His hands are warm and his smile is mysterious as though he hints of something he cannot say. The way he holds my hand is gentle but firm. If I could judge him by appearance and grip, and even smell, he would be a fair match for me. He is handsome and strong. I nearly laugh at myself assessing him as though he were a cut of meat or a gown requiring inspection though we have yet to speak beyond introductions.

  Whatever it is about him that seems familiar, I enjoy. Which makes him the first thing I have enjoyed since departing the South and my uncle’s home.

  I remind myself I know nothing about him and that to weigh a man properly, you need none of the things I have seen. A fine smile and a twinkle in the eyes are nothing if he is not kind. I must see the way he treats people below him and discover the place at which he stands among his men on the battlefield. Tonight, I will note if his eyes stray to every pretty girl in the room when he is with me. I need to see my reflection in his eyes, like I live there, knowing I have his heart, and he has the heart of my people.

  Because regardless of how much I daydream of running away, these are my people and one day they will be my responsibility. I must choose wisely for us all.

  Tonight, I will watch and begin to weigh and measure him accurately.

  No one else will be looking out for me.

  My father only requires him to be a man and royalty. My sister’s match proved where my father’s interests and care come into play for his daughters. An old man with a cruel hand and a cold heart was whom he saw fit for my sister, Alexandra. The Baron Liard is a horrid man who let her die in her bed after he got his son from her belly. I have heard the whispers of her death, regardless of how he acted devastated by it.

  If I were a man, I would have avenged my sister’s death, but my brothers were at war at the time and my father was overseeing the kingdom. Only my mother and I recognized what had truly happened. Unfortunately, my mother has never been a woman of action nor passions, beyond her wine and her affairs.

  Snapping me back from my regrets, my father’s hearty laugh booms across the room. “You are right at that,” father replies to whatever clever thing the prince said. I smile and take a goblet of wine from the silver tray being offered. I have missed their conversation, and I begin to think I have missed my whole life.

  The wine is spiced, to warm the heart in the cold winters we are accustomed to. In the summer months, we drink it cold but still spiced, different from the South. It’s one of the few things I love about the North.

  A horn sounds making me jump.

  The three years of war my countryside has seen have made us all uneasy at the sound of a horn or bell. It could possibly mean anything from invasion to death.

  Prince Edmond takes my hand again. “You are jittery, my princess.”

  “Not a fan of horns,” I admit and take a sip of wine while watching his eyes. I enjoy the way his gaze stays on mine. Determined to stay focused on assessing him, I force a rude comment from my lips, “There has been an abundance of funerals in our lands, as you well know.”

  “I do. Three of my brothers have joined yours in the world beyond this one. I have but one brother left. Andrew.”

  “Oh.” I try to recover and take his hands as though we are kin. “I am sorry for you and your losses.”

  “And I you for yours. I was there when your last brother fell,” The words are a whisper, hushed even, as if for my ears only.

  “You fought the battles with them?”

  “I did. No lord can ask his people to fight while he hides behind a wall. I was there the entire time.” Again, there is something to his voice, his tone, and even his stare. I admire that he stood with his men on the field. He has crossed off the first item on my list.

  My father takes my hand, turning me to face the man who has caused the horns to blast and people to stare. He deserves every bit of pomp he revels in. The handsome man next to me is paled in comparison to him. But instantly I realize I do not find him intriguing, as I do the other prince. He is impressed by the pomp he is receiving rather than the person he is meeting. Edmond was excited to meet me; this man is excited for me to meet him.

  “Prince Griffin Giovanna,” he speaks to my father, “at your service, Your Highness.” He bows to my father.

  “Thank you, my boy.” My father pats me on the back. “May I present my daughter, Princess Estelle Dumont, heir to my throne and the last of the blood.”

  The prince bows, far deeper than required by his station compared to mine. I curtsy to match, hoping I’m doing his deep bow justice. I don’t want to appear to snub him, which I suspect I will be doing.

  When we stand and face one another, I am entranced.

  “Princess Estelle.” His olive complexion and green eyes suck the proper greeting from my lips. I don’t even smile—I just stare as though I’m gazing at the sea on a fine day. I almost feel the wind in my hair. His eyes own me and my emotions for the briefest of moments. He is truly stunning and even more so up close. I strain to look deeper into his eyes, but I do not see myself in them. He sweeps his hand up quickly, almost snatching mine in his. The grip is firm, but it has an intensity I don’t expect nor appreciate. I nearly gasp but pretend
to clear my throat instead.

