Curia Dolum (part 3)

by Marcella Haddad

            <*>

            “These ridiculous pins will never come out.”

            “That’s what I thought!” Denidre said, grinning widely. She had only spent minutes with this serving girl half her age, but Tenmar was proving to be more witty and intellectual than any of the lords or entertainers she had yet met.

            “Oh dear…I suppose you wanted them intact.”

            Tenmar held a piece of a pin with the feather part broken off in front of Denidre’s face, showing her how it had snapped in two.

            Denidre simply laughed and took the broken pin from Tenmar, tossing it onto the vanity in front of her. “Don’t worry. The agreements are going well, I hear—that always means a large sum of money for me by way of father.”

            Tenmar continued to work her hair, twisting it out of its curls and knots. “Agreements?”

            “For the treaty.” Denidre looked into the mirror. “That’s why I’m here. Though I expect to be staying long, for even after the treaty is signed there will be an embassy who remains to ensure that both sides keep the peace.” She let out a small sigh, for a moment allowing the serving girl to catch a glimpse of her inner conflict. “That’s usually me.”

            Tenmar let down Denidre’s hair at last, and then began brushing it slowly, looking at the mirror, deep in thought.

            “It doesn’t sound so bad,” She mused, fingering the dark brown curls. “To travel so much…to meet so many young lords…” She giggled again, and Denidre smiled at her innocence.

            If only she could find that much joy in her work.

                                                            <*>

            Jotorin woke the morning after the feast with a splitting headache. He groaned as he threw off the bed sheets and made a run for the lavatory before he spilled his stomach’s contents.

            Sinking back onto the mattress and wiping his mouth, he reflected on the dismal events of last night. He had felt like some kind of animal, a golden songbird put on display for all of the lavishly dressed lords and ladies, and the amount of wine he had consumed had barely numbed his stabbing uninterest.

            At least back at his castle he could sulk in his room without being scolded.

            But no, here he had to make an appearance. Here he was the prince, the observed, the whispered about. The one everyone talked about but no one talked to.

            He groaned as he stood up again, staggeringly making his way to the trunk with his still unpacked clothing. He had been here for almost a week, but he couldn’t bring himself to call a servant to put his things away—it made everything seem so permanent.

            He found a simple white shirt and threw it over his head. He had no time for proper dress now, not that he needed it. He only wanted to escape to the kitchens for a few minutes to obtain some real food, before he was subjected again to that mud they called delicacies. And then to the stables, before he was subjected to that boredom they called entertainment.

            He opened the door and turned around before he walked out, regarding the unfamiliar surroundings.

            Yes, he would definitely try to get out of this place as soon as possible.

Curia Dolum (part 2)

by Marcella Haddad

            <*>

            “Perhaps if miss cannot decide what she wants to wear, instead of going down to the feast so late, she should simply don her nightengown and inform the lord that another illness has befallen her—“

            “And miss out on the prince?”

            Phatorytt licked the juice from a berry from her fingertips, aware that they were staining her lips a delicious red. She walked slowly around her bedchamber, observing the gowns her maid had laid out for her on every flat surface available.

            The gown tonight was important. Not to impress the new court lady—no, that didn’t matter at all. But the prince! Phatorytt had missed his welcome feast as a result of the same illness her maid was suggesting she use as an excuse, and she would find it hard to sleep at night if she did not make it up to herself.

            “I’ve heard he’s very handsome.” Phatorytt fingered the neckline of a maroon dress, running her hands over the lace. “They say he takes after his father—I absolutely adore light eyes.”

            Her maid, Ketora, nodded mutely, following after her mistress and carefully folding up the gowns she had deemed unworthy. This was surely a task for two maids, with the amount of clothing the princess had--but all of the others were at the feast with their mistresses.

            Phatorytt popped another berry into her mouth and stopped in front of one of the last dresses, a violently red creation with a circular neckline. She smiled slowly, observing the fitted bodice. It was perfect—red to draw attention, and the neckline made her into the paragon of innocence while showing more that her mother would approve of.

                                                            <*>

            After all this time, she still couldn’t choose a dress.

            Meru shook his head at the unchanging stubbornness of his friend. He knew exactly why she hadn’t been at the feast so far, since it had been this way for years. When she had missed the princes welcome feast he had wondered, but then she truly had been ill. Most fortunate for him, as she had been very interested in the prince, therefore making him his main opponent in her love.

            Though that must have been very horrible for her to go through, of course.

