Katinka Dragomir's Story

Brynjar had his arms crossed over his chest. His fingers had been twitched for the sword at his hip and it was the only way to stifle the urge. He desperately wanted to draw his blade and fell as many of the Fjellborg people before he could take them down. He knew that if he wanted to succeed he couldn't give in to that temptation. As much as he wanted there blood now, he wanted to spill more than this meager offering who waited restlessly to watch the spectacle that would take place soon.

A sour grin came to his face. Truly this would be a show. Brynjar had not meat Ingrid until negotiations had taken place and he sprung this idea upon unsuspecting nations. He had heard plenty of her prowess upon the battle field with a weapon in her hand. He had heard that she was quick to resort to physical means to resolve her issues which was by far not at all what you'd expect from a princess of Byrdain.

His eyes darkened at the thought. He didn't doubt that she'd hold her own against him, but he was confident if they met in combat he would be the victor. The thought of running his blade down her skin and washing his hands were her blood brought a sick satisfaction to his ailing heart. He was so caught up in the image that he had missed Katinka approaching him with a disdainful look reflecting in her eyes until she spoke.

"Careful Katinka, you might be next in front of Patriarch Julius with your own berserker at your side." He sneered while the corner of his mouth remained sour. It sounded like a threat coming from him, and despite Brynjar making threats on a consistent basis to whomever he pleased, this one was empty.

Having Katinka married off and shipped to Fjellborg was not an idea that he liked to toy with. Katinka make be an insufferable flirt half the time, but Brynjar preferred her company the other half of the time. In fact, his feelings for Katinka were the closest he got to caring for anyone. It wasn't exactly care, but perhaps she was the one he held the least disdain for.

"Our people's blood runs over the land and my father insisted on entreating with these festering mongrels," he shook his head. "For peace." He spat the word as if it were poison from a viper. His eyes were hard as steel as one particular cluster of berserkers broke into rather raucous laugh despite the sanctity of the cathedral.

Brynjar's jaw stiffened and he turned his hard eyes from Katinka as Beorn approached. The steely look in his eyes increased as the shrewd little monk didn't show his proper respects before speaking. Brynjar was tempted to call the man out on his misstep to protocol and etiquette, but the mention of his father requesting his presence prevented him from making a snide remark.

It was time for the little bird to marry the wolf.

This thought caused a dark grin to spring to Brynjar's face. He felt part of his mood shift. Lelinus was perfect for this task. His younger brother would never forsake a duty he could fulfill. It was one thing he nearly admired about Lelinus. If there was something he could do that wasn't hindered by physical limitations, then he would fulfill the role or task.

"Come Katinka, let us watch the show." Brynjar extended his arm politely to Katinka before guiding them away from the shadowy protection of the pillars and towards the sanctuary that would unite Ingrid and Lelinus in the most holiest of matrimony.

Brynjar rolled his eyes at the thought. The day he took a wife would be laughable indeed. His current, and only, qualification be that she would be exceedingly fair to look upon. He was only going to use her for one purpose after all. Brynjar would not let the royal line die with him and refused to leave it up to Lelinus to secure an heir. Brynjar half wondered if Lelinus would even be able to produce any sort of offspring with his she-wolf. Any child out of this union would be an odd work of nature.

They had reached the front pew at this point and Brynjar released Katinka before moving to sit on the opposite side of his father just before the door opened to reveal Ingrid dressed in all the fine trappings of her leather glory. Brynjar wasn't shy in any way as he allowed his eyes to rake over her form and unusual bridal attire. He wasn't surprised that she had chosen to be married in such barbaric garb. He would've laughed if she had entered the place wearing a dress that laced all the way up the back.

This view was rather more pleasing to Brynjar and he couldn't help but appreciate her. She was a fierce warrior but before anything she was a woman. For a split moment Brynjar had the burning desire to be standing where Lelinus was simply so he would have the pleasure of deflowering such a fearsome creature. The sensation was fleeting, however, and he quickly dashed it away. At the end of the day this was not the sort of queen he wanted at his side.

A smirk came to his face as Lelinus extended his hand for Ingrid to take. It was plain for all to see. She could easily devour the little bird.

