Two
Grass and Roses
Glints like fiery sparks danced over the raised trumpets whose sharp melodies sliced through the morning sunshine. A parade of fourteen-year-old boys, new cadets come autumn, carried banners atop poles: blues, reds, yellows, greens, every color to augment heraldic devices fluttering proudly. All this announced the grand procession of courtiers led by King Roderick and Queen Beatrice to the lists near Bounbrow. The four princesses gamboled among them, dressed in summer pinks and yellows, with ribbons and flowers in their hair. Princess Sabrina had charge of Princess Sonia, their hands clasped affectionately, and she encouraged the young girl’s frolics and laughter. Prince Wesley strolled in their company, always near Sabrina. Prince Latimer sullenly kicked a stone as he strode along the path: he had asked the King for special permission to join in the tournament this year and had been denied.
A pavilion had been erected just outside the royal box for the courtiers to rest and refresh themselves before the games began. Princess Alexa helped herself to a deep goblet of lemonade. At the signal from the King’s chamberlain the spectators took their seats in the canopied stands to either side of the royal box. Across the field, opposite them, open stands had been erected for the crowds of commoners who flocked to this spectacle. Those not successful in obtaining a seat pushed and jostled for a view along the perimeter.
The King and Queen took center seats in the royal box. To Roderick’s right sat Prince Latimer with Princess Monica beside him. To the Queen’s left sat her daughter with Prince Wesley seated at Sabrina’s left elbow. The younger princesses had seats to Prince Wesley’s left in the watchful company of Lady Philana and Lady Edith. This was Princess Sabrina’s first tournament as an adult lady of the court and to her was given the honor of being Queen of the Tourney. She would receive the new knights’ tokens and would receive a crown of roses from the grand champion who would preside as her consort at the victory feast this evening.
The raised trumpets pealed out their greeting again.
From the paddock the mounted knights, arrayed in shining armor with lance, shield and sword, each preceded by a boy carrying the banner of his coat of arms, paraded onto the lists and around the field. When passing the royal box, each knight paid homage to Roderick and Beatrice and to Sabrina. Thirty knights in all were participating today and would be divided in thirds, according to their veteran rankings, for more even competition in the different events. The two youngest knights, last in the parade, halted before Princess Sabrina to present tokens of admiration to the Queen of the Tourney.
Sir Hector, resplendent in polished steel plate armor covered by a dark blue coat bearing his family’s crest, his plumed helmet carried by his left arm, his impressive sword Fréon girded at his left side, directed his steed forward and presented a bouquet of white roses to Sabrina. Princess Alexa leaned forward at the railing of the box, breathless to take in the full picture of this glorious knight. She gazed with envy at the soft white petals which her elder cousin was privileged to own, then back at the handsome man who had presented it. Princess Sabrina took note of the longing in the young girl’s eyes and plucked a long-stemmed rose from the bouquet. The Queen of the Tourney had Prince Wesley pass it to Alexa who received it with awe, as if beholding a sacred artifact; romance beamed from her face with the combined radiances of sunshine and starlight. Sir Hector grinned, amused by how much pleasure the flower had given the girl. Alexa sat back in her chair with the rose pressed to her lips beneath her nose. She knew which knight she was rooting for!
Sir Holbrook next directed his horse forward to present his token: a single blade of grass whose long stem was laden at its feathery crest with tiny seeds. Prince Wesley’s eyes enlarged with scorn, a view shared by the gasping ladies in the royal box. They awaited Sabrina’s reaction. In Holbrook’s eyes Sabrina saw earnestness and honesty. She reached her hand to receive the token with some residual uncertainty but with correct politeness. Prince Wesley ripped the insult from her fingers to dash under his heel but Princess Sabrina was just as swift: she snatched it back. She then braced her acceptance of Sir Holbrook’s token by extending to him the favor of her emerald-green hand scarf. He received it with all humble courtesy and tied it to the plume of his helmet as she tucked the blade of grass safely into the center of the bouquet of roses. The court ladies were astonished, except for Alexa and Sonia who thought the exchange was so romantic. Her parents observed all of this and whispered between them.
Another peal of trumpets called the games to begin.
The first half of the tournament was devoted to contests of skill wherein five pairs in each of the three age divisions faced off. By tradition the winner of the youngest division could challenge either winner of his more seasoned elders and almost always did so. Youth had the advantage of stamina whereas age held the advantage of experience. The spectators favored the veteran in these championship rounds, cheering him to keep the upstart in his place and teach him a lesson on his path to experience. In the contest of quarterstaffs, however, wily forty-four-year-old Sir Maynard Keyworth was no match for the sheer power of twenty-six-year-old Sir Jared Fondilas. Age mattered less in some skills, such as archery, which for the last seventeen years was dominated by Sir Baxter Canvenbaer.
When it came to swords the court got its first view of the skill that had taken Holbrook Meinrad to the top of his class. He aggressively engaged each opponent and dominated the contest, advancing through each round. His final opponent in his division was Sir Nelson Lockyer. Steel flashed in the sunshine; thwacks resounded with every strike to the wooden shields; grunts and sweat were the currency of the combatants. Princess Sabrina was especially attentive, cheering whenever her favored knight scored points, gasping the few times he lost ground. In the end Sir Holbrook succeeded in outscoring Sir Nelson. Sabrina clapped joyfully. The winner of the senior division was Sir Edgar Bradunas; the middle division champion was Sir Luther Gwenovryn, one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom. To Sir Holbrook went the choice, if he desired, of challenging either of the gentlemen.
But Sir Holbrook had something slightly different in mind.
“My lords, I propose that the esteemed Sir Edgar and Sir Luther battle each other first, that I may challenge he who is truly the most worthy opponent.”
This unprecedented request stopped the games. The officials conferred among themselves whether the rules permitted it and with the two knights as to were they agreeable. The two senior knights accepted the challenge and took up positions on the field as Sir Holbrook watched their techniques and strategies. The match was close but Sir Luther prevailed. Delighted to go up against a true champion and having enjoyed a short rest while the two knights battled, Sir Holbrook headed onto the field with the advantage of energy. Yet, Sir Luther was ready to disgrace the neophyte, and Sir Holbrook entered into a more brutal battle than he had expected.
Sir Luther took control of the contest from the start, blocking all of the younger man’s best strikes and executing moves Sir Holbrook had not anticipated. Sir Luther made Sir Holbrook lose his shield and soon it was over: Sir Luther had the young man on the ground and disarmed. Prince Wesley cheered louder than anyone that the victor had humiliated the challenger.
The knife and battleaxe throwing events were dull by comparison. Princess Sabrina was pleased to see that both Sir Holbrook and Sir Hector achieved good scores.
Next were the equestrian events. First, tilting at quintains required the knights to ride at a target and strike it with his eight-foot lance. Aim was only one skill: the quintain pivoted on its pole and swung a sandbag around to clobber any knight not fast or agile enough to avoid it. The more perfect was the knight’s aim the swifter and more forceful was the quintain’s swirling punch. For all his prowess with a sword, Sir Luther was not able to evade a blow to the right shoulder on his second pass against the target. Sir Leigh Shallert won the senior division, Sir Patrick Arnason the middle division, and Sir Claude Durham the junior division, with Sir Leigh defeating Sir Claude as the overall winner.
Jousting pitted knights with lances against each other as moving targets. Points were awarded for both breaking an opponent’s lance and not breaking one’s own. Extra points were earned for unhorsing the opponent. Princess Sabrina watched with trepidation as Sir Holbrook and Sir Hector charged at each other. Both lances were broken, and Sir Hector almost fell off but kept to his saddle. No points were lost to him nor gained by Sir Holbrook for a near fall. Sabrina was glad. Sir Shelby Gallen earned the distinction of being this year’s jousting champion.
