Book 2, Chapter 22: High Table Dinner

After bathing, Brin had the girls dress me in the duke’s presents, going with the red and black one. For make-up, they went with shades of red to match. Blush on my cheeks, fading to a light pink toward my jaw and around my eyes, dark red eye liner, which was a striking sight. I felt somehow not quite human.

“And,” said Chandra, “I thought it would be fun to use lavender perfume, to match your eyes. Sight and scent, an irresistible combination.” She held a little bottle, which she opened and dipped a glass pen-like instrument into it, then rubbed the perfume on my neck.

“Uhm, fitting.” Floral, I was floral again.

She breathed in deeply, running her hands along her light brown curls, “So delicious and fresh!”

“Delicious?”

“Yes, the duke will feast on you with all his senses tonight.”

I scowled at Brin, “How lovely.” At first the perfume was overwhelming, but it soon settled.

“You’ll be seated opposite the duke,” said Brin, “and I’ll be right beside you, with the ladies in a line. Nearby should be eligible bachelors from the best families.”

“Oh? Why wouldn’t the duke want me to sit near him?” I didn’t get why he’d sit me near other potential marital partners.

“Well, you are, as you’ve often pointed out, the reigning monarch. So, you sit at one side of the table and he at the other. It’s only courteous to sit you with young male nobles but he will be measuring your interaction with them.”

“Ah. How wonderful.”

“Cayce,” she said, taking my hands and pulling me to my feet, “just enjoy this, ok? We’re finally safe and off the dirty and dusty road! No campfire tonight and we’re clean!”

“I like campfires. And campfire food.”

“And ale, you really like ale.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Come on! Let’s go.” She took me by the arm and led us all off to the grand supper that awaited.

***

It was indeed a magnificent ballroom. High stone ceiling arching up above us, marble floors and walls. Two long tables, parallel, on what I guess was the main floor. Past them, the floor raised like a stage, little staircases on either side. A little decorated iron fence, perhaps waist high, marked the stage off from the rest of the room. Atop it, a table ran the length of the wall. Its chairs were elegantly carved, sporting armrests.

There were no less than five large fireplaces set into the walls of the room, equidistant from each other, and roaring away. So much for avoiding campfire smoke. Doorways led from this hall to other rooms at each corner, where the walls met, making for six exits, or entrances, including the large, double-doored one through which I now entered.

“I take it we sit at the high table?”

“Of course!”

Wincing, as a herald bellowed out our arrival and everyone stood, I forced a smile on my face and performed a curtsey for the room.

“What are you doing?” Brin said harshly through her teeth, trying to keep a smile, “Let’s just go to the table. They can watch Your Royal-”

“Don’t say it! I get enough of it.” As people resumed sitting two stood out, Morry and Tread, Morry making his way over to me.

“They can’t sit with us!” hissed Brin.

“I know, calm down, looks like they have seats.”

“Lady Brin,” Morry nodded to her, “Princess,” he took me by the arm, led me a bit away. Brin crossed her arms, staring at us. “You seem to no longer have bodyguards.”

“And you appear to be promoted to captain. Congratulations.”

“It bothers me. He’s isolating you. You need to be very careful. Do you wear a dirk under all that dress?”

“No dirk, I’m afraid. So far, he seems to be pushing for marriage. The whole family’s in on it. Brin, her mother, my new ladies in waiting.”

“Hmm, still. I’d rather be near you than you alone with him.”

I put my hand on his arm, “Ah, Morry, that’s so nice of you.”

“Nice?”

“Sweet?”

“I’ll take nice. Don’t trust that his intentions are matrimonial. It could be a misdirection.”

“Alright, I’ll be careful.”

“And don’t drink too much. You let your guard down when you get tipsy.”

“My guard? What have I got to defend?”

“Well, your life for one thing. Listen, I’m going to position our best troops in the courtyard here and keep the ones outside the castle walls on alert, with scaling ladders.”

“Are you serious?”

“Have I ever told you a joke?”

“Once. Ok, do that. But, how? How are you going to get men inside the courtyard?”

“Well, Princess, I made friends with the castle commander and he’s low on soldiers at the moment, seeing as how they’re all at the river. We are gladly volunteering for the roster. It’s the least we can do, given how accommodating the duke has been.”

“You sly devil!”

“It’s good for everyone. If the duke is being honest with you, well, his men get a short respite and we all develop a good, working relationship.”

“You think I should marry him?”

“That’s wisdom I don’t have, Princess. People are watching. You head on to the high table, take your seat. And remember, you are the reigning monarch here. Not a child.”

Onlookers be damned, I thought, squeezing the big man’s hands. He smiled, pulled his hands away, then walked back to his seat.

After that, an angry Brin and I marched up to the high table.

“Cayce! I know how fond you are of the soldiers, but a princess does not show affection in public! Let alone toward commoners!”

