Queen Tarwenna's Story

Queen Tarwenna stilled herself and ran her ring-laden fingers over the glass window pane. She was feeling out of sorts, even though this was a day of much-to-do in the Capitol. But every year when the Midsummer gathering arrived, the Queen knew something horrible was bound to happen. It always did, for she did not have enough fingers to count every anniversary of something awful. Midsummer was when her daughter, poor deformed Gemma Hope, had died so many years before. And Midsummer was when her father fell from the horses’s back, and when the stables caught fire, and when the peasants revolted, when the plague struck, and when a horrible heat parched the land. And now this summer would be remembered for when the King fell ill.

The sound of hooves on the cobbled courtyard brought Tarwenna to the present. She saw the carriage amble in, and its arrival in triggered a duty-bound numbness. She turned to the waiting lady beside her. “Summon the princes to the Great Hall. We are to greet our guests. Remember, make sure they are presentable this time!” She was referring to last Midsummer, when Davinweir pulled a prank and had his servants wheel him out in a bath tub, greeting the lords and ladies in nothing but soap suds.

Tarwenna sat at her throne and tapped her fingers impatiently as she waited for her sons to arrive. Davin, to her surprise, came in first and he was fully clothed. In fact, he looked entirely proper... until she spotted a flash of color on his head. There was a single purple flower, sitting above his brow, its stalk woven into the gold antlers of his crown. He bowed before her in greeting and she took the opportunity to snatch the flower.

“What is this? Ridiculous,” she hissed. She dropped the flower on the floor as if it were a piece of contagion and stepped upon it.

“Mother,” Davin looked up with large eyes, a sad smile on his lips. “That was an aster. It is a symbol of healing... for father.”

Tarwenna sneered at him, though she at once felt the guilt he was trying to place on her. It was a trick after all, for he knew she would take it from him. He looked for any and every opportunity to expose her for not loving the King.

---

Sir Sedwiff’s dread sat like a stone in his stomach. The royal palace loomed larger, and return was imminent. He rode with two knights and their squires, all of them wearing similar quilted gamebesons emblazoned with the royal crest. The other knights and squires were fond of talking and had been filling the air with their idle chat for hours. But the more they chattered, the more withdrawn Sedwiff became. He had been stuck with these men for months, and he had grown weary of them.

“Well, Falyn,” Sir Drumdere’s head jerked in his direction. “Everyone ‘round the kingdom’s coming to the palace today. Supposing you meet a Dorian... will the fur fly?”

“I’ll run them all through, naturally,” Sedwiff answered. He meant it as a joke, but his tone sounded entirely serious. The other knights looked at him questionably, and one of the squires chuckled nervously. “I jest, of course,” Sed muttered under his breath.

“No wonder they haven’t let you show your face at Midsummer before,” Sir Drumdere replied, semi-seriously.

Sedwiff said nothing, only set his jaw and looked forward. It was true, he had not been present at the Midsummer gathering since he was a little boy. It had become an unchallenged tradition for him to be sent away, or to be occupied by training while all of the Lords and Ladies assembled and the Tourneys were played. But he knew the reason for it. He was not supposed to be involved with either the Falyns or the Dorians. He was supposed to be a neutral entity, with the fragile truce laid uneasily on his shoulders. It was too explosive for him to be present when all of the fiefdoms were assembled. Too explosive... until this year. For the first time he had received an invitation to Midsummer Court.

And yet, Sed thought to himself. How am I supposed to be neutral, when everyone treats me as a Falyn? When everyone assumes I am just like my father and it is part of my blood to hate Dorians? He heard it so much that he had even begun to believe it himself.

They came nearer to the castle gates, and Sedwiff pulled his steed Dafferdill to a halt to consult with the other knights. “It is early in the day, and what good would it do to languish in the palace?... Methinks the Prince would appreciate some extra patrolling of his forest.” Sed did not relish doing the prince’s bidding, but was more eager to be free of the confines of court. The other knights agreed to patrol, for the reward was great for any of the King’s men who detected illegal poaching of the royal deer. And with all the newcomers to the Capitol, violators would sure to be found.

And so the party veered north of the palace and rode at leisure through the forest. The deer were plentiful, although they did find one’s carcass. Upon closer inspection they saw that it was death by wolf, and not poacher.

“Sir Sed, have you ever caught a poacher before?” one of the younger squires asked, a boy of fifteen.

“Yes,” Sed answered, though he tried not to betray in his voice that the experience pained him. Before he could elaborate, however, he turned the corner of a large tree and urged Dafferdill to a crisp stop. A meadow was in sight and he could see figures gathered. They were a distance away, for they were all very small and blurry. But he could see three stalwart men on short, broad ponies... and a little ahead of them a lady on a white horse. There was a flurry of motion, as a large bird unfurled its wings. Sed squinted, for he was a touch near-sighted.

“What makes you of this scene?” Drumdere was at Sed’s shoulder, asking him in a tense whisper. “If they are up to poaching, we best wait a bit and catch them in the act--”

“And sacrifice a deer? Davin would not have it,” Sed objected. Thinking of the Stag Prince, he reached into his saddlebag. In it was a gift that he was to deliver to the Prince, from a barbarian tribe in the West. It was an unusual helm, for it was decorated with a large set of antlers. Sed donned it and it covered most of his face. “This will keep them from hunting. Let them think I am the Stag Prince himself.”

With most of his face covered by the great antler helm, he spurred Dafferdil forward, away from the shelter of the trees. The other knights hung back, looking at him in wonder and a bit of dismay. They would not get their reward if they prevented poaching before it happened!

Sed was still a good distance away from the party of strangers, but he was standing on the edge of the meadow and in plain sight. He sat calmly on his horse.

“Indeed, though I fear they would hardly make for much sport cousin. One would find more of a challenge in leading sheep to the butcher. ” Amara replied to Richard’s comment as he and Sirs John and Alteric road up beside her on their ponies, and indeed, the deer still had not fled, though they did send them curious looks as they paused in their grazing. She had expected someone would be sent to fetch her, though she had hoped it might be someone a bit slower in their skill of tracking. Sadly, as it was, it seemed her morning ride was at an end, and there really was no point delaying the inevitable and letting her uncle stew any longer, he was bound to be a trial to deal with as it was without testing his patience further.

Amara was about to turn her horse around and resign herself to her fate when suddenly another figure appeared in the meadow. He was too far away to make out his features, though she did notice his strange looking helm that was adorned with very regal looking antlers, as well as the unmistakable crest of the crown on his tunic. Was this then the infamous stag prince himself then, come to watch over his deer personally? A rather amusing image of a prince guarding and herding his prized deer around a field brought a smile to her lips as she sent a slightly mischievous look toward Richard. Perhaps her morning ride was not over just yet then, and the thought filled her with a rarely genuine sense of playfulness.

“It would appear we have company cousin, it would be rude to leave without introduction.” Amara said quickly before gently nudging the sides of her horse, and taking off across the meadow toward, presumably, the stag Prince. This time, she noted with some satisfaction, the deer did scatter, though only to the edge, and they were quick to slowly move back in once she’d passed. “Good ‘morrow my Lord, what remarkably complacent deer you have here!” Amara greeted with a smile once she was a comfortable four feet away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It is not yet noon, must there already be squabbling amongst us?” Prince Jonquael asked tiredly as he entered the great hall, impeccably groomed as always as he’d been summoned. He was growing weary of these displays, as they were both unseemly and wholly unnecessary in his opinion. He’d long ago learned to accept his mother’s coldness, it was simply part of who she was to him, but her especially vile behavior toward Davin was something that had always confused and bothered him. With father ill, much of the preparation for this year’s midsummer’s festivities and matters of state had fallen to him, as well as the role of tempering his mother’s behavior toward Davin. It had also left him with a shorter patience than usual, so he feared he was a poor substitute for the king regarding that particular matter.

Servants were milling about. Trunks were removed from the carriage and disappeared into the castle for rooms unknown to Ellyn. Her eyes were too busy looking at the structure before her. Stone, cold and solid but majestic and inspiring. She noticed little details the masons had put in. Symbols, faces or designs in the beautiful stone work. She could only imagine what the inside of the castle looked like.

Her husband held out his hand for her to take. “Come now dove, I know it is too much for you but we must have introductions.” Armand offered his wife a sympathetic smile, mistaking her quiet look of awe for distress.

Hazel orbs looked at the man, a slender hand was placed in his and the soft swish of long brown hair as she bowed her head to him in acceptance. Ellyn would not argue, would not utter a word against what he wished. He was being kind, assuming she was too overcome with all the travelling and such. She would not make him look a fool by uttering otherwise.

Armand smiled a little bigger. He was proud of his lovely wife, her behaviour and demeanour was always impeccable. He was confident that his first appearance at court, representing his household would go well. Armand was comfortable and confident as they followed the man into the castle doors.

Ellyn walked, quiet grace as her green dress swished about her feet. Looking straight ahead her eyes did try and take in as much as possible as they passed into castle proper. Here too there were details in the stonework, lovely tapestries and other adornments fitting of the castle in the heart of a kingdom.

They walked, following the page to a set of doors. These were opened for them, allowing them to enter the great hall. Ellyn could see three figures on the far end of the room. The royal family. She knew of them, all did but she had never seen them in person.

Armand strode forward, leading his wife gently with him. Ellyn looked straight ahead but did her best to not make any prolonged eye contact with the figures ahead of her.

“Queen Tarwenna, Prince Jonquael and Prince Davinweir.” Ellyn mentally named them. There was no one else. The king was ill, everyone knew that. She was relieved now, she would not embarrass Armand by not remembering names. There would be many introductions in the coming days and with tensions high it would be a great disaster if she happened to slip up on a name or their relation others. Falyn or Dorian, friends or enemies...these were things Ellyn needed to be aware to ensure Armand was represented well. One slip and there could be blood.

“Lord and Lady Armand de Guilayne.”

Armand released her hand, bowing to his Queen and Princes. Ellyn curtseyed deeply, green dress pooling around her. Her head dipped down, her eyes on the floor.

She waited there, waiting the exact number of breaths that was fitting before slowly straightening. Beside her, Armand was smiling slightly. He was happy to be here, that much was clear.

Ellyn waited now. They would be welcomed and eventually dismissed. Her hands were folded against the front of her dress. She looked over the royal family. There was movement around her. Ladies in waiting, servants waiting patiently but Ellyn paid them no mind.

The queen, still beautiful after everything she had been through projected a grace and regalness that Ellyn admired. Everyone knew the stories of miscarriages, the death of a child. Ellyn admired the woman.