The call of trumpets announced the midday intermission whereby the knights would return to their tents to eat and rest while the royal court returned to the pavilion for a grand luncheon. Princess Sabrina kept her bouquet with her, out of the reach of Prince Wesley who was never far from her side.
“When does your furlough end, my lord?” she asked him over a plate of cold meats and cheeses.
“Too soon,” he lamented. “The wine at the academy is dreadful. Some vintages are hardly more than rosy vinegars.”
He savored the excellent sample now in his goblet and signaled a servant that a carafe be kept on the table within his reach.
The afternoon event was the melee. Two sides of fifteen were drawn by lot, five men from each division joining to oppose the other “army.” Sir Holbrook and Sir Hector landed in the Black Army, along with Sir Jared and Sir Luther. From among their ranks the Black knights selected Sir Doran Gondebaer as their leader. They faced Sir Langdon Cosgrove, Sir Shelby, and Sir Edgar, prominent among the dozen others of the White Army, as designated by the coats worn over their armor. The knights were given a short time to strategize. When the trumpets sounded a mock battle began with White and Black charging each other in an unrehearsed clash. The spectators cheered when their favored side unhorsed or disarmed opposing knights. Precautions were in place to prevent death, though injuries were inevitable.
The last three men standing were Sir Luther, Sir Jared, and Sir Shelby. Sir Shelby bended his knee to concede victory to the Black knights. They all looked exhausted.
When the total points were tallied young Sir Jared was declared the tourney’s grand champion. His friends hooted with jubilation. Sir Luther took second place, and Sir Shelby would receive the third place medallion. Sir Holbrook had finished in eighth place, Sir Hector had come in tenth.
Prince Wesley felt it was his duty to escort the Queen of the Tourney from the royal box onto the field. She invited Princess Alexa to come with her to hold the bouquet of roses while also indicating to Prince Wesley, with a curtsy thanking him for his gallantries, that he was to return to the royal box. Princess Sabrina then awarded Sir Jared this year’s golden medallion which she fastened to his saddle. In turn, the deliriously happy knight placed a crown of pink roses on the princess’ head. Very gently he lifted the Queen of the Tourney onto his horse for the parade back to the palace. Alexa handed the bouquet up to Sabrina. Princess Sabrina leaned down and took only the grass blade, leaving the roses for Alexa to keep.
Riding eighth behind the grand champion, Sir Holbrook could feel his heart pumping warmly: his first tournament as a knight among knights had been an exhilarating experience, and not only had the princess not scorned his token she still had it with her. He untied her scarf from his helmet and tucked it into his tunic. Sir Hector smiled at Lady Edith and also playfully saluted Princess Alexa as he rode by. The girl hugged the bouquet in her joy only to be pricked by the thorns.
A pavilion had been erected just outside the royal box for the courtiers to rest and refresh themselves before the games began. Princess Alexa helped herself to a deep goblet of lemonade. At the signal from the King’s chamberlain the spectators took their seats in the canopied stands to either side of the royal box. Across the field, opposite them, open stands had been erected for the crowds of commoners who flocked to this spectacle. Those not successful in obtaining a seat pushed and jostled for a view along the perimeter.
The King and Queen took center seats in the royal box. To Roderick’s right sat Prince Latimer with Princess Monica beside him. To the Queen’s left sat her daughter with Prince Wesley seated at Sabrina’s left elbow. The younger princesses had seats to Prince Wesley’s left in the watchful company of Lady Philana and Lady Edith. This was Princess Sabrina’s first tournament as an adult lady of the court and to her was given the honor of being Queen of the Tourney. She would receive the new knights’ tokens and would receive a crown of roses from the grand champion who would preside as her consort at the victory feast this evening.
The raised trumpets pealed out their greeting again.
From the paddock the mounted knights, arrayed in shining armor with lance, shield and sword, each preceded by a boy carrying the banner of his coat of arms, paraded onto the lists and around the field. When passing the royal box, each knight paid homage to Roderick and Beatrice and to Sabrina. Thirty knights in all were participating today and would be divided in thirds, according to their veteran rankings, for more even competition in the different events. The two youngest knights, last in the parade, halted before Princess Sabrina to present tokens of admiration to the Queen of the Tourney.
Sir Hector, resplendent in polished steel plate armor covered by a dark blue coat bearing his family’s crest, his plumed helmet carried by his left arm, his impressive sword Fréon girded at his left side, directed his steed forward and presented a bouquet of white roses to Sabrina. Princess Alexa leaned forward at the railing of the box, breathless to take in the full picture of this glorious knight. She gazed with envy at the soft white petals which her elder cousin was privileged to own, then back at the handsome man who had presented it. Princess Sabrina took note of the longing in the young girl’s eyes and plucked a long-stemmed rose from the bouquet. The Queen of the Tourney had Prince Wesley pass it to Alexa who received it with awe, as if beholding a sacred artifact; romance beamed from her face with the combined radiances of sunshine and starlight. Sir Hector grinned, amused by how much pleasure the flower had given the girl. Alexa sat back in her chair with the rose pressed to her lips beneath her nose. She knew which knight she was rooting for!
Sir Holbrook next directed his horse forward to present his token: a single blade of grass whose long stem was laden at its feathery crest with tiny seeds. Prince Wesley’s eyes enlarged with scorn, a view shared by the gasping ladies in the royal box. They awaited Sabrina’s reaction. In Holbrook’s eyes Sabrina saw earnestness and honesty. She reached her hand to receive the token with some residual uncertainty but with correct politeness. Prince Wesley ripped the insult from her fingers to dash under his heel but Princess Sabrina was just as swift: she snatched it back. She then braced her acceptance of Sir Holbrook’s token by extending to him the favor of her emerald-green hand scarf. He received it with all humble courtesy and tied it to the plume of his helmet as she tucked the blade of grass safely into the center of the bouquet of roses. The court ladies were astonished, except for Alexa and Sonia who thought the exchange was so romantic. Her parents observed all of this and whispered between them.
Another peal of trumpets called the games to begin.
The first half of the tournament was devoted to contests of skill wherein five pairs in each of the three age divisions faced off. By tradition the winner of the youngest division could challenge either winner of his more seasoned elders and almost always did so. Youth had the advantage of stamina whereas age held the advantage of experience. The spectators favored the veteran in these championship rounds, cheering him to keep the upstart in his place and teach him a lesson on his path to experience. In the contest of quarterstaffs, however, wily forty-four-year-old Sir Maynard Keyworth was no match for the sheer power of twenty-six-year-old Sir Jared Fondilas. Age mattered less in some skills, such as archery, which for the last seventeen years was dominated by Sir Baxter Canvenbaer.
When it came to swords the court got its first view of the skill that had taken Holbrook Meinrad to the top of his class. He aggressively engaged each opponent and dominated the contest, advancing through each round. His final opponent in his division was Sir Nelson Lockyer. Steel flashed in the sunshine; thwacks resounded with every strike to the wooden shields; grunts and sweat were the currency of the combatants. Princess Sabrina was especially attentive, cheering whenever her favored knight scored points, gasping the few times he lost ground. In the end Sir Holbrook succeeded in outscoring Sir Nelson. Sabrina clapped joyfully. The winner of the senior division was Sir Edgar Bradunas; the middle division champion was Sir Luther Gwenovryn, one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom. To Sir Holbrook went the choice, if he desired, of challenging either of the gentlemen.
But Sir Holbrook had something slightly different in mind.
“My lords, I propose that the esteemed Sir Edgar and Sir Luther battle each other first, that I may challenge he who is truly the most worthy opponent.”