As Patriarch Julius began the ceremony, Brynjar allowed his mind to contemplate over his next move. The corner of his mouth twitched as his focus was not the present. When the festivities died the Fjellboran's would return to their harsh winter land. Ingrid would be left alone among strangers in a strange land. Brynjar would make sure she cracked, and if Lelinus managed to survive the she-wolf, he would make him crack too.

She wasn't like anything Lelinus had ever seen before. It had been easier to focus on the task at hand when they first met. Trade was to be hammered out if the Fjellborgans were to have any alternative to reaving and destruction. Wereguild had to be paid to satisfy the honor of the Byrdainians slain. He had been able to put her out of his mind until today, but now, as she stood before him, he could not help but marvel at her appearance. She was unlike any maiden he had ever met. She stood there defiantly, unbowed, but wary, like a wolf poised to strike if threatened and Artemesia help him, but she was still beautiful. Curves and muscles met and consummated one another as a noble face looked down upon him. He stood up straighter to meet her gaze.

He knew what everyone was thinking without having to analyze their facial expressions. They looked upon him like a condemned man. Well, that was not exactly new to him. He had struggled and fought against his own body to survive until this day. He doubted matrimony would be so taxing. In fact, he found himself curious about his new wife, Ingrid despite herself. Of all the fine knights, nobles, ladies clergy, and Northmen in this holy place, she was the most unique. He saw Brynjar smirking at him as though he was about to fall into a snake pit. He merely smirked back and whispered to her.

"Let us dance though our enemies fling their arrows."

Patriarch Julius coughed in impatience, but Lelinus merely smiled, motioning with his eyes over to his brother.

"Now then, Prince Lelinus. Do you accept the hand of Princess Brigid of Fjellborg?" Julius asked mildly, annoyance dripping from his voice.

"I do. Now, if only that concluded the ceremony," he quipped. Julius, for his part, ignored his flippancy. He had to give the Patriarch credit. He did not need any tome or scroll to instruct him as he spoke. He supposed the old man was entitled to a little bit of the pomp that laced his voice.

"There is a time for all things under the sight of God: a time to sow, a time to reap. A time mourn, a time to rejoice. A time to heal, a time to wound. A time for war, a time for peace. So it is that it is time for this man and woman come before God to be bound together through His Spirit by the benediction of Artemesia, Our Lady."

He motioned for Beorn to approach them and the young monk approached with a seed placed upon outstretched hands. Having seen this done so often before, Lelinus guided their hands to take the seed.

"This seed signifies new life which shall be nurtured through your marriage, both for your peoples and your children," Julius intoned earning quite a few smirks and stifled laughs that died as King Artos' mighty stare fell upon the perpetrators. The Patriarch himself look annoyed by this irrelevancy. A sycophant he may be, but he was clearly a priest.

"After their vows, together, husband and wife will plant a seed in God's good earth. The wife will give lifegiving water and the husband will shed his blood as a reminder to protect his wife and offspring. Only the husband will do this," he warned sternly. Lelinus inwardly sighed. Yes, this was not going to come off as a challenge to Fjellborgan at all. He glanced at the statue of Artemesia and prayed that something wouldn't happen.

"Lelinus Augustus of Byrdain. Do you take this woman as your wife before God?"

"I do," he vowed.

"Do you swear to take no mistress, to sire no bastard?"

"I swear."

"Do you swear to protect and care for her and your offspring in times fair and times grim? In sickness and in health?"

"I swear."

"Do you swear to meet her needs whatever they might be."

"I swear."

"Will she be as near to you as your own blood?"

"I swear it."

The Patriarch nodded in satisfaction and repeated the same vows to Ingrid, modifying the part about protection be about nurturing instead. From his place at the Patriarch's side, Beorn smiled encouragingly at him. At least he had one friend here.

"Let us dance though our enemies fling their arrows."

Ingrid looked at Lelinus. Perhaps there was more to him than a pretty face. "Flung arrows rarely land true," Ingrid replied, "I have nothing to fear."

Ingrid listened to the holy man as he spoke, letting Lelinus guide her hand forward. She looked down at the seed that was placed in their hands. Strange little custom, she thought. There was none of this sweet symbolism back home. A red sash was tied around the betrothed's hands to symbolise their bond to one another in the eyes of the Gods. None of this pomp around a tiny seed.