Her gaze drifted to the younger prince. Around her age from what Ellyn could tell, Davinweir carried the sadness of a man ten years his senior in his eyes. Ellyn knew the stories of the woman he had been courting who was murdered, of Davinweir executing the man and now with his father ill, the favourite son bore the majority of the grief. Part of her felt bad for the man but she knew from the conversations that went on in Armand’s hall that the stag prince was not well liked in all circles for his decisions.

Ellyn’s attention turned to the older of the brother’s. In contrast to his brother’s blonde curls, Jonquael’s almost red hair was cut short. Dark eyes made Ellyn pause. She found herself staring into their darkness. She cast her own eyes down, a slight blush stained her cheek. She had not meant to meet his eyes, she had simply been looking the men over, putting a name to a face.

Ellyn hoped Jonquael would not notice. It had been inappropriate of her. A slight shame washed over her. Raising her gaze to respectable level, Ellyn waited. A few long, stray curls fell over her shoulder and Ellyn made no more to fix them. She stood perfectly still. Armand, beside her was still smiling.

It was late in the day, and the royal family had been greeting their guests for hours. Davinweir had been very wry and dismissive, leaving it to his mother and brother to make their subjects feel welcome. One knight whom they met had been so displeased with the Stag Prince as to call him ‘loathsome’ to his face. That unwise knight was now bidding his time in the dungeon.

When the Lord de Guilayne and his lady arrived, Davin looked blankly at them. He hardly cared for them. Lord Armand’s smile repulsed him. And Davin had been so depressed, that he hardly took any interest in women. They displeased him. All women seemed alike, and he could even say that he hated them. They either reminded him of his mother--and his mother was the Devil incarnate--or they reminded him of his dead beloved Lissa. And he could not bear thinking of her.

Lady Ellyn reminded him of the latter. As he looked upon her, he became very upset. The way she seemed like a lost animal, and how she appeared to go about the world and let things happen to her, it made him very depressed. The hair that fell upon her shoulder was the tipping point. He made an audible groan and turned away. He spotted his favorite bloodhound nearby and he whistled him over. He lavished his attention on the droopy dog and ignored the Lord and Lady standing before him.

Tarwenna was at the end of her patience with Davin. It seemed every day that she would send up a prayer to the heavens, wishing that someone would assassinate him. She thought that the disgruntled knight from earlier might have done it, but with him in the dungeon she mourned for an opportunity lost. But while Davin was still living and making an ass of himself, the best she could do in public was ignore him.

“My Lord and Lady de Guilayne, I am so pleased that you have joined us for the Midsummer festivities. Your presence fills me with gratitude, and I welcome you to our home.” Queen Tarwenna spoke with extra fondness, to cover up for Davin’s rudeness. She almost sounded gasping, as if she were on the edge of hysterics, so happy she was to meet them.

In truth, she did not care much at all for Lord Armand, but there was something about his young wife that called to her. She had the feeling that Lady Ellyn was too good for her husband, and was in sore need of someone to help her access some independence. Every once in a while, Tarwenna took a young lady under her wing, and she had turned the meekest of maidens into emancipated and powerful ladies of court. Tarwenna did not know if Ellyn could be one of these ladies, but she was interested in her at least.

“Lady Ellyn,” Tarwenna spoke to her kindly. “I hope you will spend time with my ladies and I during your stay. Tomorrow morning we play Ground Billiards in my garden. It is one of my very favorite amusements. Jubery, hand the lady an invitation.” She gestured to the manservant that waited on her. He stepped crisply to Ellyn and bowed before her, proffering a neatly rolled piece of parchment. Inside it read:

Her Majesty requests your attendance in a game of Ground Billiards
Beginning at Half-Way Terce
In Her Majesty’s garden courtyard

Ellyn heard the groan, her eyes turning to the younger of the two men. Davinweir appeared annoyed or at least bored with their presence. The sharp whistle hurt her ears but she dared not react. The dogs soft padding filled the somewhat awkward brief silence. If Armand noticed or thought anything of the behaviour he said nothing.

Ellyn looked to the queen. It was clear the woman was not happy with her son. Ellyn could see the signs of patience worn very, very thin. Armand beside her seemed completely unaware of the unspoken tension in the room.

The queen spoke up, welcoming the couple and Ellyn could hear the almost desperation in her voice. She was doing an admirable job of covering the prince's rude behaviour with her speech, even as Davin lavished the hound with affection.

Armand, of course still noticed nothing odd about the overly complimentary way the queen was speaking to such a minor noble. His chest puffed up just a little. Ellyn remained the same, hands folded and back straight.

Her heart stopped however as the queen spoke directly to her. She smiled graciously. The queen's tone was kind and Ellyn knew it was a great honour to be invited to join the queen and her ladies. She was slightly puzzled as there was no reason for the queen to over her the invitation but it did not stop the flutter of excitement that occurred in her stomach.

As the servant stepped forward, offering Ellyn the rolled parchment Armand reached across her body to neatly pluck it from his hand. Ellyn did not move, made no motion to take it. Armand unbound the neat little roll and scanned the perfectly written words.

“You do my wife a great honour, your majesty. She will of course attend tomorrow morning.” Armand nodded his thanks to the queen.

Ellyn curtsied again in thanks. She would have liked to voice her thanks but she would not speak, not when Armand had already done so. She was happy he had not turned down the offer, thinking it would be too much for her. He had to know that turning the invitation down would have been a grave error.

As Ellyn straightened Armand glanced over at her. His smile had broaden a little. She did not turn to look at him, keeping her eyes forward but she knew he was looking proudly at her. Part of her wished he was cruel to her so that she could at least hate him for his behaviour. Ellyn could not though, she was simply doing her duty as his wife it was a testament to her upbringing that he could be so proud.

Armand looked back at the royals. All that was left was for them to be dismissed from the great hall and he would escort his wife to her rest before searching out some of the other men to converse with. Perhaps a gentleman's game or a drink before he, himself turned in.

Ellyn felt relief knowing the introductions and welcomes were almost completed. She was content knowing that faux pas was overlooked by Prince Jonquael, perhaps not even noticed. That she had won some sort approval from the queen and that their time here was beginning on good footing.

Davin’s behavior was beginning to grate on Jon’s nerves. The crown prince had never expected much from his younger brother in regards to courtly courtesy and manner, but the outright disrespect he was showing their Lords was both unacceptable and foolish. It took more than a little restraint for Jon not to smack his brother upside the head right there, but he could not afford to show such a display. The royal family, now more than ever, needed to present a united and impressive front. However indifferent Davin seemed to be acting toward this need, such a confrontation would need to be done in private. His mother at least seemed to be in fine form today, which was both reassuring for the current situation, and a bit daunting for the future. When his father died, who would really hold the power at court? His father was as well liked and politically popular as his mother, and it was no secret that Davin, though at times outgoing and endearing, continued to do himself no favors with their Lords or the common people. Jon held no illusions about himself either, he was courteous and did his duty toward his people, but he had never been able to inspire the kind of loyalty and adoration either of his parents had. What Jon needed was a wife, a necessity that quite frankly terrified him. He had never been comfortable around women, all of which had seemed to return the sentiment, finding him quite stuffy in comparison to his blond brother. The only women who ever seemed to like Jon were the brothel wenches, and even then it was the coin they liked, not him.

“You are of course quite welcome my Lord Armand. The company of that and your Lady is of great value to us, and we look forward with great anticipation to see you at the feast tonight.” Jon replied graciously as always, dismissing the Lord and Lady Guilayne from the hall. The procession of Lords continued, and Jon began to notice with a bit of dismay, that he was not the only one to think he was in need of a wife. It was by no means uncommon for the Lords of Anglia to bring forth their daughters to Midsummer, but he could never quite remember a year where there were so many, and so finely dressed. The Lady Lyanne Banifor of Horn Bay was particularly fetching with her long pale blonde hair done up and wearing a sky blue dress that complimented her eyes, but there was an air about her that almost reminded him of his mother that put him off immediately. Davin however, seemed to take no mind in the maidens, and simply continued to lavish attention onto his dog, as if he found the hound infinitely more interesting.

Jon had begun to grow bored himself, though he continued to give his Lords due courtesy. It was not until the banners of House Dorian, with its striking purple field, entered the hall that Jon regain his full attention and focus.

“Entering Lord Lyle Dorian, Lord of Branenhold and High Lord of the North! In accompaniment, the Lady Amara Dorian, his niece and heir.” The Harold called out as two figures clad in Dorian purple strode into the hall. The knights and lower Lords of the north would follow the Dorians, as was tradition, though this encounter was something he had been anxiously awaiting since his father had announced the summons this spring.

“My Lord Lyle, Lady Armara, I welcome you to my father’s hall.” The lady Amara was quite a fair woman to look upon, though it was her eyes that really made her memorable. He couldn’t quite help a glace over toward Sedwiff, who had long since entered the hall, to gage his reaction to their entrance.

Sedwiff fumed where he stood in the Great Hall, on the sidelines with the other royal knights. And it was Prince Davinweir who put him in such a sour state. He still held that cursed antler helm. He had presented it to the prince, who had sneered at it and plainly expressed his distaste. “It suits you better, Seddie,” he had said in his spoilt nasally voice. “I order you to keep it, and wear in the tourney. And don’t you dare put it away-- I want you to have it whenever you are within the Great Hall, so everyone knows you serve the Stag Prince.”

To add insult, Davin brought up the Dorians. “And Seddie, do not fear for when the Dorians arrive. I will protect you.” And he had looked at Sedwiff with such saccharine sincerity in his puppy brown eyes, as if he were a true friend. That had rubbed Sedwiff such the wrong way, even more than the order to keep the stag helm.

His welcome from the Queen was far more cordial, though not without her giving him an order as well. He was to accompany her little niece, the Maiden Melevine, who was new to court. And while he stood with her in the hall, she had chatted his ear off in her high-pitched buzz:

“My goodness Sir Sedwiff, you are so fortunate to regularly eat the fare here in the Capitol. The roast pheasant I had for my midday meal, was it ever fresh and the spices...! There was at least a dozen that I tasted, and I asked the lady next to me where they originated, and she told me all of them from exotic places like the Isthal Empire and the Eastern Islands. She told me, just you wait till the grand feast tonight, for she heard that it would involve seven kinds of meats, and it would be displayed with the animals skins stuffed and posed in a grand scene... and the spiced wine, she said, is to die for!”

And she went on and on. After a few minutes, he stopped listening to what she said altogether, and issued the occasional nod and grunt of agreement. He stood with Melevine on one arm, and the antler helm in the other, and really wished he was elsewhere.

