Reine's own parents had passed on long ago, and she'd inherited the duchy. It had never sat well with her. The weight of her station frustrated her, as did nobles sniffing about, circling in upon the unwed niece of a king. Uncle Jac hadn't once pressured her about this.
He politely dealt with all suitors, for any engagement to her had to be approved by him, and he would never consent unless she did. He handled Faunier's noble houses with great care whenever one sent a son, brother, or nephew seeking a royal alliance by marriage. Some were not so bad, but Reine had grown tired of being a desired acquisition.
And so, Uncle Jac insisted that his favorite niece—his only niece—join him on this visit with their nation's staunch ally. His wife, Evonné, would remain to oversee affairs of state, so he needed good feminine company, someone only half as wild as his two sons.
Reine didn't mind, nor was she fooled by his excuse. Uncle always had her happiness at heart, and she did love the freedom to be abroad at will. It was the way of the Faunier, horse people by ancestry.
She loved her homeland, especially the eastern granite steppes, where she could stand upon high stone ledges and look back across her native land. But a more distant excursion would take her beyond the reach of suitors, if only for a short while. She readily agreed to accompany her uncle for a chance to visit Calm Seatt.
The splendid city didn't disappoint her, and she couldn't help finding the third castle of the Âreskynna a marvel. However, upon meeting the royals of Malourné, Reine felt distinctly out of place.
They were too tall, too pale, too blond, seeming to float in a detached somber serenity rather than walk naturally upon the earth. They made her welcome enough, but even in their reserved hospitality, there was something not quite right in their aquamarine eyes.
Reine especially noted this on the first night.
A grand banquet was held in her uncle's honor. Along with him and her two cousins, Edelard and Felisien, Reine entered a lavish hall on one upper floor of the third castle. Three Weardas in red tabards stood to either side of the open white doors. And within the long and tall chamber, scores of people in evening regalia gathered in clusters.
They sipped from crystal goblets and polished pewter tankards while waiting to go down to dinner. The place was filled with the humming buzz of their low chatter—and a strange light.
Reine looked up to high iron chandeliers, three in all, along the domed roof. Each bore a host of oil-fed lanterns, their flames caged inside perfect glass balls in varied tints. They reminded her of fishermen's floats she'd seen on a brief pass near the city's northern piers.
King Leofwin of Malourné and his wife Queen Muriel Witon, disengaged from two serious-faced men Reine would later know as Baron Âdweard Twynam and his son, Jason. The monarchs came straight for her uncle, ushering him off after friendly greetings passed between the families.
"There he is!" Edelard declared, pointing, and Felisien leaned over to look along his brother's arm. "Come on … I'll introduce you."
Both were off, forgetting their elder cousin. Only Felisien stopped halfway and glanced back. With surprise on his lean, rather pretty face, he swung his head with a smile, urging her to follow.
Reine just shook her head.
Felisien rolled his eyes. Prim as a peacock in his glistening long coat, he went after his brother, and Reine glanced about the room.
Not one other lady present was dressed in a split riding skirt over breeches and high polished boots. Oh, yes, her attire was made of satins and elven sheot'a, as fine and proper as any royal among her people. But it wasn't like theirs. Among the men, she saw a number of officers, some bearing arms, a sword or dagger—but not the women.
Not one wore a horse saber on her hip, like Reine, regardless that it hung from a belt gilded with silver rosettes. All these ladies in their floor-length gowns and robes left Reine feeling … foreign.
She would never let it show, but she didn't care to ride into this kind of wilderness. She tried tucking her saber a little farther behind her and then stopped. Why should she be embarrassed by who and what she was? She let the blade hang in plain sight.
Cousin Edelard had set in renewing his acquaintance with Prince Leäfrich Âreskynna, each dressed in their fine uniforms. They'd met before on exchanges between the nations' militaries. Felisien was pestering a young officer with his raffish banter. The younger dazzle-eyed sublieutenant looked almost as uncomfortable under such attention as Reine felt in the hall. Amid the men were three ladies. Reine had met the tallest briefly that morning.
Princess Âthelthryth Âreskynna, heir to Malourné's throne, stood close to her brother.
Reine knew the ways of court and how to deal with its society and ploys. But as much as the Âreskynna were hospitable in their aloof way, there had to be better and more interesting places to wait until dinner. She backed one step toward the doors and …
Âthelthryth turned her head on her long neck and stared straight at Reine with her family's deep aquamarine eyes. The princess's lithe form turned, sending a gentle sway through a white gauze overskirt atop her pastel sea green gown. She moved—flowed—around her brother toward the chamber hall's doors.
Reine quickly smiled, but under her breath she exhaled. "Oh, give me a horse!"
"Pardon, Highness?" a deep voice asked.
Startled, she glanced aside—then up—into the hard eyes of a Weardas by the doors.
Triple braids on his vestment marked him as an officer, though she didn't know enough to discern his rank. A tuft of dark beard stuck out upon his square jaw.
"Nothing," she answered, then cleared her throat, repeating with disinterest, "It is nothing."
He bowed with only his head.
Reine looked away—straight into the bodice of that sea green gown. She quickly raised her eyes, more and more, until they met the studying gaze of Âthelthryth.
"I've meant to ask," said the princess in an emotionless lilt, "do you know how to use that?"
Confusion stifled Reine until Âthelthryth's focus slowly lowered, and her attention fixed briefly on the saber's protruding hilt.
"Of course," Reine answered softly, on guard for some implied slight.
"Hopefully not on anyone here," returned Âthelthryth, "much as you might wish to cut yourself free of this event."
The barest empathetic smile broke Âthelthryth's tepid serenity.
"You would not be alone in such desire," she added, letting a brief but tired sigh escape. "Regardless of what station requires of us."
With that, Âthelthryth gently took Reine's arm and steered her into the crowded hall.
Lost in confusion and growing discomfort, Reine maintained dignified composure as many an eye turned their way, along with respectful nods at the passing of two ladies of royal blood.
"At least we might keep you from being hunted," Âthelthryth whispered. "Though I've heard you handle predators well enough."
Reine wasn't certain what to make of this. As direct heir to a throne, the princess would have had her share of suitors to fend off. Then they passed Prince Leäfrich's group.
He paused midsentence, though his companions didn't notice in their chatter. Leäfrich glanced at his sister, offering a slight nod of some covert agreement. Then he looked once toward the back of the long chamber.
A shadow of concern raced quickly across the tall prince's face.
Reine tried to follow his gaze. Wherever or whoever he had sought, there were too many people to pick out his target.
Around a cluster of self-amused debutantes, Reine spotted Uncle Jac with the king and queen of Malourné. He smiled at her, though it looked forced, veiling some unspoken worry. King Leofwin, hand-in-hand with Queen Muriel, looked to his daughter.