"This seed signifies new life which shall be nurtured through your marriage, both for your peoples and your children," the holy man said, much to the apparent comic joy of the nobility. Ingrid clenched her fist. If the Gods saw fit to grant her a child with this man, they would not be a child to be mocked. "After their vows, together, husband and wife will plant a seed in God's good earth. The wife will give lifegiving water and the husband will shed his blood as a reminder to protect his wife and offspring. Only the husband will do this." Ingrid suppressed the urge to raise an eyebrow at this declaration. Did they truly think their woman so incapable as to be unable to defend their family. Clearly they had never tried to come between a mother and her child. Not for the first time, she wished she wasn't being carted off to such a backwards land.

Ingrid stood silently as Lelinus made his vows to take her as his wife. Then the holy man turned to her, "Ingrid Jorvikdatter of Fjellborg. Do you take this man as your husband before God?"

Do I have a choice? "I do."

"Do you swear to take no lovers and mother no bastards?"

Ingrid bristled.I am not so dishonorable, whatever your people might think of mine, "I swear."

"Do you swear to nurture and care for him and your offspring in times fair and grim? In sickness and health?"

Her gaze flickered momentarily to Lelinus. It was more likely to be in sickness than in health that she was bound to him. It was quite clear to everyone gathered who would be doing the true protecting. "I swear."

"Do you swear to meet his needs whatever they might be."

By the Gods, this was ridiculous, had she not already sworn to care for him? "I swear."

"Will he be as near to you as your own blood?"

No one will be nearer to me than Ull and Tyr. "I swear it."

Ingrid let her gaze wander to her father's face. For the first time, it was unreadable. Did he feel shame? Pride? Did he still grieve for Ull? It was unspoken, but she knew if Ull still lived, she would not be marrying Lelinus. None of this would be happening had Ull lived. She would still be home, among her beserkers, perhaps marrying one of them some day. Instead some Godless man had taken Ull's life and now she was being thrown to the beasts to pacify them.

"Now, let you plant the seed of your marriage together, nurtured by God's good earth and the water and blood of your devotion," Patriarch Julius announced, not even he being able to find fault with Ingrid's words or manner. With a glance at his bride, Lelinus led her towards the jug of dirt and placed the seed within it. At last, he released her hand and held out his hand to the Patriarch who handed him a knife with a silver hilt. Without any hesitation, he sliced his palm open and allowed his blood to fall on to the seed and he waited for Ingrid to pour the water into the vase as well.

When they had repeated their respective tasks, Brother Beorn stepped forward to wrap his wound. He ignored the crowd. He did not care to see the superior looks on the faces of the fighting knights and warriors in the cathedral. At least Beorn didn't fuss over him. That was one of the reasons why he liked the herbalist. He didn't treat Lelinus like he was made of glass. When he took her hand again, Julius spoke again.

"Through the Spirit of God, I pronounce you husband and wife until death parts you. By the Father, Daughter, and Spirit, I bless you. Go in peace," Julius intoned as he strode out, followed by the more important clergy as the others busied themselves with clearing the alter.

"And now comes the march to the keep," Lelinus murmured.

***

The procession felt long and tiring to Lelinus, though, in truth, the Grand Cathedral was not far from the King's Keep. The pace was slow, however, and the crowds were eager to see the finely dressed nobility and the fierce foreigners that had been the stuff of nightmares for years on end. Banners flew high over in the wind and people pressed against the guards lining the streets. Some wanted to wish himself and his new bride. Others wanted spit at the northmen. Still others, mostly merchants, clambered to sell them anything from fertility elixirs to fine silks.

His father had been in his element, stopping every now and then to make conversation with a peasant or small group of peasants. His father was a different kind of king from his predecessors. People loved him as though he were the Father come to reign on earth. He had no doubt that the few able to touch him believed they would be blessed for the next year and a day.

For his part, Lelinus was almost glad when they had settled into the royal gardens where the wedding feast was to be held. Already, long tables were set up with enough food to satisfy the crowds below the King's Keep for a week. The banners of the great Houses of Byrdain fluttered in the breeze, including the banner of House Augustus: a crimson one adorned with a golden lion in the center and the white wings of victory in the center.

Unfortunately, tonight he and Ingrid would be in the seats of honor. With the shieldmaiden at his side and goblets beginning to flow with wine, he glanced at her curiously before his father stood to give a speech.