And then, the house of Dorian made its entrance. Sedwiff took in the sight of Lord Lyle, and then a familiar dark-haired woman who looked divine in her purple gown. Melevine gasped as she stood beside him.

“My word, the Lady Amara is beautiful...!” she whispered loudly, and then she remembered who she was with and she blushed. “Oh, forgive me, Sir Sedwiff. You must despise her. She is a... erhm...” She was uncomfortable even saying the word around him. But he said nothing.

Queen Tarwenna followed after her son in greeting the Dorians. She spread her arm out magnanimously to include all the Dorians. “Indeed, Lord Lyle and Lady Amara, your presence is celebrated at our court. Lord Lyle, it pleases me how you have ruled your holdings, in great peace and prosperity.” She flicked her hazel eyes towards the lovely Lady Amara, who interested her more than Lyle. “And Lady Amara, you are are a fine treasure to behold, as sparkling as the gems mined in your Candace mountains. I trust you will join the company of my ladies and I during your stay.” And she gestured for her manservant to hand Amara an invitation to her ground billiards game.

Prince Davinweir was last to give his welcome, and this he did after an uncomfortable pause. “The Stag Prince greets House Dorian,” he said simply and loftily. He gave them his most charming smile, although it was not without a hint of derision.

If Amara was feeling a bit nervous as she entered the hall, she hid it quite well. Even as her mind screamed for focus, Amara could not help the urge for a quick glance into the crowd. What she saw did not please her. She only allowed herself a glance, but it was enough to paint a clear picture in her mind. Sir Sedwiff was indeed amongst the knights in the crowd, and held a lady of noticeable beauty on his arm whilst staring quite broodily at herself and the Dorian party. Why the opinion of Sir Sedwiff Falyn should matter to her was a mystery, well perhaps not quite so mysterious, but irrelevant all the same. She had more pressing matters to keep her mind occupied than a handsome knight who quite clearly wanted nothing to do with her. After all, he had sounded quite aggrieved when she’d simply requested his presence and pleasant conversation. Perhaps he did not wish to be seen cavorting with her in front of his southern Lady, she thought moodily. Later, she would perhaps blame that deflation of her mood for the gall she dared to show.

Prince Jon was polite in his greeting, though not overly familiar. Which was good, as Amara had never been overly fond of pretention. The Queen’s welcome was more eloquent by far, and the invitation was a clear sign of acceptance for a Lady of her station. Then she waited for Prince Davin’s welcome, as it would be rude to reply before all of the royals had extended their greetings. The wait was uncomfortable to say the least, as the younger prince had looked particularly disinterested when they’d entered the hall to begin with. She had almost begun to think he would ignore them entirely, when he haughtily granted them a short greeting and smile that, while wide, came off more mocking to Amara than genuine. Well she had been made the fool too much this day for her liking, and she was in no mood to be mocked now by a palace brat who seemed to have trouble with simple court courtesy.

“I thank you your Highness.” Lyle replied politely, though it was plain to see he was annoyed by Davin’s greeting as well.

“Indeed, well met Stag Prince. It is clear you live up to your reputation.” Amara replied with a small derisive smile of her own, leaving the question of whether said reputation was good or bad hanging in the air. Then with a small flip of her hair, she politely, though clearly, dismissed the Stag Prince entirely in favor of the queen.

“Your Grace pays me a great compliment. Coming from a woman of such beauty and character, it means the world. I of course hold the opportunity to be in your company with great honor and anticipation.” Amara replied gracefully to the queen as she accepted the invitation handed to her.

Prince Davinweir appeared to jolt awake when he heard Lady Amara’s reply. Now the lady truly had his attention, for no one gave him a backhanded compliment without his notice. In fact, he mentally sifted every word that was said to him, looking for any note of condescension. Though not as blatant as the earlier knight who called him a name, this Lady was dancing on the edge of his tolerance. The flip of her hair was the last straw, and he was officially insulted.

A smile broke on Sedwiff’s face. How rewarding it was, to see this lady who already impressed him that day, deliver such a fine phrase to Prince Davin. How richly the prince deserved it, too. And the lady was cunning, as well, for before she could be punished by him, she moved on to lavish compliments on the Queen. That was a technique that Sedwiff himself had perfected. For if there was one way to gain immunity from Davin, it was to butter up to the mother who loathed him.

Davin had calmed from his initial flare of anger, and regarded Amara now instead with cool interest. For though she had insulted him, he found her more tantalizing than any lady he had seen for months. He saw Amara accept the silly invitation from his mother, and he snapped for his own manservant.

“Lady Amara,” he spoke up after she complimented his mother, which burned his ears to hear. “It appears you have made an impression on my mother, and myself as well. Perhaps you will learn more about my reputation, and just how much I live up to it. I do hope you feel welcome here in the Capitol, and of course you must join me and my circle.” His smile was more genuine, though a touch mischievous.

His manservant handed Lady Amara another invitation, and this was for the Stag Prince’s Masquerade-- the Feast of the White Stag, a most notorious event. It was the largest party that Prince Davinweir held, and its buffonery and debauchery was brought to a new level each year, and it was traditionally held on the meadow where his prized deer congregated. Most respectable ladies would not be found there, and so Davin did insult to Amara to invite her.

Jon had barely suppressed a snort when the Lady Amara spoke, and quite deliberately and cleverly delivered a punishing veiled remark to his brother. He quite frankly deserved it, but for her sake Jon attempted to hide his amusement. Davin enjoyed making those around him the fool, but he did not like to be mocked himself. Then Davin gave her an invitation of his own, and Jon could have throttled him. House Dorian was a family they wished to strengthen loyalties with, and inviting her to a party that named her a soiled dove, or would if she were to attend alone, was hardly the way to go about it.

Amara herself was caught quite off guard by the invitation, and her eyes narrowed slightly at the younger prince in question. He was certainly more alert now, and his smile no longer held the mocking note that had made her own temper flare in the first place, but she was not quite the ignorant mountain maid her uncle so encouraged her to play. Tales of the Stag Prince’s parties were quite notorious, even in the north. His circle of course, tended to be rowdy young Lords, and the ladies who attended were not of high birth to put it politely. But to refuse an invitation from a royal, any royal, could be social suicide of its own kind. The royal in question and those of their circle could very well shun her, or worse begin scathing talk that could do damage to her reputation or prospects. If that were to happen, there was no telling what Lyle might do. She was well and truly cornered, so she went for her best option.

“I fear your highness leaves me with little option but to accept.” Amara replied lightly, attempting a friendlier tone despite feeling none too friendly towards the Stag Prince. If he wished to play games, she would simply have to play them too.

“I would of course, also request an escort to defend my virtue if need be. I have no talent with brandishing swords myself, they’re quite heavy you see, so I fear it’s become a bit of a necessity. Your highness of course understands.” Amara replied with a smile she successfully stopped with some effort from being cheeky.

Davinweir’s face grew red. Lady Amara was certainly riling him up, what with her second disguised insult. Did she question his prowess in combat? He was sore that his reputation with a sword truly was not the best--but he would never allow anyone to speak of it in his presence. Not without punishment.

“My Lady, of course you may have an escort,” he granted with seeming benevolence. “You may choose from any of our royal knights...” He waved his hand carelessly in the direction of his knights standing attention. Most all of these knights looked upon Lady Amara with a degree of lust in his eyes. Sir Sedwiff shifted where he stood, and regarded Amara with a bit more sympathy than lust--for he knew how cruel Davin could be, and Amara had the misfortune of getting off to a bad start with him.

Queen Tarwenna brought the butt of her royal staff down onto the stone dais. The resounding clang silenced all. She had had enough of Davin’s inappropriate use of the court dialogue. She was appalled that he had invited a proper lady to his unseemly festival. She would have to find some way to soften that blow to Lady Amara’s dignity, but such had to be done in private.

“I fear the young folk have forgotten the proper decorum of court,” she disguised her displeasure in a laugh and a gently chiding smile. “Whom I want to hear from is Lord Lyle.” The jewels on her fingers sparkled as she gestured towards Lord Lyle. “As you know, my respected Lord, this Midsummer is unlike the others in recent years. There is something of great import that we must address.” She looked at the entirety of House Dorian for a moment, and her face became stern. And here, finally, they would have to bring up the elephant in the room.

“House Falyn will be attending court this year, as you well know. The Crown expects that the two families can be at peace while seated at the same table. Lord Lyle, what is your position towards the Falyn clan? If you can not swear to regard them with peace, then you and your kin may pack away your regalia and leave.”

Amara was glad to have her request for an escort granted, though she was somewhat nervous about the knights the Prince had gestured to. She had been hoping to have her cousin Richard be the one to escort her, as there were few knights, whether northern or southern, who could compete with Richard’s fierceness. His eagle alone would well keep any unwanted hands away, and the thought of perhaps seeing Prince Davin squirm at the sight of the magnificent bird was a rather delightful one she was sure Richard would share. She risked another glace at the knights off to the side, and was further dismayed by the heated looks sent her way. Protectors indeed, but who was going to be there to protect her from them? Sir Sedwiff was the only one who did not send her such a look, which she could have kicked herself for feeling disappointed about. How ironic that the one man to have caught her eye in the room likely wanted nothing to do with her. And that should be a mutual feeling, Amara reminded herself miserably.

The clang of a staff, and the gentle reprimand by the Queen soon brought Amara back to the here and now, and she bowed her head demurely to the matriarch as was polite. Lyle cleared his throat before he replied to the Queen’s question. Lyle’s eyes hardened slightly, though his form remained relaxed.

“My Queen, though I cannot claim I am willing to embrace an Falyn as my friend, I hold to the King’s peace and mean no Falyn who does the same any harm. If strife is to continue between our families, a Dorian blade will not be the cause. You have my word of honor as the Lord of Branenhold.”

Queen Tarwenna folded her hands in her lap and considered Lord Lyle’s answer very carefully. She looked at her sons, and then she cast her glance at Sedwiff. It was almost frightening how much he looked like his father. And sometimes she could catch the flicker of one of Marcus’s expressions lurking behind Sedwiff’s eyes. Even though she had spent much effort in teaching him to not be like his notorious sire. But to present a young looking Marcus to the Dorians, that would be a true test of Lord Lyle’s tolerance.

“Then you shall meet your first Falyn at court, Lord Lyle,” she announced. She at once had Sedwiff’s attention. Maiden Melevine dropped his arm and even was so kind as to hold the antler helm for him. He thanked her and stepped away from the line of knights. His feet just barely touched the edge of the royal crest, which was painted on the floor and equidistant from the royals and the Dorians. It was a moment that truly tested his composure, to stand as a lone entity in front of the assembled Dorians. His hand was tempted to rest on the hilt of his sword, in the manner that he usually stood, but he knew that would be a mistake. He kept his hands at his side, so it could be seen that they were free of weapons.