            Meru laughed inwardly at himself as he stood at the edge of the dancing floor. Here he was, worried more about his jealousy for the prince than for her health! What a person he was.

            He did wish she would come tonight, though. Even if it meant she did have to see that ridiculous prince.

            It was as if the god Den himself had been listening to his thoughts. There she was—walking in in that dress, the red one he loved so much.

            But would the prince love it too?

            His violet gaze lifted from Phatorytt to the prince—he was looking at her, all right. But only with an expression that could be described as nothing more than boredom.

            Meru relaxed.

            “Has he danced with anyone yet?”

            Unlike most, Meru didn’t jump when he heard her voice close to his ear. He was accustomed to her way of moving silently, like the other ladies who seemed to have it hammered into them at birth.

            He put his arm around her waist, and pulled her close, aware of how naturally she seemed to fit into his side. He looked back at the prince, who still wore the same expression.

            “Not that I’ve seen.” He murmured into her hair. It matched her dress exactly. “Perhaps we should show him how it’s done?”

            Phatorytt seemed to think for a moment, and then nodded. Meru couldn’t help but wonder if she was only trying to make him jealous…

Curia Dolum (part 1)

 by Marcella Haddad

                                                            <*>

            Denidre took her emerald ring off and turned it over in her hands beneath the table, tracing her finger over the intricate design as she listened to her father’s speech. She had a strong sense of having been here before—but of course, she couldn’t have.

            They were in Kadorna now. She had to keep reminding herself as she stared up at the elaborate tapestries surrounding her. They were so much like those of the great hall back home—there was the goddess Res, slaying the demon Au. If she stared at it long enough, she could almost convince herself that it was the same one hanging in the corridor outside her room.

            Almost.

            It seemed to Denidre that every time she accompanied her father on one of his peace missions, he always had to make a speech.  Fortunately, there were more upsides to this feast—such as the handsome distraction that had caught her eye.

            She gracefully turned her head so as not to dislodge the huge feather pins fastened in it (these people had such strange customs…) to look at the boy sitting only a few seats down from her, at the right hand of this castle’s lord. If that wasn’t enough to determine his standing, he was wearing almost all gold—a royal color. But his white-blonde hair and striking yellow eyes bore no resemblance to this lord—surely he was not a member of this household. A visiting embassy, perhaps.

            It might have been that her neck was at a strange angle, for Denidre felt a sudden pain near the base of her hair, as though someone had stabbed her with a small knife.

            She gasped and quickly whipped her head around, involuntarily reaching a hand to touch the spot, and forgetting the fact that all eyes were trained on her.

            “M’lady?”

            It was a serving girl. She was standing right behind Denidre, innocently holding a plate of grapes and looking at her strangely.

            Denidre let out a breath. There was still that constant pain—could it be one of those damn feather pins?

            She forced a smile that looked somewhat real, after years of practice.

            “I shall…be retiring to my chambers early tonight, if you would show me the way.”

            The serving girl ducked her head shyly in the direction of Dinedre’s father, who was still speaking. She flashed a knowing smile.

            “With or without the knowledge of your father, miss?”

                                                            <*>

            Hulian watched her get up from the table. So, this was his target. It was almost an insult to his intelligence. This was the third soft-bred lady of the courts he had been assigned to this year—surely master couldn’t hate him this much?

            He was standing to the left of her, not seated with the other nobles, but blending in with the other servants who were standing attentively along the edge of the hall, though he certainly looked more like a noble than any of them, with his midnight-dark hair and expensive jacket.

            He watched her, moving instinctively into the shadows as she walked past with a serving girl. She was rubbing her neck—ah, a telltale sign.

            Hulian grinned. Finally, his search had not been in vain!

            His dark blue magic crackled around his fingers as he watched the two turn a corner. With a few whispers he sent a few tiny balls of light after the lady of the courts, so that they might latch onto her person and he might find her again.

            There was nothing more for him to do tonight. She had magic, surely. But there was much more to discover before he could prove it to Master.

            He leaned against the cold stone, running his hands over it. The castle was humming with energy from the feast, and he felt rather than heard his charges footsteps retreating down the corridor.

            He needed this job done right. To have finally found one, after all this time parading about in courts, all for nothing—at last he had found something for all of his troubles.

            Though he still had to make an appearance at this ridiculous feast. That was part of his assignment, for getting on good terms with this lord would surely help him in his endeavor.

            He brushed the last traces of magic from his fingertips and returned to his charade.