This unprecedented request stopped the games. The officials conferred among themselves whether the rules permitted it and with the two knights as to were they agreeable. The two senior knights accepted the challenge and took up positions on the field as Sir Holbrook watched their techniques and strategies. The match was close but Sir Luther prevailed. Delighted to go up against a true champion and having enjoyed a short rest while the two knights battled, Sir Holbrook headed onto the field with the advantage of energy. Yet, Sir Luther was ready to disgrace the neophyte, and Sir Holbrook entered into a more brutal battle than he had expected.
Sir Luther took control of the contest from the start, blocking all of the younger man’s best strikes and executing moves Sir Holbrook had not anticipated. Sir Luther made Sir Holbrook lose his shield and soon it was over: Sir Luther had the young man on the ground and disarmed. Prince Wesley cheered louder than anyone that the victor had humiliated the challenger.
The knife and battleaxe throwing events were dull by comparison. Princess Sabrina was pleased to see that both Sir Holbrook and Sir Hector achieved good scores.
Next were the equestrian events. First, tilting at quintains required the knights to ride at a target and strike it with his eight-foot lance. Aim was only one skill: the quintain pivoted on its pole and swung a sandbag around to clobber any knight not fast or agile enough to avoid it. The more perfect was the knight’s aim the swifter and more forceful was the quintain’s swirling punch. For all his prowess with a sword, Sir Luther was not able to evade a blow to the right shoulder on his second pass against the target. Sir Leigh Shallert won the senior division, Sir Patrick Arnason the middle division, and Sir Claude Durham the junior division, with Sir Leigh defeating Sir Claude as the overall winner.
Jousting pitted knights with lances against each other as moving targets. Points were awarded for both breaking an opponent’s lance and not breaking one’s own. Extra points were earned for unhorsing the opponent. Princess Sabrina watched with trepidation as Sir Holbrook and Sir Hector charged at each other. Both lances were broken, and Sir Hector almost fell off but kept to his saddle. No points were lost to him nor gained by Sir Holbrook for a near fall. Sabrina was glad. Sir Shelby Gallen earned the distinction of being this year’s jousting champion.
The call of trumpets announced the midday intermission whereby the knights would return to their tents to eat and rest while the royal court returned to the pavilion for a grand luncheon. Princess Sabrina kept her bouquet with her, out of the reach of Prince Wesley who was never far from her side.
“When does your furlough end, my lord?” she asked him over a plate of cold meats and cheeses.
“Too soon,” he lamented. “The wine at the academy is dreadful. Some vintages are hardly more than rosy vinegars.”
He savored the excellent sample now in his goblet and signaled a servant that a carafe be kept on the table within his reach.
The afternoon event was the melee. Two sides of fifteen were drawn by lot, five men from each division joining to oppose the other “army.” Sir Holbrook and Sir Hector landed in the Black Army, along with Sir Jared and Sir Luther. From among their ranks the Black knights selected Sir Doran Gondebaer as their leader. They faced Sir Langdon Cosgrove, Sir Shelby, and Sir Edgar, prominent among the dozen others of the White Army, as designated by the coats worn over their armor. The knights were given a short time to strategize. When the trumpets sounded a mock battle began with White and Black charging each other in an unrehearsed clash. The spectators cheered when their favored side unhorsed or disarmed opposing knights. Precautions were in place to prevent death, though injuries were inevitable.
The last three men standing were Sir Luther, Sir Jared, and Sir Shelby. Sir Shelby bended his knee to concede victory to the Black knights. They all looked exhausted.
When the total points were tallied young Sir Jared was declared the tourney’s grand champion. His friends hooted with jubilation. Sir Luther took second place, and Sir Shelby would receive the third place medallion. Sir Holbrook had finished in eighth place, Sir Hector had come in tenth.
Prince Wesley felt it was his duty to escort the Queen of the Tourney from the royal box onto the field. She invited Princess Alexa to come with her to hold the bouquet of roses while also indicating to Prince Wesley, with a curtsy thanking him for his gallantries, that he was to return to the royal box. Princess Sabrina then awarded Sir Jared this year’s golden medallion which she fastened to his saddle. In turn, the deliriously happy knight placed a crown of pink roses on the princess’ head. Very gently he lifted the Queen of the Tourney onto his horse for the parade back to the palace. Alexa handed the bouquet up to Sabrina. Princess Sabrina leaned down and took only the grass blade, leaving the roses for Alexa to keep.
Riding eighth behind the grand champion, Sir Holbrook could feel his heart pumping warmly: his first tournament as a knight among knights had been an exhilarating experience, and not only had the princess not scorned his token she still had it with her. He untied her scarf from his helmet and tucked it into his tunic. Sir Hector smiled at Lady Edith and also playfully saluted Princess Alexa as he rode by. The girl hugged the bouquet in her joy only to be pricked by the thorns.
* * *
Princess Sabrina sat in the warm school room with her Latin tutor. She found it hard to focus on translating the ancient masterwork before her: her thoughts preferred the recent past. Last night had been perfect, or almost perfect. Bathed, gowned and coifed, she had reigned beside Sir Jared as queen at the victory banquet. The top ten winners were seated at the head table with her. The others sat with King Roderick or with Queen Beatrice. All looked splendid in their finery. She had even instructed her hairdresser to accent her coiffure with the long stem of grass. What the evening lacked was more time with Sir Holbrook. They exchanged only one smile as her attention was necessarily on Sir Jared and the other ranking winners. But it was a smile she could not get out of her mind now.
Her tutor sighed with resignation that a female student, who was almost seventeen, and had feasted with gallant young knights last night, would not have the sharpest concentration on a sun-washed day, at least not for working out declensions of Latin nouns.
A knock on the door interrupted the lesson. The princess’ maid entered with a sealed letter that had been passed to her by the Steward of the Household who had received it from the Polemars when it arrived at the palace portal. With a curtsy the servant made her delivery and departed. However, the tutor was strict: reading a letter in the vernacular had to wait until she was done reading her lesson in Latin.
Princess Sabrina struggled to keep her mind on the ancient text. She was certain that the neatly folded letter presently resting on her lap was from Sir Holbrook!
When at last her tutor gathered up his books, bowed and left her alone, her hand swiftly broke the seal. She was not disappointed:
Most Cherished Princess,
The honor Your Highness bestowed on your unworthy knight by not scorning his token, by receiving it so regally, was felt to the heart. My admiration for the beauty of your spirit increases as a green fruit swells and ripens in a wholesome climate. Uncommon is the noblewoman who possesses the rare grace of simplicity to find unadorned beauty in the least of nature’s flora, a blade of grass, and not deny it companionship with the sublime rose. It is my earnest hope that you will be in attendance at Sir Doran and Lady Veda’s party tonight and that I may be allowed to speak these words directly to your hearing.
~Yours in devoted service, Sir Holbrook of Dulcissime
Princess Sabrina read the short letter four times, each time with a brighter glow in her heart. But she also felt shame: she had appreciated the token only because it had come from his hand. Now she understood why he had given it to her. She appreciated that he (more than she) possessed the rare grace of simplicity.
She returned to her suite and opened her Bible. She lightly fingered the blade of grass which lay pressed between the pages of the Canticle of Canticles, allowing glad memories to dance through her. Then she opened the small tabletop chest containing both her jewels and girlhood treasures. Sabrina retrieved what she sought: a small seashell she had picked up along the beach east of Listroba long ago. She would offer it to him at the party tonight as a return token of admiration.
Her tutor sighed with resignation that a female student, who was almost seventeen, and had feasted with gallant young knights last night, would not have the sharpest concentration on a sun-washed day, at least not for working out declensions of Latin nouns.
A knock on the door interrupted the lesson. The princess’ maid entered with a sealed letter that had been passed to her by the Steward of the Household who had received it from the Polemars when it arrived at the palace portal. With a curtsy the servant made her delivery and departed. However, the tutor was strict: reading a letter in the vernacular had to wait until she was done reading her lesson in Latin.