“I present Lord Marcus’s eldest son, Sir Sedwiff Falyn,” Queen Tarwenna introduced solemnly. She said Marcus’s name with a certain harshness, as if it tasted foul on her tongue. But her eyes softened with a great fondness for his son,.

Sedwiff bowed crispy. “Lord Lyle, it is an honor.” He then took a step towards Lord Lyle’s niece. He did not know it, but he felt that their prior meeting in the forest was a secret, and it was hard for him to suppress a smile. “Lady Amara. If I may...?” He bowed before her and held out a hand for her own, wondering if she might allow him to kiss it, or if such an act would cause a riot in the court.

Internally, Lord Marcus seethed at the sight of Sedwiff Falyn, though he held his composure well and did not betray his growing foul mood. Sedwiff’s resemblance to a younger version of his father was more than passing, in fact, it was about as striking as his niece’s was to her own mother. As the Falyn boy stepped closer to Amara, Lyle could almost swear he was looking back through time, the two of them together again. If not for Amara's eyes of course, those were Cam’s. And how loathsome it was that Cameron’s part of this picture should be so small, he who was the best of them, the most giving, and the one who’d cared for them both only to be repaid with scorn and betrayal. He would never be able to forgive either of them for what they’d done to Cameron, never! But of course that would be an unwise sentiment to express at this time. He’d been silent too long, Lyle could feel it, but Amara (Bless her for having Cameron’s impeccable sense of timing!) stepped in to divert attention as she’d been trained so well to do. There were days when he cursed how she’d inherited Alya’s haunting beauty, but days like these he praised all the Ishtalli gods in order for her ability to command an audience with her mere presence.

Before her uncle could do something he (And by extension she, as Amara was sure to be treated to another one of her uncle’s drunken displays should this audience go badly.) would later regret, Amara took a graceful answering step forward to match Sedwiff’s own and carefully extended her hand to Sedwiff’s proffered one. Up close he was even more handsome than before she thought briefly, before reminding herself with a pang that before her was a man who was in all likelihood forced to courtesy towards herself and her kin. “If that is your wish Sir, I have no complaint, but if you find the task too distasteful you need not force yourself for my sake.” Amara replied softly and without hostility, offering him and easy way out if he so desired. She did not wish to force him to a display he would rather avoid, especially in front of his Lady who now held his helm while watching from the crowd.

“Distasteful?” Sedwiff could not help but say aloud, for the Lady’s disclaimer surprised him. He had kissed many ladies’ hands, and none had given him a way to back out of it. Of course, Lady Amara was different than most ladies, but it still stunned him that she would say such a thing. She had seemed a degree more carefree and inviting when they met earlier in the woods, and he did not know why he expected that same behavior in court, but he sorely missed it.

“Nay, my Lady, it would be my pleasure,” he assured in the same volume of voice. He cradled her hand in his own and kissed the top of it. Her skin looked like cool porcelain, but he was surprised by the warmth of it. “My Lady’s hand is lovely.” He held it for a moment longer in his own, even as he straightened from his bow. “You are a horsewoman. You do not wear gloves while you ride?” All the riding ladies he knew of wore gloves, and they lacked the areas of tougher skin where the reins would rub. His own hands were full of the callouses of riding and wielding a sword. But Amara’s hands, while soft and the hands of a noblewoman, felt stronger than most ladies.

Prince Davinweir watched the meeting of Sedwiff and Lady Amara, with a good degree of wicked fascination. The eldest children of warring clans meet at last... it would make a great drama. Perhaps he should stage a play and have it acted out. There even seemed to be a bit of chatting between them. But it vexed him that the two spoke in whispers, and he did not quite catch what it they said to one another.

“You must speak up, Sir Falyn and Lady Dorian,” he interjected loudly from his throne. “This is a public court, there is no whispering!”

“I like to feel the reins. Riding is a pleasure I’m allowed to partake too scarcely as it is; gloves always seem to cheapen the experience.” Amara replied simply, though Sedwiff’s answer had melted a great deal of her anxieties away. He did not despise her at least, nor did he seem to treat being kind to her as a kind of burden. She did not take Sedwiff for a particularly accomplished actor, so for today, she took that at face value. Her answering smile was much warmer and reminiscent of their first meeting that morning.

“You have strong hands My Lord. I pity the man who must face you in the tourney, as they’re like to be soundly bested against a knight as adept as yourself.” Her smile and tone was almost playful again, and even the cut in from the Oaf Prince did not dampen her sudden good mood. Still smiling, her turned her head toward the prince, who was unintentionally treated to her warm smile as well.

“Forgive us your Highness, Sir Sedwiff and I were discussing our common interest in riding. We didn’t wish to bore you.” The potentially backhanded comment was softened somewhat by her smile and genuine tone that lacked for condescension.

“Sir Sedwiff…” Lyle began after his niece had spoken, which of course grabbed everyone’s attention. Amara tensed slightly, though more for Sedwiff’s sake than her own. “The resemblance is of course striking; you will forgive me the delay I hope. It brought me back to simpler times. It is of course an honor to meet one of the royal knights who defend our beloved royal family.”

Sedwiff bemoaned the Prince’s interruption, for he had much he would like to further say to Lady Amara, though nothing he would like the whole court to hear. She did know how to stroke a knight’s ego--complimenting his prowess before she even saw him lift a sword. His eyes glinted at her, and his face was reminiscent of a well-fed cat, basking by a warm fire.

Davinweir narrowed his eyes at the display before him. He at once had a gaggle of suspicions in his head. Amara’s smile for Sedwiff, which the Prince saw a little of, was as intoxicating as a pint of the strongest honey mead. And Sedwiff was doing a poor job in disguising the fact that he was drinking of it. Davin leaned in towards his brother and murmured huffily to him, “I dare say, Jon, do you think they have met before? How is that possible?”

Queen Tarwenna, too, looked a little concerned. One, about Lord’s Lyle’s hesitation, and second about how Sedwiff and Amara seemed to like each other. Her eyes darted to her niece Melevine, who appeared quite abandoned. As she had feared, it was like watching Marcus with Alya, all over again. This was something she would have to nip in the bud, and she was sure she could do it. After all, how often had she had to steer Sedwiff or one of her sons from a lady before? She was well practiced in it.

Sedwiff sobered when Lord Lyle spoke to him. While he wished to be respectful to Lord Lyle, his words did not sit well with Sedwiff. Lord Lyle had had nothing to say to him when he first introduced himself? He left his niece to speak first? And his words, ‘simpler times,’ and ‘beloved royal family,’ seemed all a bit forced. He would not even mention Marcus’s name when he referred to him. Sedwiff could see that it was not Amara who’s prejudice he would have to overcome, but her uncle’s.

“Lord Lyle,” he said in response, and he was afraid his words came a little gruff sounding. “I may look akin to Lord Marcus, but I assure you that is where the resemblance stops. I dare to hope, that after my generation, the Dorians and the Falyns will cease to be at one another’s throats.”

“If find I cannot argue with such a sentiment.” Lyle replied once Sir Sedwiff had made himself plain, though he could quite plainly make a case that marked that statement for a lie. Quite clearly there were quite a few tastes father and son shared, Lyle thought broodingly. Watching the two of them together, with such obvious friendliness and interest proved how much like his father Sedwiff truly was in his mind. Not simply because Amara so resembled Alya, but because she was also so like Cameron at times. The way she drew the young Falyn in with conspiratorial laughter and a warm smile whilst they conversed in whispers reminded Lyle so much of his brother with a young Marcus that it was painful. Growing up the two boys had been inseparable, and one was never to be found without the other. Marcus had been the cunning, if at times brooding, troublemaker, whilst Cameron had been the lighthearted, smooth talker with an almost infectious sense of humor. They had been drawn to each other in a way that had made Lyle jealous of Marcus on more than one occasion, for the bond they shared had sadly seemed stronger than even that between himself and Cam.

“It is my hope this year we make strides toward that goal Sir Falyn.” Lyle conceded in a more inviting tone and offered an out stretched hand to be clasped in formal greeting. The look he sent Amara however, while perhaps meaningless to others, sent a chill of foreboding down her spine, as it promised discussion later tonight, and when her uncle discussed topics he was displeased about there was always a certain level of violence involved.

“I don’t see how they could have Davin, and even if they had, it hardly seems a problem.” Jon replied tiredly. “We’ve been prodding at the two families to get along for the better part of twenty years, flirtatious conversation is hardly the step in the wrong direction. Unless of course you’ve decided to fancy the Lady yourself brother, in which case condolences seem in order.” Jon returned sarcastically.

Davinweir looked blankly at his brother and could not understand how he could almost yawn about‘flirtatious conversation’ between Sedwiff and a Dorian lady. To Davin, it was preposterous and angering and delicious, for it was something he could surely hold over Sed’s head. Jon did not seem to think of all that, but instead just accepted a ‘good for the kingdom’ sort of reasoning. Sometimes Jon could be such a dullard in Davin’s opinion, and it was hard to share any fun with him.

“I do have a passion for the Lady, but not the good sort. I can not tolerate what she said to me,” Davin said plaintively to his elder brother. Indeed, Davin did look upon Lady Amara with a smouldering spite. But he did not admit to his brother that mostly he was jealous of Sedwiff. Davin liked for there to be women whom he could have but Sedwiff couldn’t. A Dorian lady should surely be off-limits to Sed, and so it enraged Davin to give thought to such a relationship.

“What if you fancy the lady, hmm, brother?” Davin prodded. “It’s time you found a wife, is it not? Or at least chose your Princess of the Rose this year.”

Sedwiff accepted Lyle’s outstretched hand and clasped it. He was interested to know what kind of man the Lord Dorian was, based on the nature of his grip. He saw Lyle exchange some sort of look with his niece. Sed couldn’t read it, but he felt a degree more solemn when he looked at Amara. Perhaps it had not been wise, for them to be friendly in public. But it had felt so natural in the moment.

“Sir Sedwiff, you may return to standing attention with the other knights,” Queen Tarwenna excused him. From the sour twist of her mouth, he could tell that he had somehow displeased her. Tarwenna turned back to the Dorians and she spoke briskly. “Thank you, Lord Lyle and Lady Amara, for receiving Sir Sedwiff in such a civil manner. Are there any further concerns you wish to address before the court?” She cast a warning eye at her sons, for she heard a little side conversation coming from their direction.