"Tonight, with this union, the conflict between Byrdain and Fjellborg may at last be relegated to the past. For too long, we have lost too many proud sons and daughters to fire and blood. May Artemesia bless our lands with abundant harvest and security for all time. And may She bless me with grandchildren."

The crowd laughed and he could hear the sound of a hundred conversations over wine and food. Lelinus eyed his own food and decided he was not hungry yet. Nonetheless, he took a bite of roast boar and sipped some wine to help it go down.

"I hope the day has not been too trying for you," he whispered to Ingrid. Silently, he searched for his brother. He doubted the day would end without him trying to make some kind of trouble.

Ingrid poured the water over the seed and stood back while Lelinus let his blood drop onto the dirt. Now they were bound to one another. This was the man the Gods had given to her to protect. Looking around the room, she saw the faces on the people gathered. His people looked at him like he had been thrown to wolves. In a sense, she supposed, he had. But wolves were not just mindless killers. They protected what was theirs, and, whether she had wanted him or not, Lelinus was now hers to defend. The knights looked too proud. Ingrid would happily challenge them if they dared do anything.

Ingrid felt Lelinus's hand in hers again. She looked down at their joined hands and up to the face of her husband. She clenched his hand for a moment before relaxing the grip. Whatever came, they were allies in a land where they apparently had few.

"Through the Spirit of God, I pronounce you husband and wife until death parts you. By the Father, Daughter, and Spirit, I bless you. Go in peace," the Holy Man said as he walked out, followed by other men Ingrid didn't know, nor cared to get to know.

"And now comes the march to the keep," Lelinus murmured.

The march to the keep meant there would be people. People always lined the streets when an important wedding happened. The marriage of one of the princes of the realm would be important. This would be the first time they saw her as well, their new princess. "Then let us march."

As they made their way through the town, Ingrid let her eyes flicker over the crowd. Many were simply curious. Others were less than impressed by their new royalty. Ingrid kept her head high as she followed Lelinus's lead to the keep. Did one of these people kill Ull? Ingrid pushed the thought from her mind. Somewhere behind her, among the procession, were Tyr and Jorvik. What she did notice was the love the people had for King Artos.

---

Ingrid sat beside Lelinus and the top table, in view of everyone in the room. Hard, cursory glances flickered over to her. What had Jorvik sold her in to? Ingrid took a drink from her goblet as King Artos stood.

"Tonight, with this union, the conflict between Byrdain and Fjellborg may at last be relegated to the past. For too long, we have lost too many proud sons and daughters to fire and blood. May Artemesia bless our lands with abundant harvest and security for all time. And may She bless me with grandchildren."

Grandchildren. Ingrid looked into the depths of her goblet. Children had been mentioned in the ceremony, but the night had seemed so far away then. Now it was that much closer. She would be expected to bed Lelinus and bear a child to unite their people. Would he even want to bed her? Or was this just a show? She took another drink and signaled for her goblet to be refilled. Ingrid picked at the food before her.

"I hope the day has not been too trying for you," Lelinus whispered to her.

Ingrid turned to look at him. "No, but it is rarely the day that is trying for the bride."

At her words Lelinus lifted his goblet up yet again, this time draining the goblet in record time. That was the elephant in the room, wasn't it? They were expected to consummate their marriage that night and if Lelinus knew his brother, the crown prince would insist on a bedding ceremony just to humiliate them both. It was another battle he needed to prepare himself for, he noted. After taking a bite of his meal he turned to face his wife.

"If you need to wait, then I will not mind. I confess that I'd be disappointed, but I am not the sort of man who would use force or honor to compel a maiden... Though, I doubt I'd be able to if I wanted to," he joked lightly. Yes, she was certainly different from any woman he had met before. She was beautiful in a fierce, untamed way, as though she had been been crafted by Artemesia Herself. Nor was he was not oblivious from the more lust-filled stares that had been directed her way throughout the day.

He turned his attention to the fine, noble guests his father was entertaining. They were still eating. Good. That meant that the dancing would not start for some time yet.

Brynjar found the ceremony itself to be extremely boring. It was the participants that he found his amusement in. It was certainly an odd pairing. If there had not been political motivation behind it than it was likely it would have never happened. Brynjar was sure that Lelinus would not have attracted himself a bride on his own. A woman did not want a man that couldn’t defend her.

