Book 3, Chapter 13: First Supper
The first public dinner since I’d been cut up. That I attended. The hall erupted in clapping and cheers, everyone standing, as I walked in. Brin had me in a white dress with gold trim, sleeves that reached to my wrists and ended in lace. I forced a smile, waved, walked to Bechalle’s former seat at the high table. Someone pulled out the heavy chair for me, yet I stood in front of it a while longer to address the people.
“Thank you all. As you can see, I am fully recovered and in good spirits. We are strengthening our resolve, rebuilding our forces and perhaps most importantly,” I took the glass in front of the chair, lifting it aloft, “enjoying supper! Cheers!” Sip, sit, smile, slight scowl, sigh.
My usual companions were seated across from me, with Morry taking the opposite chair at the end of the table. Tread to his left, then Brin. Brundle and my majors to his left, Rand, then Gun. My eyes grew a bit heavy, my lips pouty at the seating arrangements. I felt like a second thought, but knew it was quite the opposite.
Brin’s mother was next to me. First time I’d been in the same room with her since Bechalle’s death, when my forces had taken her hostage and I’d demanded her husband crown me ruler of the kingdom. Something which he was still angling not to do, and which I would have to soon argue with him about, one more detail maintaining my annoyance with them both.
“That was lovely, dear,” she began, attempting to place her hand on mine, but I pulled away. “You look much better. Healed and healthy.”
As far as I was concerned, this woman was in on it. Sure, she plead ignorance, but it was difficult for me to believe someone of her education, so close to her brother, could possibly be so naïve and stupid as to not know what he’d been up to. Especially when, by all accounts, Bechalle had been practicing cutting up girls who resembled me. I would see to it this was the last time she’d sit by my side.
“Thanks.”
The large and rotund archbishop, already red in the face and smiling, another person I’d not seen in a long while and perhaps to my detriment, seated to my right. “Your Highness, it is good to see you up and about.”
“Thank you. I’m glad to be walking once again. How have you been, Archbishop?”
“Well, thank you. We are preparing the cathedral for your coronation. If you have time, I’d like to go over some of the details with you, perhaps later this week?”
“Excellent idea. I was hoping to discuss the matter with both you and Earl Carlisele.”
“Cayce,” Brin’s mother began, “that is a matter I’d like to speak to you about, as well.”
“Excuse me?” I directed my gaze, with no hint of love, at her.
“Princess Cayce, I apologize. I’ve grown unused to using honorifics during my time as countess in my brother’s castle.”
“It’s my castle now, my lady. And you and I are not on friendly terms.”
“If it pleases Your Highness, if my person displeasures you so, perhaps you’d consider allowing us to return to our estates?”
“That will depend solely on the, shall we say, fervor of your husband’s oaths, and the number of soldiers he provides.” I’d been advised by Morry that, in lieu of hostages, I could take their soldiers, leaving their earldom defenseless and reliant on me. It was that or have one of Brin’s sisters join in my entourage of ladies in waiting, but given their young ages between five and seven, it just seemed so wrong. The problem for me, that had been drilled into me since I got to this deadly world, was that hostages ensured my survival, no matter how realpolitik that was, ugly and all.
It was all starting to wear on me.
“Your Highness?” from a man’s voice to my immediate right.
I broke out of my contemplation. A soldier wearing formal dress was kneeling beside my chair, holding a regal pillow, red and pink with fancy rope bordering it, bows on each corner, and atop that, a dagger. The dagger was plain, even discolored.
“Yes?”
“I am the former commander of the garrison at this castle and village. The boys and I, we had long discussions upon hearing of how the duke . . . ah . . . traitor, how he mistreated you. We’d like to pledge our loyalty and service to Your Highness’s cause.” He pushed the pillow toward me, “This is our symbol. The first weapon used in defense of these lands.”
I placed my hands on the pillow but didn’t take it from him while I considered. This would be the guy I replaced with my own troops when I booted all Bechalle’s soldiers out of the castle proper. Didn’t know where their loyalty would lie and was rushed for time. I decided to go with it.
“And what position do you now hold?”
“Captain in the, ah, Bechalle regiment of your army, my lady.”