“You did that to yourself Davin. Was she to be charmed by your dismissiveness and insults then brother? I claim no talent with women Davin, but they have always seemed prone to take offence to such things in my experience.” Jon retorted dryly as his brother whined. Doing war with a woman over petty conversation was unseemly in his mind, and he could not conceive why his brother always felt the need to fight such pointless battles. At some point his brother was going to need to grow up like the rest of them, and for his own sake, sooner was better than later.

“I always choose the Princess of Rose.” Jon returned grumpily to his brother’s baiting. “And fancying a Lady is hardly a reason for marriage. Besides, I’d hardly think you’d wish to face her on an even field of battle as a princess, by my count you’re losing as it is.” He joked mildly.

“No my Queen, we are quite contented.” Lyle replied with a bow and Amara an accompanying curtsy. “You of course have other Houses to greet, and we would be poor guest to so monopolize your time.” He continued, waiting to be dismissed.

If there was anyone Davin accepted an honest critique from, it was his brother. For just a moment, he could see a little reason in what Jon said. Most ladies, if they had been exposed to his behavior, which he had to admit was not exactly gentlemanly, would not dare to make any retort. But Lady Amara was of some braver stock and had more guts than her girdle could restrict. He should admire her for it... and so he breathed deep through his nose and tried to calm his irrational anger. With Sedwiff out of the picture, he felt much more at peace with Lady Amara.

“Fine, then I will try being nice to the lady,” Davin conceded to Jon. He looked towards Sedwiff, standing on the side and holding the arm of their little cousin. Such a sight made the Stag Prince quite smug. For once he was grateful to his mother for making such an arrangement.

The Queen smiled and gently inclined her head as the Dorians bowed and curtsied again. “Thank you for your consideration, Lord Lyle. I trust you will be attending the round table discussion on trade relations and the Ishtalli Empire tomorrow evening. Lady Amara, you may attend our political debates too, of course, as you are the Dorian heir. I do hope you enjoy the feasts and entertainment as well. Please make yourself at home in the Capitol. House Dorian is dismissed.”

Queen Tarwenna felt her heart freeze when Lord Marcus Falyn entered the room. It was always the same reaction whenever she saw him, no matter how many times he came to court. It was like an icy, slimey hand grabbed hold of her insides and squeezed. Her loathing for him was pure and visceral and could not be quantified. She could not even fake a smile.

“Lord Falyn,” she spoke his name, producing the most bitter taste in her mouth. She wished she did not have the will to look upon him, but he had this way of drawing her eyes. Though aged, he still had his ways that attracted women. It must be the way he wore power like a garment.

And then she comforted herself by thinking of their stations -- I am High Queen. He must bow to me. That was her mantra, which she repeated whenever she saw him. She watched his bow with satisfaction, and a smile now came easily.

“It is my pleasure to welcome House Falyn to the Capitol,” she echoed her son Jon.

Davinweir seemed genuinely ecstatic to see the procession. He cast his wide brown eyes over the sea of blue and tawny banners. “Greetings, House Falyn! How the sight of the blue seahawk inspires me. And how can I not admit that I favor Falyn over all other families, outside of my own?”

Tarwenna sent him a poison look. Yet again, Davin was stepping across court propriety, and into utter idiocy. To admit to favoritism, when they were trying to make all houses feel equal in the eyes of the crown! If the Dorians caught wind of what he just said, there would surely be unrest.

To cover, Tarwenna released a tittering ring of laughter. “Of course, Prince Davinweir jests! He only means that he is grateful to House Falyn, for sending us Sir Sedwiff.” She gestured to Sedwiff, to bring him into focus.

Sedwiff had tried not to think of what this moment would be like, being reunited with his family. He had not seen them for most of his life, not since he had been taken away at the age of five--the Crown had went through many pains to make it so. And so, when he was called forward, he kept his cool by pretending that he was meeting any other house procession and wasn’t related to these people. He looked at Lord Marcus and acted like he had heard nothing about him, even though the Queen and everyone around him had filled his head with terrible stories about the man.

“At long last we meet again, My Lord,” Sedwiff stepped before Lord Marcus and bowed. When he rose from his bow, he looked at Marcus and felt like he was a little lad of five again. He had expected to hate Lord Marcus when he saw him. He did not feel loathing, nor liking... but he did feel a desire to know him. “Father.”

And then he turned to the man beside Marcus. There was no pretending this man was not his kin. He recognized Logaric as his brother, though he was far from the boy he once knew. It was everything about him that brought Sedwiff back and broke his cool veneer-- Logaric’s lively gray eyes, and that friendly look about his face, and the way he stood with springy feet that would rather be hunting or sailing. He loved him immediately, just as fiercely as he did the day he left Caldenspier. “My brother!” He held his arms out to him, inviting his brother to embrace him.

As Sedwiff embraced his brother, all he felt were the eyes on his back. He did not like it that his long-awaited reunion with his brother was being observed by the whole court. They were probably calculating every movement he made-- was he feigning love for his brother, for the Falyns? Or was he truly moved and still Falyn inside? What did he think of his sire?

They parted, and Sed looked into his younger brother’s face. He saw the beginnings of tears there. In his own eyes, he felt them well up, but he blinked them away and sucked them down to keep from weeping.

“We will talk later, Logaric--but not in front of an audience. And we will celebrate,” Sed assured, clapping his hand on Logaric’s shoulder. He very much liked the prospect of drinking and merrying with his long lost brother, and his eyes promised a raucous night. Even if they just sat together and wept for their time lost together, Sed would welcome it. Why was it that they had not been allowed to meet sooner than this? Sed felt like he had been robbed... greatly wronged.

Sedwiff turned back to the royalty, and his eyes were dark and stormy. He could hardly stand the sight of them, after remembering how much it hurt to be torn away from Logaric. “May my brother and I be excused, your Majesties?” And then he turned to his father Lord Marcus to ask for his leave as well. “My Lord?”

Queen Tarwenna shook her head and frowned at Sedwiff’s hurried and anxious air. “I’m sorry, Sedwiff, but all Falyns must be present right now. I must ask Lord Marcus the same question that we asked House Dorian, and you all must give an answer. Are your intentions toward House Dorian peaceful?”

“Jest or not, I thank his highness for expressing such sentiment. House Falyn has long enjoyed the friendship of the proud and mighty men of Druwit, a trend we of course wish to continue.” Lord Marcus Falyn replied to the younger prince in favor of his mother, his eyes assessing and showing nothing but approval toward the young Prince. He would get nowhere lavishing compliments upon the bitch queen, too much bad blood there for that, but it was not exactly a secret that the Queen and the Stag Prince had a less than amicable relationship. He may not be able to openly disrespect Tarwenna in open court, but he could do the next best thing; ignore her. She was nothing but a buzzing gnat to him, and while he had to give her due courtesy for appearances sake, he did not need to give her anything else. She couldn’t touch him as long as he played the game well, he held too much political power in court, and the Druwit’s position was too precarious at the moment to risk such a thing.

“Sed.” Marcus greeted almost warmly, as he watched his oldest some he had not seen in over a decade step forward. His eyes softened for a moment as they met his son’s, who looked so much like him, but did not interrupt his boys as they had their reunion. Instead, he slipped back on his cold calculating mask, unwilling to show the bitch queen any weakness.

“You have done well at court I see. I am well pleased.” Marcus replied with well-practiced indifference that bordered on dismissiveness, all the while silently vowing that Tarwenna Druwit would die a slow and painful death at his hands for this.
“Your highnesses, I wish for nothing but for the peace and prosperity we have enjoyed in Anglia for the last fifteen years under our Beloved King Glythfur to continue for generations to come. I mean no Dorian any ill will who feels the same.” Marcus replied quite elegantly, with an answer that held a political trap for Tarweena should she try to contest or mock his response.

Prince Davinweir had a satisfied smile on his face. He so much enjoyed buttering up Lord Marcus. It angered his mother to great extent. He watched her agitation manifest itself through her fingers... those cruel fingers with her devil-woman long nails. They curled like claws and grabbed at the fabric of her skirt, or strangled the arm rests of her throne. She twisted the heavy rings on her fingers until they left red marks on her skin.

He had caught on long ago that there was some unpleasant history between his mother and Lord Marcus. Of course, she told him nothing, and it was the one thing he hadn’t the nerve to inquire about, fearing that he may be clawed across the face. He’d prefer not to have his beauty marred for all of the banquets and feasts. But this year he was determined to find out his mother’s secret.

“Your friendship is so cherished, I will personally pour your first glass of wine at tonight’s Feast, Lord Marcus,” Davin announced, very much on a whim. He watched his mother’s hand spasm, while her face looked stony. She ignored his announcement, pretended it had never happened.

In the meanwhile, Tarwenna looked upon Lord Marcus and relished in her own private fantasy of imagining sending an assassin after him and treading upon his corpse.

“The Dorians have promised peace,” Tarwenna said warily. “I trust you will keep your ill will in check, House Falyn.” She hesitated a moment, surveying the crowd before her. Then she rose to her feet, which was cause for her subjects to bow. “Much more will be discussed over these coming days. But for now, court is dismissed.” The court bowed to her again, and then she strode across the dais. She left for a private royal hall, eager for an end to what seemed like an eternally long session of court.

Sedwiff also welcomed the abrupt exit of the Queen. He turned again to his brother and pat his back. “This Midsummer holds much promise, brother.” His eyes glanced too at his father, whom he still regarded with curiosity.

The opening feast at midsummer was a lavish tradition that spanned back at least three hundred years into the Drudwit’s rule, and functioned efficiently as a public display for all the nobles of court to see which families held favor with the Royal family. The Grand Hall had several long tables scattered and set among the massive chamber, and the seating accommodations were based on a complicated social structure based on hierarchy and favor. Some tables were set aside for royal knights, some lower nobles, and some specifically for the knights and nobles loyal to specific families, such as the Dorians and Falyns, whom it would not be wise to seat together. The long tabled that was of most interest to the feast goers however, was the royal long table that ran through the middle of the hall. It was also the longest table in the hall, and with the royal family traditionally sitting at the head, the heads of all the great families or those in favor with the Drudwits were seated at the table according to importance. Though the king was still ill, a place at the head was stilled placed for him beside the Queen, with Jonquel taking the first seat to the right, and Davinweir to the left. Due to the circumstances of this midsummer, it was deemed necessary to have both members from House Falyn and Dorian present in places of honor, so three places were set for the Falyns to the right after Jonquel, and three places for the Dorians to the right of Davinweir. This was a feast that many viewed with either anticipation or dread, in some cases both.