“The more I learn about Morrentz, the less I think he’s common.” That got a glare.

“Before we take our seats, let’s greet the duke. Curtsy and offer him your hand. Thank him for his hospitality, tell him the apartments are excellent and the baths, lovely.”

“Brin, you know, you really are the best bedroom mistress.”

“Mistress of the bedroom! And yes I know!”

As I looked in the direction we were walking, to a short stairway leading to the duke’s side of the table, he quickly glanced away from me to his companions, talking about something in earnest.

“Duke Bechalle, Your Grace,” I did my thing, the dress moved prettily. “The apartments you’ve lent us are wonderful, the baths truly amazing. I thank you for your kindness and hospitality.” There, covered all my bases.

He rose and took my hand, “Your Highness, Princess Cayce, a pleasure,” and kissed it. Then, still holding it, he seemed concerned, “Is your hand ok?”

“Oh, just an accident with the, uh, nail . . . polish? Nail make-up? Nail dust?”

“Are your new ladies in waiting imbeciles? I will have them replaced.”

“No, no need. It was entirely my fault, please don’t blame them.”

“Your fault?”

“After the battle, I . . .” her begging and my sword cutting through her fingers, ‘Please.’

“Princess Cayce opened the bottle too quickly. Just an accident,” Brin quickly spoke up, “Your Grace. Come, Princess, let us take our seats.” She took my arm and dragged me forward.

I blinked a few times, stumbled a second, then followed her. “Sorry, sorry Brin, I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s fine, you’re ok, Cayce. Let’s just try to enjoy tonight. Maybe get some wine into you. But not too much!” Brin pulled out my chair, at the head of the table. Everyone at the table stood, looking at me.

I forced a smile, sat. They followed, conversation resuming. Immediately, a young woman began pouring wine into a glass in front of me. “Excuse me, I don’t drink sweet wine.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” she winked, twirled and backed up.

Brin leaned over, “I informed the help that you take your wine dry. Because I do not want to see you dumping wine on the ground here or spitting out your food.”

“Thanks Brin. I appreciate it.” I lifted the glass, held it toward the duke, smiled, and drank a long pull. I had a feeling this night was itself going to be long.

“Don’t drink too much!”

“I think,” I said, still not putting the glass down, “I prefer the encampment to all this pomp.”

“And your armor to your gowns, I know!”

“Brin, you are tense tonight. I think you might need to have a good, long soak in the hot spring to relax.”

She scowled at me, then slowly and purposefully adjusted the dress under her breasts, slight smile on the curve of her lips.

“Brin! What are you doing?”

“Excuse me ladies, gentlemen, Your Royal Highness, I am Father-Inquisitor Ghevont.”

I froze. He wore similar robes to the man who tried to . . . whom I’d stabbed through the neck. Identical in cut, but not colors. He was on my right, pulled out the heavy chair himself, and sat down. I held my wineglass in my right hand, tight, still.

Brin took my left hand, squeezing it, “Father Ghevont.”

Placing the wine glass down slowly, I turned to the priest, “Hello.”

“I am His Grace’s chaplain. For the duchy and the castle.”

“He’s underselling it,” said the man beside him. “This is the archbishop of Bechalle.”

“I see.”

The priest leaned in, his puffy cheeks slightly red already, “Princess Cayce, I’d hoped to speak to your chaplain, Father-Inquisitor Cizek. Is he still in the field?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I killed him. He’s likely buried by now.”

“Cayce!” Brin squealed.

The large bodied man held my gaze. “Had him killed? I assume some major transgression?”

“No. I thrust a dirk through his neck and let him bleed out over the ground.”

“Ah. Well then,” he picked up his wine glass, now filled, “I shan’t toast to his health, but his death. And I will toast to you, Princess Cayce, long may you rule, well and justly.”

There were a bunch of ‘hear-hears’ from the people near us. Some of them were wide-eyed at my confession, yet to toast, their hands frozen in mid-air. Because I yet held my glass, I tilted it slightly toward him, and sipped.

The archbishop set his wine down, folded his hands together, bowed his head a little, still matching my gaze, which hadn’t wavered, and said, “Our orders . . . disagree on most important, and probably erudite, topics. We see them as filthy reprobates who are committing great atrocities to all humankind. If Your Highness had cause to . . . stab a dirk through his neck, I’m certain that your cause was justified.”

I set my glass down, a quarter full, “Thank you, Archbishop. That means a lot.” Back on my world, the Catholic church went through a similar divide, hundreds of years prior, when the Spanish Inquisition ravaged across Europe. The Jesuits, an order famous for promoting education, was staunchly opposed to the tortures and immorality the Inquisition brought to the European peoples, their women. At its height, where their power was centered, Lisbon, during Sunday mass, an enormous tsunami slammed into the city, destroying over half of it, and crashing through the cathedrals where so many had gathered. More than 50 000 people perished. The Jesuits believed the devastation was God’s holy and just judgement against for the Inquisition.