Of course in this case, Ingrid would be the one defending and he was confident in thinking she had no issues with this. It was terribly ironic for these two to be wed and he watched the ceremony end feeling very satisfied with his hand in their situation. He was positive that this ill match would bring nothing but indifference and disgust.

The focus was solely upon the newly wed couple. The Byrdains now had a new princess. Most were fascinated by her as they exited into the streets and headed towards the wedding feast. None had seen a shieldmaiden before. He could see the awe and fear upon the peasant faces. He scoffed in disgust as their father kept stopping to greet the people. Brynjar had never understood this. These people owed their fealty to the crown. What use was it in stooping so low to speak with them?

He was quite relieved when they made it to the feast. Naturally the new couple was at the forefront of the festivities and sat in high back chairs. Brynjar was sitting a few seats down from them as both kings took their places next to the couple. He ate hungrily and drank heartily to get his fill. He had gone through several cups of wine at this point and was feeling a little fuzzy and warm.

He quickly grasped the young serving girl who had stepped forward to fill his cup again. She had a pretty enough face and even though her dress was plain he could see she had ample bosom. He pulled her close and her eyes went wide with fright.

“Perhaps you would like to help entertain me later,” he purred in her ear causing the girl to jump. “Surely you wouldn’t say no to spending a night with your future king.” Brynjar had a long line of conquests from his past. He was sure he had fathered several bastard children over the years but he did not care for them or their mothers. He delighted in the supple flesh of a woman, and when he had been satisfied and grown bored of her he would cast her aside. He did not care for them.

Brynjar got particularly bold when he had a fair amount to drink. He didn’t care that this was his brother’s wedding feast. He didn’t care that the young girl looked like a frightened doe about to be devoured by a bear. All he knew was that he did not want an empty bed that night.

He doubted Lelinus could survive such intimacies with his wolf bride. He wouldn’t even be surprised if they did not consummate their marriage that night. Brynjar decided that someone should at least partake in the joys of the flesh.

Unlike Patriarch Julius, who was seated at the king's table within earshot of the king himself, Beorn did not merit such an honor. As the herbalist and a lower ranked member of a monastic order Beorn stood to the side as the feast began, eyeing Lelinus every now and then to ensure that he was in good health. As his healer, it was his duty to be on hand and normally, he would be eating at the prince's side, but feasts such as these had their own special etiquette. A servant, no matter how valued, could not sit by a member of royalty's side, displacing more worthy guests. Later this night, he would have a place of honor beside the king's steward as the servants held their own feast consisting of the food and drink their betters were unable to finish off themselves.

Doubtless, His Grace would permit me and the other monks to hand out what remains to the poor, Beorn thought to himself before his gaze settled on Prince Brynjar by chance... Along with the poor servant girl that looked as though she was about to be devoured by a predator and she would not be far off with that fear. Beorn had delivered many of Brynjar's bastards after he cast those poor women aside. They faced condemnation from their peers and their children regarded with little more than pity at best. The lucky ones who found a husband willing to care for them and their children with no condemnation or judgment were as rare as Fjellborgan convert. A few disappeared from the city in the hopes of outrunning their shame. Others gave their children away to the Church to forget about them while still others never had the chance to raise their child before Artemesia called them home.

He looked to the Patriarch for guidance, but he was either too distracted by a conversation he was having with another courtier or he feared crossing his future king. Lelinus had not seen this yet, but he would soon. It would be best for them to avoid confrontation, he knew, but someone had to help the girl. With a murmured prayer beforehand, he approached Prince Brynjar and the girl.

"Please, my prince, you have had too much the drink," he said, remembering to bow this time, "Do not dishonor your father's servant or your future spouse."

Brynjar grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled it close. It smelled warm and of fresh bread which made him think she had been helping cook in the kitchen through the day in preparation of the feast. It was a good smell and he always enjoyed it a bit more when his whores smelled pleasant.

The poor girl was about ready to die from fright as well as embarrassment. Brynjar slid his hand down her back and gave her a good squeeze which elicited a frightened squeak from her much like a mouse. His eyes betrayed the hunger he felt and the girl wriggled under his touch.

Of course. He thought bitterly as Beorn approached. What did this worm want now?

Brynjar didn't have a very high opinion of the monks. He respected Patriarch Julius and knew there was value to the holy man's opinion. Beorn, on the other hand, was one fellow for which Brynjar greatly detested. He turned his attention from the girl, still keeping a firm hold on her, and stared the meek monk down with steely eyes.