Amara found herself torn on whether or not to be delighted with, or abhor the seating arrangements. Her uncle had sent his apologizes to the queen, claiming sudden illness onset from the long journey south, though in reality Lyle had erupted in another one of his episodes once they had retired to their chambers. Though Amara had come out of the confrontation relatively unscathed, the sheer violence of the outburst and the unhinged look in her uncle’s eyes left her feeling shaken, and more than a little afraid to return to her room later. Regardless of the reason for her uncle’s absence, it left her seated next to perhaps the last person in the world she wished to have close contact with, Prince Davinweir, and she was positively dreading the table talk that would inevitable ensue. On the bright side however, she had Richard sitting to her left, whom she knew could hold his own in a battle of dinner time retorts, and even better, she now had a viable excuse to engage Sedwiff Falyn in conversation, as he was seated almost directly across from her at the table. She was unsure what to make of Lord Marcus Falyn, or his son Logaric. Marcus held a startling resemblance to Sedwiff, though perhaps because she knew who he was, what he had done, and the aura of dominance that seemed to hang around him, the man put her on edge. His youngest son hardly resembled Sedwiff or Marcus at all, and though she could hardly claim to know him, he did seemed to have a bit more pleasant demeanor. Amara would have to wait and see though once they began talking. As was custom, she remained silent and standing in front of her seat until the King, or in this year’s case the Queen, made a short welcome speech, bid them welcome to this year’s Midsummer festivities, and took her own seat.

Queen Tarwenna was heralded into the hall, the horns and pipes and drums playing an exalting entrance anthem. She was dressed in one of her most elaborate gowns, all gold and ivory and embroidered with thousands of tiny beads. It had a lengthy train that was carried in by her attendants, and remained watched over during the entirety of her meal. Her face, too, was significantly made-up. It was powdered, rouged and her eyes were kohled. Prince Davinweir almost laughed when he saw his mother. Obviously she was trying to impress the living daylights out of someone. Or maybe she was just trying to impress anyone and everyone, as if being the plain old Queen was somehow growing stale for her. She was now attempting to be a Goddess.

Once the fanfare came to a close, Queen Tarwenna addressed her standing feast attendees. In that moment, her ego swelled. She was filled with the feeling of magnificence.

“Dearest Lord and Ladies of Anglia,” she began in a voice that carried. She relished in the fact that she was to give the Opening Feast welcome speech. Though it was short, she spoke with strategically-placed pauses, to absorb all that admiration that could be gleaned. Though she spoke of sorrow over her husband, she did not appear sad at all. “Though this be a gloried gathering, it is also a sorrowed time in the Kingdom and among the Drudwit family, for our King is ill and unable to attend, for the first time in his reign. Though we drink and be merry, we must always be thinking of our King. Every toast must be made to his health. Every toast must also be made to fellowship among all of us, peace between families. Each clan has something to recommend them, some richness and value that makes us a greater kingdom as a whole. How I look forward to speaking with all of you, and learning of the states of your regions. And lastly, every toast must celebrate the Midsummer, with anticipation of a great harvest and great prosperity to come. Tonight, we partake of the Kingdom’s bounty. With that, I bid thee welcome to this year’s Midsummer festivities, my most noble Lords and Ladies. You may now partake in the first of many feasts!”

With a radiant smile and flourish of her hand, the golden-bedecked spectacle of a Queen lowered herself into her chair. Everyone was now free to do the same.

Prince Davinweir, in his efforts to be more of a gentleman as suggested by Jon, pulled out Amara’s chair for her and then pushed it in once she was seated.

“How lucky are we, that we are seated so closely, Lady Amara?” he grinned at her, his voice much too nice to be sincere. “After how swimmingly we got along at House Dorian’s welcome.” He did note, that up close, Lady Amara really was a stunner. He had not enough appreciation of her looks when he saw her from a distance at court.

The crowning dishes of the feast were being carried out and placed on the tables, accompanied by sounds of awe. These meat dishes comprised of the cooked animals, stuffed and made to look remarkably alive and natural, posed and engaging in various activities. A trio of suckling pigs were placed before the Queen, arranged on a food-filled gigantic platter, and made to look like they were playing croquet. Another dish was full of cooked geese, posed and holding musical instruments like troubadours. And everything was edible, such was the magic of the royal cooks.

Davin made a subtle signal to one of his waiting-men, who brought out a platter and placed it between him and Amara. It was uncovered and revealed to be a pair of cooked rabbits, postured to look like they were mating. Davin’s eyes lit up, reveling as he ever did in his usual feast pranks, and the look on his mother’s face when she saw it.

Sedwiff felt a swift loss of appetite as soon as the stuffed animal dishes were rolled out. In general, he found it a distasteful custom. He had hunted enough of his own food to have a respect for it, and would prefer not to dress it up and play with it. Or as Davin did, make pranks of it.

Instead of digging in, he helped himself to the most potent wine. With fire trailing down his belly, he directed his eyes at Lady Amara. He could not believe that the fates allowed him to sit across from her. He wondered what her manner of dining was. Did she pick at her food like a bird, as most ladies were bred to do?

With some sympathy for having to sit next to Davin, he said to her, “Try not to mind Davin’s tricks, my Lady. It’s not you, he scandalizes at least one dish every Feast.”

“I think you should stay. I do not think that travelling agreed with you. Your cheeks are flushed but you are so frightfully pale.” Armand walked around his seated wife, inspecting her as her hair was pinned up.

“What do you think Meagre?”

Ellyn sat in the chair, her hands in her lap as Meagre worked on her hair. She was dressed in a rich blue gown, the neckline low and very flattering. The colour made her hazel eyes shine. Further accentuating her neck was a lovely necklace of silver with many blue gemstones.

The woman huffed and stuck a pin into Ellyn’s hair forcibly, securing the silver net about the two braids. Armand had given in to Meagre’s suggestion that at least part of Ellyn’s hair be pinned up for dinner, lest the woman eat more hair than food.

“I didn’t waste my time on her to undress her and put her to bed. She should be fine.” Meagre leant over to look at Ellyn’s face. She raised her chin. “Are you feeling ill?”

Ellyn shook her head, as much as her situation would allow, the grip on her chin keeping her reasonably immobile. “I feel fine.”

Armand was pacing, “I do not know....” He scratched at his head.

Meagre patted Ellyn’s chin, “That’s a good girl.” She left her, tending to articles of clothing and such that needed organizing.

Ellyn turned in her chair, just slightly to look at her husband. “If it pleases my lord, I could attend for a time and should I feel faint or tired I will of course excuse myself. I would like to partake in the feast.” Her eyes pleaded just a little.

Armand stopped and moved to take his wife’s hands. “Oh little dove, I will not deny you this. If you feel up to it than I will take you. I will not leave your side though and you must tell me the moment you feel tired.” He drew her hands up to his lips.

“Of course my lord.” Ellyn’s eyes were cast demurely down. Inwardly she sighed. She wanted him to leave her even for just a little while, just so she could enjoy the feast without him over her shoulder.

She would not get tired, she knew. They treated her as such a fragile thing but she was not. The idea of the feast, of the people and conversation made her feel almost drunk with excitement.

Armand raised her hands and Ellyn stood obediently. She took his arm and let him lead her from their rooms to the main feast hall.

It was bustling already. Armand’s shoulders squared as he entered. He held her on his arm as if parading her for all to see. Ellyn made little eye contact as they moved to their seats. She floated gracefully at her husband’s side.

He greeted many, stopping to shake hands or hug various cousins. Ellyn chanced glances at the royal table. The princes sat, two chairs set at the head of the table for their parents. Ellyn found herself looking quickly away from the older Prince. She was still embarrassed for the way she had stared at him when they were received.

“Are you alright?” A voice whispered in her ear.

Ellyn looked at Armand. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “You are flushed again pet.”

“I am still fine my lord, a bit thirsty and a bit warm.”

Armand patted her hand like one would when placating a child, “Of course, let us sit.” He led her to a table to the side of the royal table. Here other Falyan cousins sat. He pulled out a chair for her and Ellyn wanted to hug him for choosing one that allowed her a clear view of the royal table. She could see the back of Jonqueal’s head. Across from him was his brother. Beside the blonde prince sat a beautiful woman of dark hair and fair skin.

“She is lovely.” The thought stayed as Ellyn’s eyes traveled down the table. Next to the beautiful lady sat a very tall, very muscular man. He was unfamiliar to her as well. She could not tell if he was happy to be there or loathing the experience.

At her table the men had begun talking of politics and the tension between the families. The conversation revolved around the meeting of Marcus and his sons. Ellyn folded her hands in her lap and observed more of the main table.

The fanfare sounded. Armand and Ellyn stood, he helping her out of the chair. The Queen entered. Her dress was awe inspiring. Ellyn’s eyes travelled over it taking in the bead work. The speech concluded, the Queen sat and everyone else did so as well.

The food began to arrive and it was every bit as magnificent as Ellyn had hoped. Armand leaned over to his wife, “Not too much rich food dove, we do not want it to make you ill.”

Ellyn looked at her lap, “Yes my lord.”

When he began to dive into the rich meats, Ellyn looked up again and picked daintily at her plate. Her eye was caught by movement at the royal table. A tray between the prince and the beautiful woman appeared to contain rabbits in the act of mating. Ellyn’s hand went to her mouth.

Armand looked over. “Disgraceful. Course it’s the Dorian girl, to be expected.”

Ellyn frowned. Dorian. With her colouring she should have known who the woman was, the tales of her beauty reached even Ellyn’s ears. The display was still disgraceful and disrespectful.

“Avert your eyes pet. There is no need for a woman such as yourself to see such things.”

“Or do such things.” Ellyn bit her tongue to stifle the unbidden thought. It shocked her, that she would think such a thing against her husband. It was true he did not come to her bed any longer but that should be of no issue to her. He took care of her, was kind to her what did it matter if he was not attracted to her? She found herself unsure where the retort had come from but she was glad it remained solely in her head.

Ellyn picked at her food, more enraptured with the royal table than her plate. Armand, in usual behaviour began to stuff and drink himself full. “Fine feast. Fine indeed.” Meat stuck in his beard.