“Captain . . . ?”
“Thrace.”
“I thank you for this, Captain Thrace. It’s an honor to take charge of such a blade.” I took the pillow from his hands. “We are going to have to change the name of your regiment.” And integrate them better, make them feel less them and more us. I tried not to gloat in front of the countess.
“Our pleasure, my lady. Additionally, we wanted to sincerely apologize on behalf of our company for the actions of the traitor Bechalle.”
“Unnecessary, but I thank you for the sentiments.”
He rose, bowed, and left. I repeated his name in my head a few times, to get it down, and made a mental note to talk to Brundle about the man. Also, to ask what to do with this dagger. Put it on a wall? Wear it? I passed the pillow and dagger to a servant, tasking them with putting both in my study upstairs.
“I hear you are taking suitors?” The countess asked.
“I assume Brin told you.”
“That she’s arranging them, yes. Are there any you’re particularly fond of?”
I took a bite of meat, a glass of wine before answering, blinking a few times, wishing she’d just leave me alone, and deciding to come down on whoever made these seating arrangements, “None in particular, no.”
“The boy down there, at the low table by the fireplace,” she indicated with a nod of her head, “he’ll be pressing his case for you tomorrow.”
An older man with a brown and grey beard, wide at the shoulder, in discussion with those opposite him, what could only be his children sitting beside, a boy and girl.
“He’s got to be in his forties!”
“Not the father, my lady.”
“The child? A boy?”
“He’s nearly fourteen. A young man.” She paused, looking at me, “Yes, a child. Petulant, and takes after his father. A small bully, but a fairly large holding for a count. Clearly, you don’t want to agree to his advances.”
“Not even slightly.”
“But his troops are some of the finest archers around. You’ll want to walk that one carefully and avoid directly insulting them.”
“Couldn’t I just, I don’t know, park an army at their castle?”
“Manor. They live in a fortified manor, not a castle. And, yes, you could, but that would be one less regiment to take with you for the spring campaign.”
“Yeah, ok, that makes sense.”
“And there? The middle-aged man. Also a count, will likely press his case. His wife passed away last year.”
“How sad for him.” I was stuck in angry mode, and now felt bad for my words. That guy’s wife had nothing to do with my ire.
“A tragedy. Obviously, you must turn him down gracefully.”
“I’m certainly not marrying a fifty-year-old man.”
“Well, Princess Cayce, at your age, there are benefits to marrying an old man. Though at his age, he’ll probably live another twenty, perhaps thirty years and that wouldn’t do.”
I sat back, straighter, looking at her, “You think I should find an eighty-year-old husband?”
“Well, if you want his lands.”
“Uh . . . “
She laughed, the archbishop joining in, and saying, “You’re the princess. You don’t need anyone’s lands. Perhaps, though, you can be lucky with the Laemacian usurper.”
“What do you mean?”
The countess broke in, “You hadn’t heard? The Laemacian ambassador will arrive on the morrow bringing a proposal for your hand.”
“They’re as likely to assassinate me as offer me marriage.”
“The usurper gains by your death, yes, but he gains ever more by your marriage. His empire would expand with the addition of your kingdom.”
I turned to her in shock, “Surely you aren’t suggesting . . . ?”
“Not at all, but they are coming. And he will offer you that. Protection, an enormous military power backing the throne. Increased trade.”
“God, it sucks being the princess sometimes.”
“Sucks?”
“Rough, it’s rough. I’ll have to tell him no then hope he doesn’t try to kill me.”
“Now,” she said, shaking her head, “you don’t give them absolutes. Maybes and hints of commitments are your friends in politics. No lines in the sand. Suggestions, ambiguities and sometimes threats – nothing promised.”
I cocked my head, thinking. “Huh. That makes sense.”
“Perhaps if Your Highness wishes, I could accompany you when they make their case.”
“Countess Carlisele, I appreciate the . . . care you’ve given with your advice tonight, but I’m not quite ready to rely on you as council.” I raised my wine glass, cursing my kindness inwardly, but giving it to her anyways, “Perhaps it is good we sat together tonight. Perhaps greater understanding between us would be a good thing.”
“It is my wish, too, my lady.”
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