Princess Sabrina struggled to keep her mind on the ancient text. She was certain that the neatly folded letter presently resting on her lap was from Sir Holbrook!
When at last her tutor gathered up his books, bowed and left her alone, her hand swiftly broke the seal. She was not disappointed:
Most Cherished Princess,
The honor Your Highness bestowed on your unworthy knight by not scorning his token, by receiving it so regally, was felt to the heart. My admiration for the beauty of your spirit increases as a green fruit swells and ripens in a wholesome climate. Uncommon is the noblewoman who possesses the rare grace of simplicity to find unadorned beauty in the least of nature’s flora, a blade of grass, and not deny it companionship with the sublime rose. It is my earnest hope that you will be in attendance at Sir Doran and Lady Veda’s party tonight and that I may be allowed to speak these words directly to your hearing.
~Yours in devoted service, Sir Holbrook of Dulcissime
Princess Sabrina read the short letter four times, each time with a brighter glow in her heart. But she also felt shame: she had appreciated the token only because it had come from his hand. Now she understood why he had given it to her. She appreciated that he (more than she) possessed the rare grace of simplicity.
She returned to her suite and opened her Bible. She lightly fingered the blade of grass which lay pressed between the pages of the Canticle of Canticles, allowing glad memories to dance through her. Then she opened the small tabletop chest containing both her jewels and girlhood treasures. Sabrina retrieved what she sought: a small seashell she had picked up along the beach east of Listroba long ago. She would offer it to him at the party tonight as a return token of admiration.
* * *
The week of festivities honoring the new knights included a night at the theatre. Princess Sabrina climbed out of her carriage with her ladies, also accompanied by Lady Philana as chaperone and two Scieldsie (bodyguards to the royal family). Dressed in daisy-white linen, the princess also had daisies wound in her black braids. Her heart was thumping with eagerness. She would see him again tonight! Last night had been glorious: he had laughed happily when presented with a little seashell, declaring that to him it was a treasure greater than all the wealth of kings. In exchange he had for her a pinkish pebble he had picked up outside of his tent beside the lists on the afternoon of the tournament. Sabrina’s sweet smile had faded as quickly as it had bloomed and she confessed to him the reason: she had not looked for beauty in the blade of grass itself, too dazzled was she by the beauty of the giver. He had replied that wisdom takes time to learn.
“You bear so patiently with my faults,” she had said.
“And you bear so with mine.”
“You have none.” She had colored when she realized how much this sounded like Prince Wesley. “Forgive me: no one should ever be placed upon the pedestal of perfection. Whatever faults you possess, Sir, are so negligible or so well controlled as to arouse in me no notice of them.”
“I am prone to impulses of arrogance and stubbornness,” he had confided, “and, yes, I do strive to control them. Charity toward others is always in my heart, but a practiced awareness has been necessary to move it forward as my first impulse. I value meekness so highly because I practice it so badly.”
What a gay evening last night had been, which included the pleasant company of charming Sir Hector and solidly sensible Sir Jared. Would tonight be as lovely? A fear whispered from a distance that such happiness was always too fragile to last. Sabrina smiled defiantly: it was going to last a lifetime!
The front of the Royal Theater was semicircular; its back section (the stage area) was square. Two galleries hugged the perimeter of the horseshoe-shaped interior. The plush velvet seats in the lower gallery, at the center of the concave curve, belonged to the royal family. A center aisle opened from the lobby, under the galleries, through the pit area, to the stage. There was no standing room in this pit as was found in the several public theaters around the City; here plush seats filled the floor space on both sides of the aisle. Seats at the Royal Theater had prices only the nobility could afford.
Princess Sabrina chatted with her ladies in the lobby, unwilling to take her seat before Sir Holbrook arrived. The sound of boisterous laughter and animated conversation indicated more new arrivals. Soon the princess received a light tap to her arm: one of her ladies had spied the arrival of a group of young men, Military Academy graduates. Sir Holbrook and Princess Sabrina offered each other formal public salutations of greeting, as well as he to the ladies and she to the lords. Without seeking the permission of her chaperone, the princess strolled several paces away to speak more privately to the knight.
Lady Philana and the other young ladies could see that he had given her something. The princess was all smiles. She removed a daisy from her hair and presented it to the young man. Sir Holbrook regarded the gift with ironic mirth.
“To receive a daisy from the Princess of Khryterdon is like receiving the whole kingdom.”
Abashed, Sabrina’s cheeks flushed the color of Holbrook’s scarlet doublet. She had meant her gift only as something humble and had somehow quite forgotten that the flower, when depicted with nine petals, was the foliose emblem of the land.
To ease her chagrin he joked, “It’s a good thing that a little wild blossom suits me better than the whole of the kingdom. The leviathan of the bureaucracy could slay me with two sheets of paper.”
Sir Holbrook tucked the blossom into his belt beside his ornamental dagger. He bowed to her and her ladies and moved off to join his academy friends who instantly teased him about being a lovesick fool. Willing to ham the part, the young knight gave the princess a smile so gooey with overly dramatic lovesickness that Sabrina had to laugh. Her ladies now surrounded her, expecting her gift to be something expensive or rare but it was only a tiny clover. Clover?—Who gives a girl a silly bit of clover? Lady Philana plucked the smidgen of greenery from the princess’ fingers.
The chaperone stated sternly, “Your father will not be pleased. To your seats. All of you. Sir Langdon will speak to our young Griffin tomorrow about his lack of discretion and decorum.” She sneered at the rustic little leaf. “A fine posy, this! But I suppose it is asking too much to expect wit and elegance from a Grenechene.”
“Should you be less proud of your pride, madam,” said Sabrina, “you might recall that tonight’s classic play was penned by a Grenechene. Keep the clover. Learn from it—if you can.”
Sabrina did not hear two words of the comedy. Her eyes darted to Sir Holbrook twelve times every minute. With sour glances in between at her chaperone. Often a smile warmed her lips and a flutter pattered her heart when she caught him looking at her. Perhaps they both were indiscreet. But that did not lessen her determination to be with him as much as she could this week. Time was moving forward and too soon the parties would end and his commission in the Royal Army would station him who knew where for however long.
Princess Sabrina met the actors afterwards and, upon learning that one of them was from Newvyem, took delight in introducing the talented man to Lady Philana. As Lady Philana did not consider acting to be a profession more elevated than a trade, her opinion was not moved. The King’s daughter then spent the ride back to the palace contemplating both the occasion of her next meeting with Sir Holbrook and what her gift would be. Four hours elapsed that night as she lay in bed thinking of him before sleep took over her dreams.
“You bear so patiently with my faults,” she had said.
“And you bear so with mine.”
“You have none.” She had colored when she realized how much this sounded like Prince Wesley. “Forgive me: no one should ever be placed upon the pedestal of perfection. Whatever faults you possess, Sir, are so negligible or so well controlled as to arouse in me no notice of them.”
“I am prone to impulses of arrogance and stubbornness,” he had confided, “and, yes, I do strive to control them. Charity toward others is always in my heart, but a practiced awareness has been necessary to move it forward as my first impulse. I value meekness so highly because I practice it so badly.”
What a gay evening last night had been, which included the pleasant company of charming Sir Hector and solidly sensible Sir Jared. Would tonight be as lovely? A fear whispered from a distance that such happiness was always too fragile to last. Sabrina smiled defiantly: it was going to last a lifetime!