The queen looked positively stunning, Amara noted with a touch of awe as the unequivocally bedecked Queen Tarweena made her entrance. Amara felt positively drab in comparison, which was silly she knew, as she was in one of her finer gowns of silk, inlaid with a rich purple and soft lilac patterns, and her hair softly curled and pulled up to make her look every bit the noble woman of fine breeding that she was. None the less, it was hard to feel comparable to the queen in all her finery. Prince Davinweir seemed almost gallant as well, going so far as to pull her chair out when the queen allowed them to take their seats. The gesture didn’t stop her from eyeing the seat suspiciously though, looking for some kind of wet paint perhaps that might have been put there as a prank before gracefully lowering herself upon it. She almost felt bad for thinking so badly of the Prince when he did nothing more than push in her chair afterward, and briefly wondered if she had misjudged him. It was rare for her to take such an instant disliking to someone after all. It had been an emotionally rocky day, and Amara herself had not been the most civil herself she remembered. Perhaps it would be best to try and forgive the earlier hostility, especially as the task of presenting House Dorian’s royal gifts now fell to her.

Amara had never been to a royal feast before, and was incredibly anxious about this fact. She did not want to look the fool, or appear as some naïve mountain maid, not in front of these people. The presence of Lord Marcus (and that was Lord Marcus, for no other man in the room could exude such raw power from merely sitting at the dinner table) in particular was intimidating. She caught his gaze on her, and though neither party spoke, Amara thought it must be very much what a rabbit felt like when facing down an eagle, and that was not a comforting thought. She was not about to let Lord Marcus know how much he intimidated her though, and returned his almost smile with a courteous, if cold, nod before preceding to ignore him. Marcus on the other hand, did not ignore her. She looked as much like Alya as the gossip mills had said, and he found her an amusing little thing. The daughter of Alya, she was of course comely, but in the wake of the overwhelming excess of the Queen, she was quite the refreshing sight in her crème silk, that was overlaid with Ishtalli designs in different shades of purple that made her eyes ever the more prominent. Her eyes were so similar to Cam’s that it was startling, and more than anything else that was the part of her he found himself watching.

Jonquel found himself a bit distracted at the feast, as he attempted to covertly watch the rest of his guests as his mother made her entrance. The task was made a great deal easier, as all eyes, or most it seemed, were on the splendor that was his mother. As his father was not present, it was Jon’s duty to ensure nothing unseemly happened within the hall, and to retain order. Jon nodded his approval towards his brother as he pulled out a chair for Lady Amara, and as she did not scream moments later, could only assume Davin had taken his advice to heart and decided to be more courteous to the Lady whose friendship they needed to cultivate. Davin did not yet seem to grasp it, but he, not Jon, was the most in need of a powerful house as ally. Their mother’s disapproval of Davin was well known to many, but the full extent of the Queen’s animosity was not. When their father died, it would be Tarweena who held the true reins of power at court, and Davin had need to be wary. The protection the friendship of a strong and influential House could very well be a matter of life and death for his brother, and whether or not Davin saw this yet, Jon would do all in his power to try and save Davin from himself.

The Queen’s display of extravagance did not particularly faze or impress Lord Marcus. Fools and pretenders were the ones who used such props to show their power, and Tarweena’s beauty had not interested him in a very long time. Age and kohl were not about to change that for him now. As the plate with the fornicating rabbits were brought out at Prince Davin’s behest and placed between the Prince and the young Dorian heir, Marcus couldn’t help but wonder if it was Davin’s way of flirting. Perhaps, though he thought it far more likely he was trying to make the Lady feel uncomfortable, especially after the confrontation the two had had in the hall earlier that day. News of that nature spread quickly, and Marcus had been informed of the display almost as soon as he’d left the hall. Marcus watched Amara, looking to gauge her reaction to the slight. Her face was still and blank as she stared at the dish, obviously offended, though trying to hide it. Then she did something that quite caught Marcus off guard. She took up the carving knife and fork, and delicately cut off the first piece from the top rabbit’s flank and put it on her plate. She even went back for some of the rosemary crusted roast carrots before she was done.

“I had no idea your highness was so insistent upon having rabbit. It must have been a very long time since you’ve had any.” The lady said to Davin in a voice that imitated innocence and implied so much. Marcus had to hide his smile behind a drink of wine. My but the girl was feisty. All of Alya’s quick wit coupled with Cam’s direct nature was quite the interesting mix, though she needed to learn where to pick her battles. Marcus could not decide yet if this would make it harder or easier for him to hate her. Something else soon caught his eye however, as he saw Sedwiff talking with the lady. The Dorian girl seemed to light up when his son talked to her, and the smile she gave him was dazzling. Though her lips were identical to Alya’s, her smile did not remind him of his lost lady love. Alya would try to hide her amusement behind her hand or fan, or pucker her lips to fight it back while amusement danced in her eyes. Amara’s smile was Cam’s, open, warm, nothing hidden from the world. Once that smile had been his world, a haven from the pressures and beatings imposed by his own father, and made him believe in such sentimental notions as unbreakable friendship. In the end he’d seen that smile twist into something darker and bitter that had cured him of such folly forever. It appeared his son, who looked so much like him yet Marcus barely knew, might need saving from that smile as well.

“Quite right Sir Sedwiff. The company here is too fine for such fretting.” Amara agreed with a smile she could not suppress as Sedwiff spoke to her. Amara had thought him attractive before, in riding clothes after having been on a long journey, but cleaned up for the feast in his best attire, he was especially handsome. She wondered if she would have to catch herself to stop from staring at him the entire night, as that would probably just make him uncomfortable and be terribly rude. Even if she was just getting lost in his blue grey eyes that shone like the blue limestone courtyard in Branenhold after a freshly fallen snow. Amara needn’t have worried though, as soon after they all began to eat, it was the younger Falyn brother who caught her attention. She hadn’t really paid much attention to Logaric Falyn before, not because he wasn’t handsome in his own right or unpersonable, she’d simply been too focused on the others at the table. She suddenly found herself quite captivated, not by his looks, but by his stories.

Though she would never be unwise enough to speak it out loud, Branenhold had felt as much a prison to her as a home growing up. There, the vast libraries filled with books about the histories and legends of far off lands had been a welcome reprieve and escape from her isolation. It gave Amara a healthy respect for storytelling, and quite prone to it herself. She enjoyed simply listening at the moment, as she noted that Logaric had quite a talent for weaving stories. For a moment she almost felt envious of this Falyn boy she barely knew, for he was free to do such marvelously silly and wonderful things like trying to catch local dervishes in Hurabia. How she had always longed for such freedom. As Logaric called his servants to bring out his gift for the royal family however, Amara remembered herself. She had her own gifts she would need to introduce after all.

“Quite nice.” Jonquael replied as his eyes raked over the fine tapestry. “It is obvious you have quite an eye for foreign goods Logaric. Lord Marcus must surely be pleased with your ability abroad.”

“Perhaps we shall hang it in one of father’s chambers. I’m sure such a sight of splendor would bring him great enjoyment. He has always had a particular appreciation of foreign art, and this piece is especially fine. Do you not agree Lady Amara?” Jonquel continued before questioning the Lady, interested to see her reaction.

“Oh yes, I must commend your choice of craftsmen my Lord, the tapestry is quite exquisite.” Amara praised Logaric cordially. “I am also quite relieved to hear of his Grace’s fondness of foreign craftsmanship. If you would not mind your highness, might I present our gift to your family as well, as the timing seems appropriate?” Amara asked Prince Jonquael politely. At the Prince’s acquiescent nod Amara stood gracefully, and motioned to one of the Dorian footmen who went to one of the connecting halls to fetch four male servants who had the look of Ishtal to them and each held a gilded wooden box in their hands.

“I’m afraid Ishtal is not quite as exotic as O'ullah, but on Empress Ranxita’s last visit to Branenhold, she brought with her Govind Ahamar, whom is the most sought after gold smith and jeweler in all of Ishtal. One prince had to wait as long as three years once for his turn to make a commission, and his work is so fine that it is considered an insult to present a piece of gold work to the royal family that he has not had a hand in making. He is however, particularly fond of the purity of our sapphires, and was made quite agreeable to a commission for us after my uncle gave him a good price on his next shipment of gems.” Amara explained with a conspiratorial smile extended to the whole table as she explained. She motioned to the servant with the long and skinny box first, who carefully opened the box and presented it to the queen. Inside was a gold scepter with fine detailing with leaves interwoven in the pattern as a nod to the famous forests around the capitol. At the top was a crowned shield with a stallion posing on one side and a stag on the other.

“Scepters are a rarity in Ishtal, and are given only to those who have proven their wisdom in matters of state. Govind agreed to craft such a piece for his Grace because he agrees our great King has long displayed great wisdom ruling Anglia. I hope his grace will enjoy this small token of house Dorian’s affection.”

“Empress Ranxita personally had a hand in the design of this necklace with our mountain’s gems your Grace, and bid I send you her fondest affections.” Amara continued as the second box was opened and presented to Queen Tarweena. Inside was a large and elaborate necklace that was covered with gold feathers, sapphires, emeralds, and amethyst gems that were arranged to look like a peacock feather fan. It was indeed a necklace fit only for a queen.

“For your highnesses, Govind agreed to craft for you each royal torques. For the Princes of Ishtal, it is a sign of honor to bare these torques, and each is crafted to highlight the honor they have earned amongst their people.” Amara explained as the last two servants moved to kneel at each Princes’ side and present the arm torques. And indeed, each of the many Princes of Ishtal wore one of these torques upon their arms with pride, as they were both considered a sign of manhood and a glimpse at one’s destiny. What she did not explain, was that Govind Ahamar was also part gypsy, and considered by many to have the rare gift of foresight, which made his torques especially sought after. Govind was always kind to her, but perhaps out of fear, or a simple desire to keep the future a surprise, Amara had always refused his offer to craft her jewelry.

“For Prince Jonquael, Govind crafted a pair of horse head silver torques, which represents justice and strength, while the rubies of the eyes indicate the owner has great importance.” Amara said kindly to Jonquael first. She elected not to explain how rubies were also a sign of a tragic or bloody demise, as that was an unpleasant detail she sincerely hoped was not true.

“For Prince Davinweir, he crafted torques of bronze with the heads of stags, which indicate a clever and resilient nature, while the emeralds in their eyes are symbols of hidden purpose and…luck. Empress Ranxita and House Dorian hope you will accept these gifts as tokens of our continued love and friendship.” Amara finished smoothly before retaking her seat with a curtsy. Oh but how it burned to pay the pompous prince such a compliment. He’d probably complain about his gift too, regardless of how important and treasured such symbols were in Ishtal! Princes were buried with their torques in Ishtal, and to bare a torque with emeralds was no small thing and a great honor. No ruler in Ishtal since the tradition of torques began over a thousand years ago had ruled for less than twenty years when they bore emeralds, and few lasted more than a handful of years without them. Davin would not hear that bit from Amara however, as she wasn’t about to inflate his over sized ego any more than it was.

