He first saw her in the courtyard, a thin waif of a girl dressed in commoner's homespun. She carried a package in dirt-stained fingers, and as she flowed across the cobblestones in calloused bare feet, his breath was stolen away.
Her dark hair was wild and unbound, her dark eyes bold and spirited. She smiled and laughed as she gave her package to the elderly keeper of the gardens, whose old crooked back seemed to straighten just for a moment when he was the focus of her attention. Then she twirled around and danced out of the courtyard, unaware of the burning gaze that followed her.
For the next three weeks, she consumed his thoughts. Her bubbling laugh and long tangled hair filled his dreams until he longed to run his fingers over that golden skin, to stare deeply into those mesmerizing eyes.
He wanted her.
And when he told his advisers so, they were appalled.
"But Your Grace," a balding adviser sputtered, "you cannot wed a peasant girl! Such thing is unheard of!"
A tall, thin man in scholar's robes wrung his hands. "The people will never accept it – it would much more prudent for Your Grace to find a young woman of noble birth."
"At least then you could be certain of her. . .purity," said a third, his lips curling in distaste. "With the commoners and their barbaric ways – why would you even want such filth?"
His fingers dug into the armrests of his chair so savagely, the sound of cracking knuckles filled the air. "I," the King snarled, "will hear no more of this. Find the girl, and bring her to me!"
The snivelling advisors fell silent, cowed by the anger that twisted his features. They stared at him as if unsure that they had heard correctly, that he indeed chose to ignore their warnings.
Fools.
"Get thee gone!" He roared.
Faces turned pasty white as they seemed to remember just who they were addressing, and just what lay at stake. They scampered out of the room like a stampede of frightened mice with a hungry cat hot on their tails.
The king was tempted, for a moment, to have his guardsmen to stake their cowardly heads about the entrance of his castle. However, that was no way to greet a young bride. At the thought of her, his anger evaporated.
A peasant girl. . .indeed, that could pose an issue. However, every problem had a solution and it would be an easy matter to make a peasant girl into a queen. Closing his eyes, the King imagined a rich green gown instead of homespun cotton, dainty little shoes to cover those rough feet, and combs and oils to tame that wild hair. His heart skipped a beat at the resulting image, drawing a long sigh from his lips.
"Beautiful. . ."
She would sit at his right hand, a bride worthy of the King. He smiled then, a true smile that hadn't graced his features since the crown had first been lowered onto his head.
They brought her after four days. But she was not alone. A tall, young man stood by her side, his face made of frozen stone. At the sight of him, the King nearly growled and for a moment, was tempted to order one of his guards to drag him to the dungeons on some fabricated charge. No other man but himself should have the right to stand at her side!
Grinding his teeth, he turned his attention to her. It was like stepping outside under a gentle rain. He felt refreshed. Cleansed.
The King rose from his throne to offer her a small bow. "Greetings, my sweet. I have waited so long to meet you." He held out his hand and waited, focusing on her lovely face. Her eyes were wide, a little flighty, but he supposed she was merely flustered by being in his presence.
After a long moment, she lifted a slender hand. Her cool fingers lightly touched his. Before she could draw away, the King closed his hand over hers, holding it tight. She trembled. He smiled kindly, trying to reassure her. There was no need to be frightened of him – he would take care of her.
"Why have you called us here?"
The King stiffened at the sound of the young man's voice. Displeasure ran through his veins. It was only after he heard a soft gasp that he realized he had tightened his fingers around the girl's hand. He immediately released her, a small frown creasing his brow.
For the sake of the girl, he needed to keep this civil. He turned to the unwanted peasant. The young man returned his stare coldly, hostility barely hidden within dark eyes that were much like the girl's. That look from eyes so similar irritated the King, yet he plastered a benevolent smile on his face.
"And who might you be?" He inquired. "I recall inviting only the maiden."
The young man's jaw tightened. "I am her brother."
Oh, the King thought. A sense of relief flooded through him. This made things so much easier. "Do you have a name, young man?"
"Valeris." The word was spat out unwillingly, but the King paid no mind.
"And your lovely sister?" His eyes shifted to the vision of loveliness that stolen both his mind and his heart, yet she only looked at her brother, dependent on him to speak for them both.
A pregnant pause, while Valeris remembered that both he and his sister stood in the presence of the King. "Aveline."
". . .Aveline," the King repeated softly. He let it tumble through his mind a few times, tasting its flavour. Queen Aveline. A lovely name, he decided. It suited the girl. Smiling, he straightened his stance so that he faced them both directly.
"I am going to give both of you a gift," he proclaimed, giving a nod to the royal scribe to start writing this event down in the records. The girl started, her large eyes darting warily to his. Her brother frowned.
The King held out both his hands in a benevolent matter. "Young man, you are the head of your house?" When he received an uncertain nod in response, the King's smile only grew wider. "Then I shall give you the deed and title to the Vermont estate in the north. Henceforth, you shall be Lord and head of the Vermont estate, and all of its property and wealth shall be yours. I congratulate you, Lord Valeris."