The front of the Royal Theater was semicircular; its back section (the stage area) was square. Two galleries hugged the perimeter of the horseshoe-shaped interior. The plush velvet seats in the lower gallery, at the center of the concave curve, belonged to the royal family. A center aisle opened from the lobby, under the galleries, through the pit area, to the stage. There was no standing room in this pit as was found in the several public theaters around the City; here plush seats filled the floor space on both sides of the aisle. Seats at the Royal Theater had prices only the nobility could afford.
Princess Sabrina chatted with her ladies in the lobby, unwilling to take her seat before Sir Holbrook arrived. The sound of boisterous laughter and animated conversation indicated more new arrivals. Soon the princess received a light tap to her arm: one of her ladies had spied the arrival of a group of young men, Military Academy graduates. Sir Holbrook and Princess Sabrina offered each other formal public salutations of greeting, as well as he to the ladies and she to the lords. Without seeking the permission of her chaperone, the princess strolled several paces away to speak more privately to the knight.
Lady Philana and the other young ladies could see that he had given her something. The princess was all smiles. She removed a daisy from her hair and presented it to the young man. Sir Holbrook regarded the gift with ironic mirth.
“To receive a daisy from the Princess of Khryterdon is like receiving the whole kingdom.”
Abashed, Sabrina’s cheeks flushed the color of Holbrook’s scarlet doublet. She had meant her gift only as something humble and had somehow quite forgotten that the flower, when depicted with nine petals, was the foliose emblem of the land.
To ease her chagrin he joked, “It’s a good thing that a little wild blossom suits me better than the whole of the kingdom. The leviathan of the bureaucracy could slay me with two sheets of paper.”
Sir Holbrook tucked the blossom into his belt beside his ornamental dagger. He bowed to her and her ladies and moved off to join his academy friends who instantly teased him about being a lovesick fool. Willing to ham the part, the young knight gave the princess a smile so gooey with overly dramatic lovesickness that Sabrina had to laugh. Her ladies now surrounded her, expecting her gift to be something expensive or rare but it was only a tiny clover. Clover?—Who gives a girl a silly bit of clover? Lady Philana plucked the smidgen of greenery from the princess’ fingers.
The chaperone stated sternly, “Your father will not be pleased. To your seats. All of you. Sir Langdon will speak to our young Griffin tomorrow about his lack of discretion and decorum.” She sneered at the rustic little leaf. “A fine posy, this! But I suppose it is asking too much to expect wit and elegance from a Grenechene.”
“Should you be less proud of your pride, madam,” said Sabrina, “you might recall that tonight’s classic play was penned by a Grenechene. Keep the clover. Learn from it—if you can.”
Sabrina did not hear two words of the comedy. Her eyes darted to Sir Holbrook twelve times every minute. With sour glances in between at her chaperone. Often a smile warmed her lips and a flutter pattered her heart when she caught him looking at her. Perhaps they both were indiscreet. But that did not lessen her determination to be with him as much as she could this week. Time was moving forward and too soon the parties would end and his commission in the Royal Army would station him who knew where for however long.
Princess Sabrina met the actors afterwards and, upon learning that one of them was from Newvyem, took delight in introducing the talented man to Lady Philana. As Lady Philana did not consider acting to be a profession more elevated than a trade, her opinion was not moved. The King’s daughter then spent the ride back to the palace contemplating both the occasion of her next meeting with Sir Holbrook and what her gift would be. Four hours elapsed that night as she lay in bed thinking of him before sleep took over her dreams.
* * *
Following a picnic along the grassy headland east of the City overlooking the bay, there was one last event this week to attend, the closing element of the festivities that opened with the investiture and ball. The Princess of Khryterdon was given a role to play in this ceremony too, which was more military than social.
At midday the royal carriage, carrying the King, the princess, and the Duke of Grenechey, rolled briskly behind a pair of fine white horses along Kingsley Road east to the Bastion. Princess Sabrina had only been inside the Bastion once when she was ten and was duly impressed by its splendid architecture. The brief ceremony took place in the reception room of the Royal Army headquarters. And the knights here present were all active duty military and appropriately uniformed.
King Roderick stood at the fore of the room and made a short speech to the knights and officers about the sacredness of duty and service. He then called Sir Holbrook Meinrad and Sir Hector Lasseter to step forward. The King announced that Captain Sir Holbrook had been assigned to serve under Major Sir Jotham Quaresima at Fort Mersut, a fortified island in the harbor east of Englecreek. Captain Sir Hector would be stationed at Fort Swinson in Riscidaw to assist Colonel Sir Samuel Ingham. The Princess of Khryterdon then presented each knight with a rolled piece of parchment: his formal orders to report for three years of active duty. She curtsied and they bowed and the ceremony was over.
The two knights unrolled their commissions and learned they would have to report to their respective forts in four weeks, time enough to set their affairs in order for the transition to their new life. King Roderick stood conversing with the generals of the Royal Army and Duke William. And Princess Sabrina had nothing to do but feel awkward and sad.
“My lady,” Sir Hector was beside her offering her his arm, “please allow me to give you a tour of the Bastion.”
Sir Hector shot a look at Sir Holbrook as he and the princess walked out.
The “tour” was more of a brisk march through the corridors to the Room of Relics. Sir Holbrook was there waiting: he had arrived via the Hall of Griffin Knights. Sir Hector ushered the princess to him, inclined his head slightly to them both, then left them there alone. The room was filled with very interesting objects, and Sir Holbrook made a clumsy attempt to point a few of them out to her.
“I’m not a very good tour guide: I received my first tour only this week. I would imagine you would know more about many of these artifacts from living in Listroba and being around the knights at court. I don’t know if you realize how proud my father is that I am knighted. The first in the family ever to be knighted. I had a great-great-uncle who graduated fourth, that’s impressive but it won’t get you a sash.”
“Graduating first, not even second,” Sabrina beamed at him.
Though proud of the accomplishment, Sir Holbrook appeared slightly embarrassed to be praised for the feat. Feeling the need to do something distracting he showed her the sword he had received from his father. He had worn it to the Investiture Ball but she may not have noticed it then. From a scabbard of reseda leather, bound at the top by a wide band of etched silver and protected at the bottom by a complementing chape of etched steel, he drew out the blade and let her examine its hilt of silver spiraling with gold to a gold-plated pommel. Then he demonstrated how excellently balanced the sword was.
“It is named Freod.”
“A beautiful sword and a noble gift. I didn’t bring a gift for you today,” Sabrina said suddenly, and her face showed she was sorry.
“It’s not a fault. I’m just glad to see you. To have a few minutes alone is the best gift.”
“My father is my chaperone today.”
“And wonderfully negligent,” the young man grinned.
“Positively beastly: he purposely had you sent to Deiquochey to be away from me.”
“It only seems like the other side of the world.”
“I don’t want you to go,” she said with the suddenness and ardency of a maiden in love.
Sir Holbrook took her hands in his and drew her nearer to him. He caressed his fingertips lightly over her cheek. In his eyes she could see the yearning in her soul reflected back to her from his. Then her arms were around his neck and she was kissing him. His lips made love to hers as his arms hungrily beheld the fullness of her warmth. They drew a breath then kissed again. And in that kiss she knew that she belonged to him and he belonged to her and that he felt this too. Wedding vows would only be a formality for witnesses, for in their hearts, in their souls, their union had already commenced. Her arms encircled him and she pressed her cheek to his chest. Serenity, comfort and joy filled her being entirely, aware that in her life she would never be alone: her loving friend would always be a part of her. Profound joy also filled him as his arms pressed this girl to his heart, and he kissed her head: his promise that he would be her faithful lover and guardian for life.
“We don’t have to be apart,” he whispered when the function of speech returned to him, “not for long, not forever if you—”
“I would go to Deiquochey with you if you asked.”
“And give up Listroba?”
“There is no sacrifice in giving up what’s empty. Without you everywhere is empty.”
