Halle: A Court Of Ice
Princess Halle Laurel darted down the stone steps, eager to be at her future husband's side when the Commander arrived. She'd only been in Verlic for one day, and she needed to make a good impression with King Clive Palisade.
As she emerged into the hallway that would take her to the throne room, she passed by the king's son, Bruce. He was leaning against the wall, carving something out of a chunk of wood. Wearing a striking ebony shirt and matching pants, he looked every bit as intimidating as his father. Halle slowed down, reluctant for the confrontation.
"Is this where I'm supposed to be?" Halle asked carefully. "Your father said something about the presentation of the new members of the Watch, but I was not sent for." There appeared to be few servants in the great castle, something Halle was not accustomed to. In her old home, the kingdom of Rodantha, the royalty was waited on constantly by servants. They were dressed, fed, and even bathed by them. In Verlic, the icy highlands of the northern reaches, there were few people in general, let alone servants to do her bidding.
Bruce gave her a once over, a smirk playing over his lips that made Halle's face warm. "You're wearing that to the presentation?"
Halle immediately glanced down at her grey silken gown with a lavender shawl over her shoulders. She blinked. "Is... is something wrong?"
"You weren't sent for," Bruce said, "because you weren't wanted." He got off the wall and shoved the wooden block into his pocket. He kept the knife out though, examining the glinting blade. "I'd run along back upstairs if I were you, little dove. This is no place for innocence." He strolled past her and vanished through the doorway she had just come through. Halle noted that he was not going to the presentation. She knew Bruce was Clive's illegitimate son and wanted to feel a pang of sympathy for him. Wanted to but did not.
Slowly, the princess crept up to the cracked door at the opposite end of the hallway and poked her nose through the narrow space to see the Great Hall. . Pillars held up the ceiling with tapestries depicting the Palisade ox on a field of white fabric. Two torches resided in iron bracers on either side of the two steps that led to the throne. . It was a far cry from the golden chair her brother King Dominic, sat in at his castle back in Rodantha, but Halle doubted Clive cared one jot about all that. The throne was important not because of its appearance. It was only made important by the person sitting in it.
And that person had seen Halle's face peeking into the Great Hall. His beady eyes stared at her pointedly, pinning the princess to the spot. Halle swallowed and debated stepping back and running back upstairs to the safety of her room, but then quickly shoved that idea from her mind. She was supposed to be a queen in a few days. It was time to start acting like one. Setting her jaw, Halle pushed the door open and stepped into the room. It was quiet, Clive and the ancient medic, Maddox, the only two present. Both men stared at her as she slowly approached the throne, noticing that there was only one.
"Your Grace." She dipped into a polite curtsey and straightened; her hands clasped before her. She did not know Clive at all, only spoke with him briefly upon her arrival last night, and he'd seemed stoically polite, but she had heard of his sternness.
"Step aside," Clive commanded with a jerk of his head. "If you must watch, move to the side of the room."
Seeing it as a triumph that she wasn't sent away, Halle quickly moved to the opposite wall. She smoothed her dress down and curiously looked toward the open double doors at the front of the room. She had barely pressed herself against the wall when they burst open. A tall man wearing a billowing cape and dark armor strode into the Great Hall, a grave look on his face. He was surprisingly handsome with his dark eyes, tanned skin, and fit build. Halle felt her face grow warm as she watched him from beneath the curve of her lashes. Carefully, the man approached the throne. She did not have to guess who he was.
This was the Commander.
"Your Grace." He bent his head and shoulder into a curt bow. His gaze remained focused on the king. Not a single glance was cast Halle's way, and she felt relieved.
"Commander Walsh." Clive inclined his own head to him in greeting, his shrewd blue eyes giving nothing away. Beside him, Maddox shifted uneasily on his booted feet as if he suspected something was amiss.
"The recruits that have successfully completed the Gilded Rite." The Commander turned to the side and faced the doorway. "Come in," he called gruffly.
Three figures cautiously stepped through the doorway, bringing a coppery scent with them that made Halle wrinkle her nose. Once they were fully in the glow of the flickering torches, she understood the smell. They were covered in dark, dried blood. The coating flaked off into dozens of tiny pieces as they approached the throne. Halle was shocked by how young the trio was. Each recruit was barely out of the stages of boyhood, but the expression in their eyes made them seem older, wiser. Their movements were layered in a haze of remorse and guilt, their steps slow with trepidation. Halle swallowed, wondering what they had to do to complete the Rite.
"Only three?" Clive didn't even try to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Halle chanced a glance at the Commander. His face was unreadable. "How many did you have with you, Rafe? Twenty? Thirty?"
"Out of the seven that I took to Red Cliff," the Commander moved to stand beside the three boys, "these are the only ones worthy enough for your Watch, Your Grace."
Clive rubbed his chin thoughtfully before letting out an impatient breath. "You have shed the blood of your enemies," he announced stiffly to the boys. "By doing thus, you have proven your worth in becoming a valuable asset to the Watch." He shifted in his throne. "Step forward and kneel before your king."
They looked to Commander Walsh, and he nodded briskly. The three boys shuffled forward; their eyes luminous in the dried blood caked onto their faces. One of them, on the end closest to Halle, shifted his gaze toward her and blinked. Halle tried to smile empathetically. Was that what he wanted? Sympathy?
"Face forward," the Commander barked at the boy. Startled, he looked towards the king. Halle looked down, feeling as though she had caused him to get into trouble. When she slowly raised her eyes upward, the Commander's deep brown ones were staring at her, pinning her to the wall. A veil of ice washed over her skin, gooseflesh breaking out across her chest. There was such brutality in those eyes, such a promise of malice, that Halle's breath was snatched from her throat. She gasped, barely able to breath.
And yet... there was something else there, lurking beneath the bitter waters of his gaze, something that seemed to be trying to hide. Sorrow. A dark sadness seeped from his stare, one so deep that it made Halle's throat close at the pressure of it. She swayed unsteadily against the wall, but then his eyes snapped back to his recruits as they kneeled before the king.
One by one they approached the throne and allowed Clive to press his fingertips to their foreheads and mutter a prayer. Had she been in Rodantha, such a ceremony would have required weeks of preparation. Balls would have been held; feasts laid out in honor of the new members of the King's Watch. Here, in Verlic, it was less about celebration and more about duty. This was what was expected of these men, and they didn't deserve a grand festival for simply doing what they were supposed to do. Halle couldn't help but wonder what her wedding would be like then. If this was all that was granted to the most important form of protection for the realm, then what could the princess expect for her own special day? Halle trembled at the thought.
She knew that in Verlic, they worshipped the Black Stag, the Victor of the Forest to whom all their good fortune and harvests revolved around. Stags were sacred, never to be hunted or killed. Verlic's entire religion stemmed from the graceful creatures. From all the things she had read, their rituals were crude, their practices mostly shrouded in mystery. She supposed she would soon become well acquainted with their customs. She was going to be Verlic's queen after all.