Short stories

The Marriage of Il Principe

She was somewhat uncomfortable.

The dinner was going well. The many musicians and entertainers contracted from Onore and beyond were actually very good, and the ambiance was light. She should be happy. Why she wasn't? Her new husband and master was a kind, caring man. Much older than she thought, though, but not ugly or disgusting as the old Pantaleone from the theater plays she watched as a child. He was not very attractive, but also, not ugly. His eyes where very beautiful, deep grey eyes, and the scars he beared on the neck and face did little to cripple his appearance. He was a fine gentleman, and very polite. Why I am not smiling, she though to herself.

"Arnatia? Are you felling fine?" he asked.

At her side, seated on the almost cramped Golden Hall of Monte Castello, wearing the finer garb he could afford. He didn't quite look like the Princes of the tales, but much more like a king, a very wealthy merchantmen. Aldobrando dwarfed Arnatia by a head, and his frame was much bigger than the young girl's. He had been cheering with his noblemen and subjects for some time after the ceremony, and waved her left and right, like showing a new trophy to his collection. Arnatia wasn't worried about him, it was fine to her - as she would meet much of her subjects that way. Still, something on his manners was not right.

"I'm... fine, my lord."

"Please, no need to be formal. We are at the table, call me Aldobrando. Or Lucca, the way you prefer."

Lucca. His use of two names somewhat worried her. She knew already that Il Principe was marrying her for a couple of reasons, one was because of her bloodline. Being a descendant of the Di Lucci house, lost at the Border Princes, she was indeed a finding to this claimant to the Kingdom of Luccini. Lucca Lupo. Sounded quite right.

"I'm fine, dear Aldo."

"That's better."

He reached with his left arm behind her shoulders, helding her tight for a moment, his beard tickling Arnatia's face. He was nice. She should think herself lucky, Arnatia thought. But the rumours she heard from the maids and the castle's pajes were quite disturbing. Rumours about Aldobrando's dealings with beings from beyond the grave, the reason of his early senility, and his quite... close relationship with the Queen of Onore. At first, Arnatia dismissed such as riff-raff talk, and petty intrigues, but when she saw Anastasia Contyre between the crowd, and how Il Principe looked at her, she grew worried. Some guard said to her maid that a few days earlier, the Queen had reached the Castello, and since them she had spend all her time with Il Principe - in public, and in private. Some said they shared the alcove many times before Arnatia's arrival, and that was making her uncomfortable.

Aldobrando squeezed Arnatia some more, his left, claw-like hand coming to rest at her thigh. She heard of Il Principe's appetites, but she could not still discern what were the serfs meaning, and that was another reason to feel unfit. He stared at her.

"Something is not right, dear. Tell me what troubles your mind.", he caressed her thigh under the table, his right hand laying on a golden tankard of captured Luccinic wine. Bitter, but sweet and licquorous.

"I am... worried."

"About what?"

She had to create a distraction. She was about to tell Aldobrando that she was worried about his... previous encounters with Queen Contyre, whatever be their nature. She had to act quickly.

"About the Border Question. Do you really need to poke the Alfonti in this? Why can't you just give him his lands and get it over with?"

Aldobrando's face grew stern, and Arnatia feared his response.