  “It is lovely to meet you, Your Grace.”

  “Lovely is not the word I would use.” He kisses my hand, leaving his lips there too long. I pull my hand back, freeing it from the heat he has created everywhere.

  “Your Grace, it’s good to see you this far north. It must be a shock to your skin to be so cold in summer,” Prince Edmond mocks him, bringing a slight grin to all our faces, even my father’s.

  “Yes.” Prince Griffin laughs. “You are right. I am delicate, compared to you Northerners. I don’t imagine you enjoy the stifling heat of our summers. Something we find glorious.”

  “Indeed.” Prince Edmond shakes his head. “I find them too close as though I am being smothered and yet left unsatisfied.”

  My father laughs again, slapping him on the back. “You are a funny lad.” He is acting odd. When he catches my puzzled stare, he clears his throat and mutters, “My son Henry was fond of you, very fond.” A comment made for my benefit, no doubt. Henry was my favorite brother.

  Prince Edmond’s face turns crimson. “And I him. He will be missed all the days of my life.”

  Prince Griffin’s lips turn up and everyone is smiling about something I am unaware of.

  “Lovely meeting you both. Excuse me.” I turn and find my way to my friends, my court friends. They are not true friends as Gail is, but the ladies who will be my companions all my life in court, just as they have been for our childhoods. Although, I have been fortunate in avoiding them, constantly being sent on lengthy trips to my uncle’s.

  “Estelle!” The ladies greet me, led by a girl I have never enjoyed, Nicola La Pierre. She is the ringleader of the callous group of them and by far the fakest.

  “Nicola, ladies. How nice to see you all again.” I play my part, though not as well as she does.

  “Come and sit, tell us all about your journeys. You’re away far too much.” She beams at the dig. Everyone knows I was sent away.

  We sit and stare about the room, making annoying small talk.

  Eventually, I give up, no longer adding anything, and they carry on without me, conversing about dresses and the number of people attending. Until a voice catches me off guard, “May I escort you into the garden for a walk?”

  Lifting my gaze, I discover Prince Griffin.

  He offers a hand and a soft smile, threatening to make my heart skip beats. He is too beautiful. I glance at the ladies-in-waiting, contemplating his offer. “I suppose.” Surely, he is better company than they are.

  He takes my hand before I offer it. He takes liberties; I am uncomfortable with that.

  “You are too forward.” I pull my hand back carefully so no one will notice.

  “I am?” he asks with a laugh.

  “Yes. You are. But I think you know that.”

  His green eyes flicker with the lights of the torches that illuminate our way into the yard. They are as intense as the flames we pass. The sun is preparing to set and the sky is colored similarly to the flickering torches. It would be a beautiful sight to behold with someone you loved. “I do know that. But it’s not something women point out when they meet me.”

  “I am your equal. We are both heirs to the lands we live in. Why shouldn’t I speak as such?” It is my way of gaining back what he takes away by being so overwhelming and undeniably more beautiful than I am.

  “That’s fair.” He strolls past another torch, pausing in its light to speak, “You are more beautiful than I was told. As feisty as I was told, but much more beautiful.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek before something snarky can escape my lips. “I have been away from the kingdom for many years. Most people recall me as a small child leaving here. I returned home recently when one of my brothers died. The last of the five of them died this year.”

  “I was aware.” His face changes. “And your poor sister.”

  I nod.

  “I am sorry for your losses.” I don’t know that he is, that he understands what that sort of loss feels like. Perhaps he is saying that because he must—because it is the right thing to say. We are alone in the garden, being kissed by the cool summer breeze and touched by the light of the torches and the sun about to dip behind the mountains. We are having an intimate moment. He must say those things. But I see the lack of understanding in his eyes. He is not like Prince Edmond who senses every loss with me. Edmond is a Northerner as I am. He knows our pain—it is his too.

  This prince is from the South where no war has touched the lands for hundreds of years. They say it is too hot to fight, leaving the people content to be as they are. The same way they say my people stay warm with war. But the truth is that the North splintered a long time ago, whereas the South remained mostly one kingdom.