"How much I choose to drink and who I decide to bed is none of your concern monk." He sneered, and as if to prove a point he squeezed the young lass's waist a little too tightly which caused her to gasp as pain flared under his touch. He took a gulp of the replenished wine in his goblet.

"You are in no place to judge or make suggestions Beorn. I am the crown prince, and you know not of the pleasures of the flesh." He narrowed his eyes. At least the worm had remembered to bow.

"I have no proof," Beorn told Katinka sadly. They were all feeling the death of the king, but he couldn't forget that King Artos was this great and beautiful noble lady's foster father. She probably knew him better than her own father, he realized. He looked into her eyes and continued.

"But there are a lot of people who would love to see the king dead. Not all of the nobility were content with his rule or the many decisions he made like making peace with the Fjellborgans. Some would see this as an opportunity to frame them to continue the war. And if the poison was undetectable by my arts, it would be something expensive and foreign to this part of the world. Or at least someone had to know how poisons are uncovered and treated in Byrdain."

He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, "I don't know who did it, but it was poison. And if I were a Northman, I wouldn't do it with the royal family here in our capital. Not unless I was okay with them being accused, executed, and the war begun once again."



Lelinus said nothing as Ingrid spoke to his brother before leaving the hall. He was impressed. He hadn't been expecting her to be able to restrain herself as the rest of the room murmured against her people. As he watched her leave, he felt a hearty slap at his back and he turned to see the jovial, large form of the Duke of Canut.

"She is a good on', lad. Under other circumstances, I'd envy you," the man greeted in his friendly manner, though his tone was somber. He looked over at the Patriarch and Brynjar. Though he had a reputation of not being the brightest lord of the bunch, Duke Aethwulf was not a fool and he was a good man.

"Better be wary of the Patriarch. He can't be trusted to talk your brother out of bad ideas," he murmured before grinning happily as Ingrid returned. Leo smiled slightly, taking her hand as he tried to convey with his eyes that Aethwulf was a friend before glancing at his brother, waiting for him to speak.

Beorn watched Katinka's expression as she processed his words. He knew he had gotten through to her. She was smart enough to understand the implications. He smiled at her and nodded, "I will do whatever I can to help. I much prefer to hide away from politics, but this is different. Whoever is behind the king's death isn't going to stop. The commoners always suffer from the blowback of a power play along with anyone among the nobility who is inconvenient."

His mind flashed to Lelinus and his new wife. In his heart, he knew that Lelinus definitely had nothing to do with this and that meant he was in danger. He loved his father and he wouldn't let this matter drop either. He frowned slightly in thought.

"But, how are we going to find out?"

The king warned her about his son, the one to whom she'd been purchased for. She was to be paid a salary, but she would be handmaiden to a crowned prince, one to whom his own father warned her about. He wanted someone that would tell him the truth and that was her. She won't bite her tongue. She was from a land where women could speak their minds and expected to be heard. Though the men mostly humored them...if they had the coin. Unfortunately Evangelina, and the rest of her family were nomads, they would literally sing for their supper. Evangelina, would dance. They worked hard for the small amount of coin they had, and while it was simple, it was happy life.

Until the illness took them. Evangelina managed to shake it, but her two young brothers, twins, barely old enough to see and her old father, and too weak from childbirth mother, weren't strong enough to shake it.

She hadn't even fully recovered, but Evangelina began moving again, taking her lonely songs, card reading and dancing on the road, their ashes coming along with her. Nomads didn't bury their dead, nomads don't call any single place home the world was their home so they would continue to travel. After while the sickness slowed her steps, she had to stop, and she stopped in the village just outside of the kingdom walls, making a small living reading cards, and singing songs, making bracelets and anything else she could do to keep herself alive.

She recovered, the sickness was left with the dead. Without a family, she decided to stay in the small village, tucked neatly behind the kingdom. Her life was rather uneventful until her foreign songs and bracelets caught the attention of the noble women that lived in the kingdom. After a while, she was met by the old King. He was a kind man, open minded and curious, and when he saw that she was not from this land, that she knew nothing of royal pretense and spoke to him as if he were any man on the street, with respect, but without entitlement. He offered her a position in the palace, wanting her to make a bracelet for his new daughter in law to pay respects to the new marriage and union of the nations. She was glad for that, but his offer for her to be the handmaiden to his son was not something she wanted. She did not want to babysit some spoil prince, who probably couldn't bathe himself without assistance, and she told him as much. The King had only laughed in reply. Saying that he needed someone like her. Someone to bring him down to earth. She wasn't sure she could refuse. It couldn't be that bad and besides, she would probably live much better then she was as a nomad or as a merchant. and the old King was kind so his son couldn't be so bad, right?