Apparently, this world had similar complexities of which I was unaware.

I took a deep breath, relaxed a little, and noticed music playing. The duke had hired musicians, a quartet. Stringed instruments and a flute-like sound resonated.

“Perhaps,” I spoke aloud to free my mind of its constant internalizing, “perhaps we should talk on lighter topics?”

Just then the music stopped, the duke rose, and a large bell was rung.

He spoke loudly enough for all to hear, “Thank you all for joining us tonight. Our guests honor us with their presence,” he gestured to us and Brin took my arm as she stood up, so I did as well, holding her wine glass, so I picked up mine, too, and the duke continued, “We have won a great victory and tonight we shall celebrate.”

We all rose and toasted, and Brin bumped my left arm, “Now you have to reply!”

“Me?”

“Yes! You’re at the head of the table and-”

“-the princess. Yes, yes, ok.” Public speeches are the embarrassing weight of responsibility, but what else could I do? He’d lent me apartments and his army had come to our aid. I tilted my glass in his direction, “Duke Bechalle, we were saved by your forces and yourself on the battlefield and thus we are only able to celebrate this, well this life, because of Your Grace. To you, sir.” Lift, tilt, sip, sit, applause and all that.

“That’s better,” said Brin. “Nice pun.”

“Is it truly inappropriate to get blackout drunk here?”

“Yes!”

***

The night wore on, multiple dishes being served. I was full and fairly tipsy. The waitress – well, serving girl whom I thought of as a waitress – refilled my wine with extraordinary perception, meaning that I was probably indulging too quickly.

Seated on the other side of the priest, a man in his twenties built the courage to speak to me, “Princess Cayce, may I ask you when you are planning to wed?”

I smiled sweetly, “Tomorrow if you’re available.”

“Well, I, uh . . .”

“She meant that as a joke!” Brin quickly said, elbowing me, then whispered, “Stop it! Be nice!”

“I’m sorry, I truly am. No plans to wed as of yet.”

“Have you any suitors?”

Across from him, also with dark hair, a slightly older man spoke up, “What my younger brother is trying to say, albeit clumsily, is that he finds you attractive.”

“Maitlan!”

“What? It’s true. You’ve been eyeing the princess all night.”

“Ah. Well,” I said, interrupting them, “no suitors. Why don’t we start by introducing ourselves?”

The older brother said, “Maitlan Yohstone.”

“Oh!” That was where this body visited before I woke up in it, or so I was told. “Didn’t I visit your place before the war began?”

“You were scheduled to, you and the queen, but if you recall, the war started with our earldom.”

“I am so sorry, yes. A little too much wine.” I took another sip to lend some truth to my statement After all, I’d meant to say ‘never enough wine.’

“We, little Charce and I,” he gestured at his brother, “are residing here on the duke’s kindness. I’ve been meeting with lords in efforts to raise an army and retake the earldom.”

“Ah. How has the army raising business been?” Brin kicked me under the table.

“Not well, if I’m being honest. And now you seem to be here for the same, to raise an army.”

“I hadn’t really thought of it like that, but I guess, I guess that might be the case.” I wanted badly to change the topic but was struggling to find small talk. No internet, no podcasts or shows we shared, what was there to talk about? “Uh, so, what about you guys? Any suitors?”

***

The night went on. The priest told humorous stories, trying to keep things light. He was a good speaker, I could see why he made it all the way to archbishop. Since I was new here, I asked him, “Your Excellency, I know very little about your religion, would you mind telling me about it?”

“Young lady, now is the time for revelry and cheer, not the time for heavy hearted discussions of theological natures. Perhaps you’d be interested in visiting my cathedral later?”

“Sounds like an idea.”

“What sect does Dernamouth follow, Princess Cayce,” asked the younger brother.

“Uh, one of them. Definitely one of them.” They were looking at me strangely. “I am . . . considering multiple avenues to pursue in that regards and haven’t decided upon which.” I smiled, nodding, then addressed the older brother, “So, ah, what specialties does Yohstone produce? Ale, mead, wine? Cattle?”

“We are primarily known for our cheese exports. Alas, I fear that our storage may have been pillaged in the aftermath of the battle. We’ll likely have to rebuild our cattle and goat industries after driving out the Ketzles.”

“Hard or soft?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Hard or soft cheeses?”

“Well, hard cheeses travel best, so mainly those year-round and soft cheeses in the fall and winter.”

“I like brie. I’m a fan of brie.”

“Brie. So, soft?”

“Definitely soft. Not a huge fan of hard . . . cheeses. Maybe aged cheddar.”

“When we retake the castle, I would love to show you a variety of cheeses. Perhaps you simply haven’t found the right one.”

“Oh, I’ve had a variety, alright.” Brin kicked me under the table again.