  Just as I think on his false empathy, his eyes change and his tone grows dark and serious, “I knew your brothers well. They were always brilliant competitors in tournaments, never yielding to me because of my birthright. They had honor.”

  “And yet they died the same as a man with none. The gods never saw fit to spare even one, to spare me the burden of all this.”

  “I dare say your burdens have become the highlight of my summer. What man could refuse such an adventure?”

  “What?” I ask flatly. “Adventure?”

  “Oh, I just mean—” He suddenly seems nervous. “I just mean, we as a couple will be the—start of a new adventure.”

  “Couple?” I step back. “You are too forward. Perhaps we should have chaperones here in the garden.”

  “I’m sorry. I have long awaited this moment.”

  “Long awaited what exactly?” I ask it as a possibility occurs to me. “How long have you known we would meet under intentional circumstances?”

  “Ten summers. When I was fifteen years old, I was told you were one of four possible princesses my parents intended for me to marry. They take great care when making a speculation of this magnitude.”

  “Four?” That stings a bit—one of four. At least he is one of only two princes for me.

  “You understand what it is like for people—royals. A wedding is far more about business than it is pleasure.” He shrugs, an odd gesture for a prince. “My parents had to be cautious. You are never certain how things will turn out. I have learned of your lands and your ways and your people, as well as those of the other three princesses. All the princesses were from the North, therefore it was easy. Your kingdom is the largest by far and holds the most land and the original castle of the victor king, so that was an easy choice for my parents. You have the best chance of uniting the Northern kingdoms. Northerners are volatile people who war regularly. You have usurpers to deal with and bastards making attempts at the throne. My parents believe that by combining our kingdoms, we could reclaim the entire North under one king, and queen. But the worry is always, which king in the North do you lay your allegiance with? Luckily, your father is the first king in a hundred summers who has maintained his rule for more than thirty summers. For my parents that was the safest wager.”

  “Winters.” I almost laugh at him but am wrestling too harshly with the urge to take my shoe off and smack him in the head with it. “More than thirty winters. We don’t count by summers; they are short and tempt you with an ease of life that is not reality.”

  His smile comes back but it grows so wide I am unsure of its nature, if it is amusement at me or with me. “Winter is hard and long. You won’t have to live here, once you are my queen. We will rule from the South and unite the kingdoms, naming a regent for the North to rule as an advisor. You will come and live in the South where life is easy and the summer is long and sweet. I’ve heard you love summers in the South.”

  “Honestly?” I step back again. “Unite the kingdoms? Is my father aware of this?”

  Griffin nods. “Of course. It has been the plan all along to marry us. But much has changed in the last year. When Henry died, making you heir, your father came and renegotiated everything with my father. No one expected you to become t
he heir, being the last of seven, but you have, and we must accommodate our lives to fit our path.”

  I don’t like him. It is such an instant hatred, I am unsure what to do with it. “I have not agreed to marry you, Your Grace.”

  “I know.” He leans in, whispering, “Can I tell you a secret?” he mocks me.

  I don’t move. I’m terrified I know what this secret is. I am certain in fact.

  “Our fathers have already finalized the arrangement. The whole courtship has been planned and our meeting here was nothing more than an informality. You are to join me on this trip to the South where we will court for the remainder of the summer. We will return here in the spring and marry, so your people feel loyal to me. Our summers will be spent in the North and winters in the South. It is truly the best of both worlds, never enduring the worst of either place. Never too hot or too cold and our armies will be doubled. Together we will put the whole world right. We are the perfect match, really. Not to mention, you are clearly the prettiest of the four princesses.”

  His words chill my heart and I no longer notice the way his mouth moves pleasingly. His green eyes are hardened and his hands frighten me. The intensity in the grip was desperation to make our parents happy. He doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t care about a single thing, beyond being king and bringing about his father’s happiness. I know that burden. My brothers lived that way. They never enjoyed a day of their own happiness.

  “Thank you for that information.” I curtsy deeply again. “It was lovely to meet you, but my ceremony will begin when the moon is high and the light shines into the temple. I must greet everyone before that moment.” I turn and walk back to the stairs. My heart pounds unnaturally. My throat is thick as it attempts to stop my swallowing and labors my breathing.

  When I reach the top stair, dark-blue eyes are there searching for me. He smiles and immediately I feel better. “Your Grace, may I ask you to join me in conversation for a few moments?”