Radiant happiness swept through him. “My little blossom,” he whispered.
They kissed ardently again.
A sharp knock on the door made them separate. Sir Hector entered with a warning look on his face and immediately pretended he had been with them all along, giving them a tour.
“Over here, Your Highness,” he pointed out an ancient broadsword enshrined in a glass case, “is Fylst, Great Ulrica’s own sword. You were not present at our investiture so you would not know that this very sword was—”
The King entered the Room of Relics with Duke William, Sir Langdon and four Scieldsie, evidently looking for the princess. Sir Hector and Sir Holbrook bowed to their sovereign.
“Majesty, I—Sir Holbrook and I were describing the artifacts here to Her Highness, as few guests are ever allowed—”
Sir Langdon motioned that the young man had given sufficient explanation. Sir Hector bowed respectfully as Princess Sabrina moved with affected indifference away from the knights toward King Roderick. She even forced herself not to ruin the stratagem by looking back at Sir Holbrook but continued on to the carriage with the guards.
At midday the royal carriage, carrying the King, the princess, and the Duke of Grenechey, rolled briskly behind a pair of fine white horses along Kingsley Road east to the Bastion. Princess Sabrina had only been inside the Bastion once when she was ten and was duly impressed by its splendid architecture. The brief ceremony took place in the reception room of the Royal Army headquarters. And the knights here present were all active duty military and appropriately uniformed.
King Roderick stood at the fore of the room and made a short speech to the knights and officers about the sacredness of duty and service. He then called Sir Holbrook Meinrad and Sir Hector Lasseter to step forward. The King announced that Captain Sir Holbrook had been assigned to serve under Major Sir Jotham Quaresima at Fort Mersut, a fortified island in the harbor east of Englecreek. Captain Sir Hector would be stationed at Fort Swinson in Riscidaw to assist Colonel Sir Samuel Ingham. The Princess of Khryterdon then presented each knight with a rolled piece of parchment: his formal orders to report for three years of active duty. She curtsied and they bowed and the ceremony was over.
The two knights unrolled their commissions and learned they would have to report to their respective forts in four weeks, time enough to set their affairs in order for the transition to their new life. King Roderick stood conversing with the generals of the Royal Army and Duke William. And Princess Sabrina had nothing to do but feel awkward and sad.
“My lady,” Sir Hector was beside her offering her his arm, “please allow me to give you a tour of the Bastion.”
Sir Hector shot a look at Sir Holbrook as he and the princess walked out.
The “tour” was more of a brisk march through the corridors to the Room of Relics. Sir Holbrook was there waiting: he had arrived via the Hall of Griffin Knights. Sir Hector ushered the princess to him, inclined his head slightly to them both, then left them there alone. The room was filled with very interesting objects, and Sir Holbrook made a clumsy attempt to point a few of them out to her.
“I’m not a very good tour guide: I received my first tour only this week. I would imagine you would know more about many of these artifacts from living in Listroba and being around the knights at court. I don’t know if you realize how proud my father is that I am knighted. The first in the family ever to be knighted. I had a great-great-uncle who graduated fourth, that’s impressive but it won’t get you a sash.”
“Graduating first, not even second,” Sabrina beamed at him.
Though proud of the accomplishment, Sir Holbrook appeared slightly embarrassed to be praised for the feat. Feeling the need to do something distracting he showed her the sword he had received from his father. He had worn it to the Investiture Ball but she may not have noticed it then. From a scabbard of reseda leather, bound at the top by a wide band of etched silver and protected at the bottom by a complementing chape of etched steel, he drew out the blade and let her examine its hilt of silver spiraling with gold to a gold-plated pommel. Then he demonstrated how excellently balanced the sword was.
“It is named Freod.”
“A beautiful sword and a noble gift. I didn’t bring a gift for you today,” Sabrina said suddenly, and her face showed she was sorry.
“It’s not a fault. I’m just glad to see you. To have a few minutes alone is the best gift.”
“My father is my chaperone today.”
“And wonderfully negligent,” the young man grinned.
“Positively beastly: he purposely had you sent to Deiquochey to be away from me.”
“It only seems like the other side of the world.”
“I don’t want you to go,” she said with the suddenness and ardency of a maiden in love.
Sir Holbrook took her hands in his and drew her nearer to him. He caressed his fingertips lightly over her cheek. In his eyes she could see the yearning in her soul reflected back to her from his. Then her arms were around his neck and she was kissing him. His lips made love to hers as his arms hungrily beheld the fullness of her warmth. They drew a breath then kissed again. And in that kiss she knew that she belonged to him and he belonged to her and that he felt this too. Wedding vows would only be a formality for witnesses, for in their hearts, in their souls, their union had already commenced. Her arms encircled him and she pressed her cheek to his chest. Serenity, comfort and joy filled her being entirely, aware that in her life she would never be alone: her loving friend would always be a part of her. Profound joy also filled him as his arms pressed this girl to his heart, and he kissed her head: his promise that he would be her faithful lover and guardian for life.
“We don’t have to be apart,” he whispered when the function of speech returned to him, “not for long, not forever if you—”
“I would go to Deiquochey with you if you asked.”
“And give up Listroba?”
“There is no sacrifice in giving up what’s empty. Without you everywhere is empty.”
Radiant happiness swept through him. “My little blossom,” he whispered.
They kissed ardently again.
A sharp knock on the door made them separate. Sir Hector entered with a warning look on his face and immediately pretended he had been with them all along, giving them a tour.
“Over here, Your Highness,” he pointed out an ancient broadsword enshrined in a glass case, “is Fylst, Great Ulrica’s own sword. You were not present at our investiture so you would not know that this very sword was—”
The King entered the Room of Relics with Duke William, Sir Langdon and four Scieldsie, evidently looking for the princess. Sir Hector and Sir Holbrook bowed to their sovereign.
“Majesty, I—Sir Holbrook and I were describing the artifacts here to Her Highness, as few guests are ever allowed—”
Sir Langdon motioned that the young man had given sufficient explanation. Sir Hector bowed respectfully as Princess Sabrina moved with affected indifference away from the knights toward King Roderick. She even forced herself not to ruin the stratagem by looking back at Sir Holbrook but continued on to the carriage with the guards.
* * *
TWANG! Twang, twang, strum, twang, twang, strum. Strum. Struummmm.
The strings of a harp vibrated when plucked and strummed by Prince Wesley.
“I think, my lord, we are more in the mood for poetry than music this afternoon,” Queen Beatrice tactfully put an end to a quarter hour of excruciating dissonance.
She directed him to a chest in which lay several small books. The ladies sewing in the Queen’s suite gave Her Majesty grateful glances. He selected a volume of sonnets and returned to the ladies. The prince stopped to look over Princess Sabrina’s shoulder to see what she was sewing. She had in her fingers a bit of brown velvet which was becoming a small pouch.
“A bit tiny,” he observed.
“Too tiny for an anvil, to be sure, but the perfect size for its use.”
“Which is for what?”
“To contain something tiny.”
Lady Edith giggled at their exchange. Lady Philana frowned that the princess was being unkindly flippant toward Viscount Ternsmeade, heir to Lairenkin.
Prince Wesley lounged in his chair and thumbed through the volume.
“Ah, one of my favorites,” he cleared his throat and recited:
Behind a dream fair spirits wake the soul
to bear the heart’s most distant eye of grace--
A knock on the door interrupted him. A maid entered when bidden by the Queen. She curtsied and reported that the princess had a visitor waiting downstairs.
“Who is this visitor?” inquired the Queen.
“A knight, my lady.”
“May I receive him?” Sabrina asked her mother.
Prince Wesley was about to assert his opinion but a glance from Queen Beatrice told him to keep silent.
“Lady Philana will accompany you.”