That was weeks ago, The king rode out back without her, giving her time to make her choice, and the bracelets, as well as legalize the agreement should she accept.
She was only a few hours away in a royal carriage when news came from the kingdom, telling them that the old king had died.

She dressed in black so that she would mourn as well, he was kind old man, but he seemed much stronger then he apparently was. She hoped it was of natural causes. A small part of her wondered if she brought the illness she had with her.

She made her way to the entrance, the parchment of her employment in hand, and the box of bracelets in the other and after a brief conversation with the heralds, who was told of her arrival days ago, went to alert the Brother Princes of her presence.

This was not a good way to start. If she was to understand, the crowned prince she was meant to serve would be king now.

"The same way one finds out anything at court: with patience and cunning." Were she not so focused on holding back tears, she may have smiled, then. "Although you may have some difficulty with the latter... and I, just so, with the first," she admitted, and somewhere behind all the mourning was a hint of amusement in those words. "Keep our eyes open and our ears to the ground."

"It would help to know what exactly the King was poisoned with. I saw him myself last night, just before he retired for the night, and he seemed perfectly healthy; whatever it was, if it was given to him at the celebration- which I imagine to be the case, as it would have been easiest- its early signs would have been merely tiredness, things that could have been hidden by the assumption that he was worn from dancing. Can you get ahold of any material, to research herbs and what have you from the south?" While her tone was level albeit somewhat distracted, her gaze was intense, hopeful.

She was regaining her confidence. This was what she was good at: tricks, information gathering, playing the angles. Her heart ached, but she had a goal now. Anyone who spent any time in the castle would know that what Lady Katinka wanted, she had a tendency to get. She had something on nearly everyone at court that she could use to her advantage in times like this. "People underestimate servants," she continued, although she was referring to those with high birth. "We go about our days as though they aren't there, conduct our business as if they haven't ears nor eyes. The maids know everything." She took a deep breath, dragging in determination and exhaling any self doubt.

"It's quite possible that someone doesn't realize what they've heard or seen is important," she paused to look over the herbalist, and decided she'd deal with all the gossip herself. Rumors were her stock-in-trade, but she doubted a holy man like Beorn could handle such scandalous work. On the up side, imagining the herbalist squirming at some of the less delicate whispers lifted her spirits some. The Lady started to turn away, satisfied that someone else was as suspicious of the circumstances as she. "Thank you, Brother Beorn."

"If that is your wish, then I know just the person to give the decree to," Lelinus told Evangeline. She was a brave and honorable person. Or she was a fool. He could not yet determine which. He could tell why his father would have liked her, but could she really talk any sense into his brother? He doubted it. He'd have to keep an eye on her. He suddenly felt tired.

"Patriarch Julius is bootlicker, but I think he was genuinely loyal to my father. Brynjar is sure to name him Chancellor and use his expertise at least until he learns how to run the realm himself. I will give the decree to him and he may be able to convince my brother to employ you. I can make no promises, however," he told her.

"I suggest you see, Brother Beorn. He is the Royal Healer and a friend. He can arrange for a place for you among the other servants for the night," he told her before smiling slightly, "And if my father thought as well as he obviously did of you, you are a lady."



"You're welcome, milady," the monk told her with a flushed smile, thankful that she had taken his words to heart. Hie mind began to race, "I will ask what servants I can. They might tell me things they would not feel comfortable revealing to someone of your station."

It was an unwritten rule among servants that you should never tell a noble what they wouldn't want to hear. There were exceptions, of course, but even the kindest member of the nobility held the power of life and death over them and their families. Thus, few ever risked upsetting them.

"I have some gold saved up. I can purchase scrolls and books that I cannot find in libraries of the palace or that of my order," he told her with a slight grin. There had to be a way to figure out just what killed the king. A poison used to kill a king had to have certain reputation among poisoners. Enough that the assassin would risk discovery in his attempt to kill the king.