Melevine had been waiting for the feast all day, and almost hyperventilated with excitement as the dishes came out. From chatting around, she knew that there were going to be pigs playing croquet and geese dressed as troubadours and boars in suits of armor, but the rabbits was a complete surprise to her. The arrangement was not offensive to her, but amusing, as it reminded her of her pet rabbits back in Gardren. But what would Lady Amara think? She stared down the table, craning her neck around Sir Richard to have a look at the Dorian lady’s reaction.

An unbidden giggle rose to Melevine’s throat. Amara’s words were priceless! Even a maiden such as herself could gather what she was insinuating about Cousin Davin. And how composed of her to eat from the dish instead of making a fuss. Melevine wished she could react in such a manner when coming across one of Davin’s pranks. She recalled how when she had first arrived at the palace, he had turned her room into a literal pig sty, and how she had screamed when she saw hogs nosing around her bedsheets. In her panic, she had slipped on the hay and manure he had strewn on her floor. Her hip still smarted from where she had fallen.

Davin kept his smug look, but Melevine could see that her cousin was angered yet again by Lady Amara. It was just a flash across his eyes, the brieftest micro-expression, but Melevine was good at reading expressions. He took longer than usual to jab back. Amara had given him pause to think of a good retort. He was speechless, Melevine could see his lips fumbling. It was after Amara smilingly spoke to Sedwiff that he had his retort ready.

“Not I, my Lady. But I do believe Sir Sedwiff has not had any for a very long time. Rabbit, that is,” Davin refuted, turning from Amara to Sedwiff with a derisive curl to his lip.

An almost visible spark passed between the two young men. Sedwiff was unappreciative of having the insult pinned on him. Melevine had seen this sort of look exchanged before, a sort of silent war that went on between them. This was not one insult, not one lie, but one of hundreds that Sedwiff had had to endure from Davin.

“The Prince is absolutely correct. I am starving for rabbit,” Sedwiff agreed, throwing Davin for a loop. He leaned forward and followed in Amara’s stead by carving off a bit of the rabbit pair, taking from the bottom of the two. His face did not betray much, aside from excellent acting as he appeared to enjoy eating the meat. He tried not to look at Amara, as he felt that to do so would only add to her public embarrassment and Davin’s sick pleasure. Instead, he looked to his brother with relief and admiration, who entertained them all with his traveler stories.

Melevine almost brought her hands together in a clap when Logaric finished. How he had a gift for telling tales, that she found herself pondering more methods of catching a dervish, even later into the evening. The tapestry, too, was marvelous. Melevine clasped her hands together, quite impressed by the younger Falyn. If only Aunt Tarwenna had instructed her to accompany Logaric, and not the reserved Sedwiff.

Soon Lady Amara was standing and presenting her gifts, and Melevine looked across the table and saw that Sedwiff’s eyes were no longer avoiding the Dorian lady. But she imagined that Amara, in her fine lilac gown and dark curled hair, had the undivided attention of all the men at the table.

Queen Tarwenna truly seemed to marvel at the gifts presented by Lady Amara, especially her golden peacock necklace. “I am moved by Empress Ranxita’s generosity and thoughtfulness. Thank you, Lady Amara, for such a lovely presentation,” Tarwenna granted, staring very pleased at the necklace. If she had not the obligations at the feast, she would be standing before a mirror and trying on the masterwork of jewelry.

Davin accepted his torque, and was quite tickled by the fact that Amara was required to give him a gift and pay him court-worthy compliments. “How excellent, how befitting. I quite like this little bauble.” He tossed the torque from one hand to the other, weighing its heaviness and inspecting the jewels. He was always a little bit bored when he received fancy gifts. He looked up at Amara, wearing a sweet expression. “This torque is made even more special, having been delivered by you, Lady Amara. I do believe I will wear it, and often. Or at least use it as a paper weight.”

“Papers on which Prince Davinweir will write his love for House Dorian, of course,” Queen Tarwenna added on, expecting that she would have to amend Davin’s statement of thanks. “Perhaps, Prince Davinweir might read one of his lovely compositions for the court to hear tomorrow?”

Davin looked like he might groan at first, but then sensed a latent opportunity in his mother’s punishment. He smiled and spoke through his teeth. “Of course, Mother, I shall compose something just for the occasion.”

Ellyn’s eyes were on the head table. There seemed to be much conversation and storytelling. The tapestry that was displayed was beautiful and it brought many compliments. In comparison her own table contained numerous Falyn cousins, mostly older men and a few matronly wives. She was the youngest at the table by over a decade. As they finished their plates a few even began to nod off.

Despite the lewd positioning of the rabbits they all seemed in great spirits at the royal table. Ellyn felt a twinge of jealousy for the younger women of the court who were guests there. ”Oh to be unmarried and part of that...” Instantly she regretted such a disrespectful thought. With a wan smile she reached out to touch Armand’s hand. Ellyn lightly squeezed it, a silent apology for the thought he was not privy to.

The man instantly turned to her. “Is something wrong dove? Do you wish to go? Here let me...”

Ellyn removed her hand, “No my lord. I am perfectly fine. Your vest is just very pleasing tonight and I found myself admiring it. Tis all.” A lie but Armand smiled pleasantly and patted her cheek as if she were a child. “Why thank you pet. You of course look as lovely as ever. I did a very good job of ensuring your features are shown to their best.”

“Of course my lord.” Ellyn dropped her eyes to her lap.

She sat like that for several minutes. A grunt from one of the men drew her attention back up. “The Dorian’s are trying for gaudy it appears.” The distant Falyn cousins all murmured their disapproval. Ellyn did not let her frown show. ”They are just grumpy because they brought such lovely fashioned and exotic jewels and the Falyn’s brought a rug to hang on the wall.”

Ellyn put a hand to her mouth. Had she really just thought such rude things? She wasn’t sure exactly what was happening but her thoughts were betraying her very disciplined and proper upbringing.

In an attempt to calm herself Ellyn focused on the gifts that were being displayed. The gold shone and the jewels glittered and even from her position Ellyn could see how beautiful they were. The Queen’s new necklace was breathtaking in its design.

“Oh my.” Ellyn let the words breathe out.

Armand turned from his gawking at the royal table to look at his wife. “Your eyes look glassy. I believe you have a fever.”

Ellyn panicked. “Oh no my lord, simply amazed at the colours. I pray, please do not send me away I am feeling fine.”

Armand looked his young wife over, crossing his arms. “Alright but if Meagre tells me you spend all day tomorrow in bed because of exhaustion or a fever I will be very cross with you.” His tone, much like every time he addressed her was that of a father his petulant child.

Ellyn offered him a kind smile and then quickly dropped her eyes. “Of course my lord.”

All attention was back on the Queen as she thanked Lady Amara for the gifts. Things slowly returned to a general din of numerous conversations. Ellyn sat, straight backed and stiff, her hands in her lap as the others at her table drank, discussed minor politics and gossip or snored.

“Will you be staying long?”

“Oh no, I do not partake of the later festivities. I will be retiring soon.”

“Yes, been a long time since I have had the energy for feasts or dancing and the like.”

“You know I do believe they get louder and louder.”

“Quite right, in our youth there was not so much...noise and never would one of the lady’s offered the gifts. How improper of her guardian to let the lady do that.”

“Oh no, it is causing quite a stir. Exactly what the Dorian’s want you know.”

“Oh but of course. Never one for subtlety or decorum.”

“But she is a pretty thing though is she not?”

“Oh yes, I would guess her marriage will be a great fuss.”

Ellyn listened intently to the two elder women as they clucked and gossiped between them. They did nothing to lower their voices, Ellyn believing that either or both were slightly deaf.

She hoped there would be dancing and more talking or stories. Her chest was nearly bursting with excitement. Her only concern was that Armand would want to leave early.

Ellyn’s slender hand picked up her glass and she daintily took a sip of her wine. It was rich and thick. A slight flush appeared in her cheeks. She was enjoying the feast, even if her table was the least lively of the room.

After the great opening feast had concluded, those who were not too deep in their cups to move were ushered into the spacious side hall where entertainment and mingling were to be expected. Minstrels, chosen for their skill and popularity from throughout Anglia, preformed on the dais in the back of the hall, filling the room with lively cheerful music that had many of the young nobles up and dancing. The line dances that allowed for twirling and constant change of partner was the most respectable and efficient way to dance, even in a hall this size, and though her turn with Prince Jonquel had been rather stiff (He was an elegant dancer in his own right but, but she suspected their proximity had made him uncomfortable, as had that of every other Lady he’d taken a turn with, so she was not offended.), Amara was thoroughly enjoying herself. The line they were dancing now a variation of the popular “Maiden and the Chair” that was particularly well received by the younger unmarried nobles. It was rather a flirtatious dance, with much twirling and almost touching step with one’s partner for the turn. In fact, it almost bordered on the indecent in some of the older generation’s mind, but it had always been too popular to deny. Mostly now it were only the old widows who complained bitterly in the corner, but no one else really minded.

So far Amara had managed to avoid the over protective supervision of her cousin Richard, and she honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if he had stayed in the feasting hall to drink with the other knights. After the Lords and Ladies had left with the queen, a bout of rowdier drinking songs had taken over the music in the hall, and most of the knights found that much preferable to the social games being played here. In fact, Amara had managed to evade most of her dinner companions so far, with the exception of Jonquel, and a part of her felt rather relieved. Her temper had been quite out of check as of late, and her gut clenched with anxiety at the thought of what Prince Davinweir would provoke her to next. Lord Marcus’s stare had also begun to unnerve Amara in a way she couldn’t quite explain, and she was doing her best to avoid him. She had yet to come across Sir Sedwiff either, and though she felt some disappointment over that, Amara tried not to dwell, and had taken up to conversing with her many dance partners. This was after all, a fishing expedition, she thought dryly, but with her Uncle bedridden for the night, Amara was free from the parade of old wealthy suitors she knew would be coming in her near future. Tonight she was free, free to dance with handsome knights who weren’t twice her age, free to laugh, free to tease, and free to be a young woman without the pressures of impending matrimony, and the hopes of her entire family to be shut away in some drafty castle to begin producing healthy Dorian heirs. Shut away safely like she’d been for her entire life, gods help her. Perhaps it was the wine, but there was a touch of desperation in Amara’s step as she twirled and danced with Sir Braxton Blackwood, a kind of determination to experience life before it was ripped away, and she knew it would be. So tonight she was going to dance, because there was no telling how many more she was likely to have.