The maid led Princess Sabrina and Lady Philana to a chamber near the Throne Room, curtsied and withdrew.
To Sabrina’s surprise Sir Hector awaited her there. His playful smile and grand bow to the noblewomen alerted Sabrina that he had not come to impart bad news. She relaxed slightly though formally bade him to speak the reason for his visit.
“I feel ashamed to speak of sordid matters in front of Your Ladyship,” he made a respectful inclination to Lady Philana. “If I might have a moment alone with Her Highness—”
“Certainly not. Speak plainly, Sir Knight, for what sordid reason do you impose yourself upon the courtesy of the princess?”
“I seek a loan, my lady. A fair sum.”
Lady Philana’s eyebrows shot up at the extreme baseness of his purpose.
“How much?” Sabrina asked simply.
He handed her a folded scrap of paper. Sabrina was shocked by what was written there. Her eyes searched his face. He hid a smile and lowered his gaze.
“200 is a fair sum, indeed. Please allow me some time to think on it.”
“There is no need for a moment’s thought!” snapped Lady Philana. “Out, scoundrel!”
The Lady conducted him out. Sabrina followed them to the door, then carefully closed it.
“Holbrook!” she whispered into the room.
Sir Holbrook stepped out from behind the drapery of the far window. Sabrina cast herself into his embrace, scrunching in her hand the scrap of paper that had SH hides here scrawled on it. He lifted her off the floor and twirled her around. After a kiss of welcome he confessed that this scheme was the only way he could talk to her alone.
“I have come to speak with your father. To ask a betrothal contract be drawn for us. I don’t trust Prince Wesley. I am not going to let him maneuver me out of the way. I desire no bride but you, Sabrina. I believe with all my soul that the Will of Heaven made us each for the other and wills for us always to be together. That is my faith.”
“I believe it too,” she affirmed.
This testament was ratified with another kiss.
“I expect the King will demand a three-year wait, until my active duty is completed. I will consent to that. I can wait three years if I know our wedding will crown our patience.”
She had no words to express her joy, though her deep blue eyes said all he needed to hear. He kissed her hands, especially the left which would one day wear his ring. “Wait for me in the rose garden. I don’t know how long this might take. I hope not long.”
“If you receive any delay about being able to see him, tell me straightaway and I will push the doors open myself and lead you in.”
They entwined into each other’s arms, pressed closely, and kissed again.
Then her knight strode out.
Princess Sabrina sprinted to her suite and rang for her maid to assist her into a prettier frock and help arrange her hair. She observed the results in her mirror and smiled. This is how she wanted Holbrook always to remember seeing her as they waited out the interval of months or maybe years. That he had not come back for her assistance was a good sign: he had gotten an audience with King Roderick. The princess hastened down to the rose garden.
A quarter hour passed. Then a half. There were negotiations to iron out, she reminded herself. Then she heard commotion in the palace courtyard. She looked over the edge of the wall. Down below, a horseman was galloping across the gravel path out toward Kingsley Road. She blanched.
“HOLBROOK!” she screamed. “HOLBROOK!”
He did not slow down, did not look back.
She raced through the palace to the Throne Room, nearly colliding with the King as he exited the room. Her agitation did not surprise her father. He waited for her to catch her breath and find her voice.
“Did Sir Holbrook speak to you, sir?”
“He did. And he was warned not to go near you again.”
Her alarm cried out, “But Father—”
“Be silent. A commodities treaty has been negotiated with King Dojglas. We have agreed that you will wed his son Audmar, Prince of Joaillia.”
“A treaty? My life is a commodity you can sell by treaty?”
“Boys are born to rule and girls are born to wed. Was this not made clear to you from the cradle?”
Sabrina had no voice; the power to speak had abandoned her
“You are a princess of Khryterdon. You were born to wed no less than a prince. I am not insensible of your fondness for Sir Holbrook, nor of his fondness for you. Were you one of your ladies I would hasten to bless the match. But you are a king’s daughter and you honor yourself and your people with this match to a king’s heir. You will do well not to muddle such matters with sentiment. You sail for Bas Torin in three weeks.”
He strode away. Princess Sabrina could not move.
The strings of a harp vibrated when plucked and strummed by Prince Wesley.
“I think, my lord, we are more in the mood for poetry than music this afternoon,” Queen Beatrice tactfully put an end to a quarter hour of excruciating dissonance.
She directed him to a chest in which lay several small books. The ladies sewing in the Queen’s suite gave Her Majesty grateful glances. He selected a volume of sonnets and returned to the ladies. The prince stopped to look over Princess Sabrina’s shoulder to see what she was sewing. She had in her fingers a bit of brown velvet which was becoming a small pouch.
“A bit tiny,” he observed.
“Too tiny for an anvil, to be sure, but the perfect size for its use.”
“Which is for what?”
“To contain something tiny.”
Lady Edith giggled at their exchange. Lady Philana frowned that the princess was being unkindly flippant toward Viscount Ternsmeade, heir to Lairenkin.
Prince Wesley lounged in his chair and thumbed through the volume.
“Ah, one of my favorites,” he cleared his throat and recited:
Behind a dream fair spirits wake the soul
to bear the heart’s most distant eye of grace--
A knock on the door interrupted him. A maid entered when bidden by the Queen. She curtsied and reported that the princess had a visitor waiting downstairs.
“Who is this visitor?” inquired the Queen.
“A knight, my lady.”
“May I receive him?” Sabrina asked her mother.
Prince Wesley was about to assert his opinion but a glance from Queen Beatrice told him to keep silent.
“Lady Philana will accompany you.”
The maid led Princess Sabrina and Lady Philana to a chamber near the Throne Room, curtsied and withdrew.
To Sabrina’s surprise Sir Hector awaited her there. His playful smile and grand bow to the noblewomen alerted Sabrina that he had not come to impart bad news. She relaxed slightly though formally bade him to speak the reason for his visit.
“I feel ashamed to speak of sordid matters in front of Your Ladyship,” he made a respectful inclination to Lady Philana. “If I might have a moment alone with Her Highness—”
“Certainly not. Speak plainly, Sir Knight, for what sordid reason do you impose yourself upon the courtesy of the princess?”
“I seek a loan, my lady. A fair sum.”
Lady Philana’s eyebrows shot up at the extreme baseness of his purpose.
“How much?” Sabrina asked simply.
He handed her a folded scrap of paper. Sabrina was shocked by what was written there. Her eyes searched his face. He hid a smile and lowered his gaze.
“200 is a fair sum, indeed. Please allow me some time to think on it.”
“There is no need for a moment’s thought!” snapped Lady Philana. “Out, scoundrel!”
The Lady conducted him out. Sabrina followed them to the door, then carefully closed it.
“Holbrook!” she whispered into the room.
Sir Holbrook stepped out from behind the drapery of the far window. Sabrina cast herself into his embrace, scrunching in her hand the scrap of paper that had SH hides here scrawled on it. He lifted her off the floor and twirled her around. After a kiss of welcome he confessed that this scheme was the only way he could talk to her alone.
“I have come to speak with your father. To ask a betrothal contract be drawn for us. I don’t trust Prince Wesley. I am not going to let him maneuver me out of the way. I desire no bride but you, Sabrina. I believe with all my soul that the Will of Heaven made us each for the other and wills for us always to be together. That is my faith.”
“I believe it too,” she affirmed.
This testament was ratified with another kiss.
“I expect the King will demand a three-year wait, until my active duty is completed. I will consent to that. I can wait three years if I know our wedding will crown our patience.”
She had no words to express her joy, though her deep blue eyes said all he needed to hear. He kissed her hands, especially the left which would one day wear his ring. “Wait for me in the rose garden. I don’t know how long this might take. I hope not long.”