All the blood drained from the young man's face. His mouth opened in what only could be speechless gratitude, but the King did not provide anything for him to speak. He had no desire to listen to Valeris' blubbers of thanks and praises of the King's kindness.
The King smiled at Aveline. "And you, my sweet dove. You shall become my Queen."
The girl stared. Blinked. Then her eyes grew wide. Her hands flew to her mouth as she emitted a little gasp. And just like her brother, she grew incredibly pale. For the first time, she spoke, "Y-your Grace. . .!"
To the King, the sound of her voice was even lovelier than he had imagined. Smooth and gentle with a touch of silk – it suited her. It made him want her even more. What a prize this one was! What a beautiful Queen she would make – she'd be the prettiest one in the land and all the other Kings would wish they'd found her first.
"What?!" The brother's voice broke into his reverie. Frowning, the King glanced over, wondering what the new Lord's problem was. Surely he couldn't be dissatisfied with all he had been given. After all, give a man enough gifts and he'd be a loyal servant for life. Whether it be money, women, slaves or power – every man had a price.
"You can't –!" Valeris began to shout, but the King smoothly cut him off with a regal sweep of the hand.
"Lord Valeris appears overwhelmed by my generosity," he stated loudly to a nearby pair of guards. "Take him to the guest quarters and make sure he is comfortable. Give him some a bath and a rest, then see that he is attired properly for a wedding." He paused, and the two guards leapt in, quickly and efficiently closing in the young man before he had time to react.
The King met the new lord's eyes. His lips curved coolly, while his eyes glittered. She's mine now, he thought. And no one else will stand at her side. Not even you. "And see that he gets a fine gift from my armory. Let it not be said that I did not provide a fine bride price to my bride's family."
He watched as his guards removed the stunned man from his court. Satisfied, he clapped his hands. "Now, prepare for the wedding!" At once his advisors rushed into action, shouting orders to servants and preparing invitations to nobles. Despite all the activity, the King only had eyes for Aveline.
She remained motionless, her pale face slack in shock. The King swept up a delicate hand in his. "Don't be afraid, my dear," he murmured. His eyes dropped to her throat. She swallowed. He lifted a hand and lightly touched the side of her face. She gasped, trembling.
His eyes followed his fingers as he trailed them across her jawline, down the gentle slope of her throat to her collarbone. "So lovely," he breathed in wonder. "And mine."
A soft sound slipped past her lips. He took it be a whimper of pleasure. "Soon, my dove. But not yet – we shall be wed first."
She stiffened, but he did not notice. He was already calling for a tailor – the bride would need a wedding gown fit for a Queen.
XxX
The King did not remember a single word that was said during the ceremony. He only gazed into his bride's face, taken with her beauty. She had not said a word to him, and her eyes hadn't risen to meet his, but he only took it as nervousness. It was fine – for now, he could forgive her for her shyness. But after the wedding finished and was properly consummated, he expected her to act as a Queen should.
The Grand Hall fell silent. It was time. Lifting her veil with eager hands, the King bent to kiss his bride. Carefully cupping her face with his hands, he tasted the sweet flavor of her lips. She did not respond, even as he lingered. Then he drew back to the cheers of the guests. It was done.
He had a Queen.
The King turned to acknowledge his guests, but one in particular stood out. There, at the end of the red carpet, stood Lord Valeris. The young man, while dressed in the finery fit for a royal celebration, did not look like he was enjoying himself. In fact, he appeared distressed.
It did not matter. At this fine hour, this wondrous moment, the King didn't care. He grinned broadly and held out a hand.
"My Lord Valeris! Won't you congratulate us? Your sister – the queen, and I – your King?"
Valeris stepped forward in response. He glanced at the bride. The sight of her seemed to calm him, for every trace of distress vanished from his face.
He stopped before the King. He bent in a deep bow. "My King," he said softly, and took the King's offered hand with his left. The King smiled, pleased at the young Lord's show of respect. He had been right after all – give a man enough gifts and he'll become a loyal servant.
Valeris straightened, his hand still gripping the King's. He lifted his chin and met the King's eyes. And the King froze, for had never seen such coldness in another man's gaze.
"I congratulate you," Valeris said, loud enough to be heard, but flat enough to be dead. "Please, allow me to present you with a gift."
Valeris pulled him in close.
Something flashed. Someone screamed.
And the King staggered, his legs suddenly growing weak. In the far distance, he heard muffled shouting. And then he was falling. The floor was a long distance away and it took an eternity to reach it. But all the while he fell, he watched Valeris in confusion.
What....?
It took a lot of effort, because everything was growing dim at the edges. Why. . .? Suddenly alarmed that he couldn't see her, he tried to turn, to reach, to catch one last glimpse of her. But no matter how he tried to reach her, he couldn't move and the more he struggled the faster the world darkened and the faster he fell.
Farther and farther away from her he fell, until he forgot entirely what he was reaching for.