“If you receive any delay about being able to see him, tell me straightaway and I will push the doors open myself and lead you in.”
They entwined into each other’s arms, pressed closely, and kissed again.
Then her knight strode out.
Princess Sabrina sprinted to her suite and rang for her maid to assist her into a prettier frock and help arrange her hair. She observed the results in her mirror and smiled. This is how she wanted Holbrook always to remember seeing her as they waited out the interval of months or maybe years. That he had not come back for her assistance was a good sign: he had gotten an audience with King Roderick. The princess hastened down to the rose garden.
A quarter hour passed. Then a half. There were negotiations to iron out, she reminded herself. Then she heard commotion in the palace courtyard. She looked over the edge of the wall. Down below, a horseman was galloping across the gravel path out toward Kingsley Road. She blanched.
“HOLBROOK!” she screamed. “HOLBROOK!”
He did not slow down, did not look back.
She raced through the palace to the Throne Room, nearly colliding with the King as he exited the room. Her agitation did not surprise her father. He waited for her to catch her breath and find her voice.
“Did Sir Holbrook speak to you, sir?”
“He did. And he was warned not to go near you again.”
Her alarm cried out, “But Father—”
“Be silent. A commodities treaty has been negotiated with King Dojglas. We have agreed that you will wed his son Audmar, Prince of Joaillia.”
“A treaty? My life is a commodity you can sell by treaty?”
“Boys are born to rule and girls are born to wed. Was this not made clear to you from the cradle?”
Sabrina had no voice; the power to speak had abandoned her
“You are a princess of Khryterdon. You were born to wed no less than a prince. I am not insensible of your fondness for Sir Holbrook, nor of his fondness for you. Were you one of your ladies I would hasten to bless the match. But you are a king’s daughter and you honor yourself and your people with this match to a king’s heir. You will do well not to muddle such matters with sentiment. You sail for Bas Torin in three weeks.”
He strode away. Princess Sabrina could not move.
* * *
The next three weeks were hectic. An entire household for Princess Sabrina had to be packed up. Dressmakers worked to have gowns prepared. The jewels and silver plate of her dowry had to be inventoried and secured for the voyage. In addition to Lady Philana, who would be the future bride’s constant chaperone, Princess Sabrina’s escort included Sir Doran Gondebaer, Sir Langdon Cosgrove, the Bishop of Listroba and a lawyer, Lord Stanley Hubaer, who would travel to Bas Torin as her guardians and would present her to King Dojglas.
The one temporary benefit of her situation was that Prince Wesley ceased to pay calls at Bounbrow. When the viscount departed for the Military Academy he had offered her no good-byes.
Upon his departure, at furlough’s end, Prince Latimer saluted his sister with a polite bow and politer words, “Farewell, Princess of Joaillia.”
When the day for her departure arrived, all was ready. A great procession wound from Bounbrow Palace along Kingsley Road and up Veld Aalu Boulevard to Veld Aalu Square. Past the cathedral the retinue bearing Princess Sabrina and her royal parents halted at the bayside docks where two ships were ready to take on cargo and passengers.
Princess Sabrina alighted from the carriage. She scanned the hundreds of spectators who had gathered to see her off. Sir Holbrook‘s face was not among them. How she missed him. Too many nights had received her torrent of tears, too many days had been filled with hollow motion. He had written her no letter, no farewell, he was simply gone. By now he would be halfway to Deiquochey. Their lives must be lived apart. She scanned the port again, her eyes resting on the bay and the sea beyond it. How hateful and ominous and dreadful the sparkling blue expanse appeared now.
Among the knights in attendance, an uncharacteristically grim Sir Hector bowed a courteous farewell to the princess. He would depart Listroba tomorrow, for his ride to Riscidaw was short. She searched his face for any clues about Sir Holbrook. In his eyes she saw only compassionate sorrow.
Princess Sabrina knelt for her father’s blessing, received her mother’s kiss, then walked like a condemned woman up the gangplank of the ship to her exile. Per the contract of two kings it was her duty to bear sons for the Joaillian dynasty.
Unseen to her, Sir Holbrook had not forsaken her: he had climbed the north bell tower of the cathedral and from there watched the girl he sought to marry board the ship that would separate her from Khryterdon. Derelict of his duty he had remained in Listroba, as close to her as he dared approach, not for fear of her father but to spare them both the compounding pain that would burn tearfully from doomed contact. He had sent her three letters to give her courage, along with his pledge that his heart would ever belong to her, but from her lack of reply, even surreptitiously through Lady Edith or Sir Hector, he suspected she had not received them or that her reply had been forbidden. From his perch, Holbrook watched the ships open their sails. He kissed the small green scarf he had received from her hand at the tournament and which he kept always with him.
“Good-bye, my love.”
He turned his face to the great silent bass bell, to the pairs of pigeons cooing in corners of the tower, with a lump of grief fixed in his throat. He knew he must steel his spine and stone his heart. His duty was to be a loyal Griffin knight to the King and an able assistant to Sir Jotham, though he would be starting his career by reporting four days late to his post.
The ships became smaller and smaller as their white sails directed them to the horizon.
The one temporary benefit of her situation was that Prince Wesley ceased to pay calls at Bounbrow. When the viscount departed for the Military Academy he had offered her no good-byes.
Upon his departure, at furlough’s end, Prince Latimer saluted his sister with a polite bow and politer words, “Farewell, Princess of Joaillia.”
When the day for her departure arrived, all was ready. A great procession wound from Bounbrow Palace along Kingsley Road and up Veld Aalu Boulevard to Veld Aalu Square. Past the cathedral the retinue bearing Princess Sabrina and her royal parents halted at the bayside docks where two ships were ready to take on cargo and passengers.
Princess Sabrina alighted from the carriage. She scanned the hundreds of spectators who had gathered to see her off. Sir Holbrook‘s face was not among them. How she missed him. Too many nights had received her torrent of tears, too many days had been filled with hollow motion. He had written her no letter, no farewell, he was simply gone. By now he would be halfway to Deiquochey. Their lives must be lived apart. She scanned the port again, her eyes resting on the bay and the sea beyond it. How hateful and ominous and dreadful the sparkling blue expanse appeared now.
Among the knights in attendance, an uncharacteristically grim Sir Hector bowed a courteous farewell to the princess. He would depart Listroba tomorrow, for his ride to Riscidaw was short. She searched his face for any clues about Sir Holbrook. In his eyes she saw only compassionate sorrow.
Princess Sabrina knelt for her father’s blessing, received her mother’s kiss, then walked like a condemned woman up the gangplank of the ship to her exile. Per the contract of two kings it was her duty to bear sons for the Joaillian dynasty.
Unseen to her, Sir Holbrook had not forsaken her: he had climbed the north bell tower of the cathedral and from there watched the girl he sought to marry board the ship that would separate her from Khryterdon. Derelict of his duty he had remained in Listroba, as close to her as he dared approach, not for fear of her father but to spare them both the compounding pain that would burn tearfully from doomed contact. He had sent her three letters to give her courage, along with his pledge that his heart would ever belong to her, but from her lack of reply, even surreptitiously through Lady Edith or Sir Hector, he suspected she had not received them or that her reply had been forbidden. From his perch, Holbrook watched the ships open their sails. He kissed the small green scarf he had received from her hand at the tournament and which he kept always with him.
“Good-bye, my love.”
He turned his face to the great silent bass bell, to the pairs of pigeons cooing in corners of the tower, with a lump of grief fixed in his throat. He knew he must steel his spine and stone his heart. His duty was to be a loyal Griffin knight to the King and an able assistant to Sir Jotham, though he would be starting his career by reporting four days late to his post.
The ships became smaller and smaller as their white sails directed them to the horizon.
