“You don’t know. How could you know? You’ve never seen her. And she’s an Ethelred! By Mar! She’s bound to be hideous! How could you do this to me?”
“I didn’t do anything to you!” The old man’s tone had switched from sympathetic to sharp—his ruling voice. “I strengthened the kingdom. I saved that throne in the great hall so you could sit in it one day. So that when you did, it would be more than just an ugly chair. This marriage had nothing to do with you and nothing to do with her. Its value is in coin and security. That’s what matters. Not your petty concerns about having a beautiful girl. You’re a prince! You’ll be king! You’ll have everything the kingdom can give. How spoiled are you?”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to sleep with it.”
“If you do the job right the first time, you only have to sleep with her once. Then you can wash away the memory with a hundred girls. You can have them lined up outside your door.”
That was true, he realized. He would be king. He could do whatever he wanted and have as many women as he wished. At the time that thought consoled him; then he thought of his mother and how he was an only child. The woman rarely smiled; perhaps he’d just discovered why. His father’s advice did not seem so wise then.
He dreaded the countdown to the wedding and contemplated running off. He would flee on horseback in the starlit night and live by his sword, become a hero. But he didn’t and a funny thing happened. From the day he met Ann Ethelred, from the moment he took her as his wife, he had never wanted anyone else. He discovered that he measured all other women on how similar they were to Ann. Only none could ever compete with her, and watching his wife brush their daughter’s hair in the lovely gown of shimmering silver, he knew that would never change.
“What?” Ann asked.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I know. You’re just standing there staring. What are you thinking?”
“I was wondering if you loved me.”
She smiled at the mirror, the magical world between the two swans. Amrath imagined it was a beautiful place, a pretty country where troubles never found entry.
“I bore you two wonderful children.” She kissed the crown of Arista’s head.
“That was your duty as queen, but do—”
“Really?” She paused with the brush still holding on to a few strands of Arista’s hair to look at him. “A duty? Is that how you found it?”
“Not for my part—of course not.”
She returned to the mirror and the brushing. “Then why would you think I saw it that way? Did I appear to be suffering? Do I now? It’s such a hardship being your wife. Perhaps you should summon the guard to whip me, lest I stop brushing my daughter’s hair.”
Arista laughed and covered her face with her hands.
Amrath scowled at her. “I could have sworn we had a dozen servants whose job it is to see to Arista’s grooming.”
“There, you see? What more proof do you need? I do this because I want to.”
“That just proves you love your children.”
“Actually it just proves you love me,” Arista whispered.
Ann gave her a gentle slap on the head that caused her to giggle again. “Quiet, you.”
“It doesn’t speak to the question of your love for me.” Amrath unfolded his arms and took Ann by the shoulders, turning her to face him. “Do you?”
She stood defiantly stone-faced, holding up the brush like a weapon before her—a tiny maiden warding off a giant bear. “Of course! How else could I live with such a hairy brute?” He held her still, his eyes searching hers, pleading. She melted. “How could any woman not love you?”
Amrath raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m king?”
“Well, there is that.” She grinned and wrapped her arms as far around his waist as she could. “But I meant because there is nothing so attractive, so romantic, so wonderful as a man who is so clearly in love with me.”
“Hold on,” Amrath said. “I never admitted to anything here. You’re the one who—”
She tilted her head so that her chin rested on his chest as she gazed up at his face, her arms squeezing.
“A man could get lost in those eyes, you know.”
“Really? But I thought you didn’t love me.”
“Well … maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you’re ready to go down to the party yet. You remember the party, right? We have this new chancellor that I appointed to the job because you insisted I give Clare’s husband a position.”
“That’s not why you did it.”
“It was one of them.”
“For being such a bear, you’re awfully soft.” She rubbed his belly.
“Winter is coming. I’m putting on fat for the cold season.”
Ann smirked, then set the brush on the dresser. “Come along, Arista, Daddy wants to show us off to his friends.”
“I like making them jealous,” the king said. “Where’s Alric?”
“He went down already with Mauvin and Fanen. I’ve never seen him so anxious to get to a party before. Maybe he’s seen someone, or maybe he’s taken a fancy to Lenare.”
“Eww.” Arista made a face as she stood up.
“Lenare is becoming a lovely young lady,” Ann said. “Very respectable. You would do well to emulate her.”
Arista rolled her eyes.
“Arista!” The moment Amrath barked at her, he recognized his own father’s voice—the ruling voice—and winced inside.
“Sorry,” she said.
The apology sounded sincere, but not weak, not hurt. There was fiber there. She might bend, but there was no breaking his daughter. She was tough, that one; took after him in that way. Smart too—she took after Ann in that fashion. A shame she was a girl.
As usual, the musicians played “Falcon’s Flight” as Amrath and Ann descended the stairs. All heads turned and lifted to see the royal family’s entrance. No one said a word, and not even the old sat while they came down. Like a pipe and drum corps on a battlefield, the musicians played while standing. Amrath was dying for a drink. Bad enough that he had to wait until the last guest arrived, but he also had to take his time creeping down the steps with all the speed of a change in seasons. He had to time his footfalls so that the anthem concluded with the end of their procession. The whole thing was theatrics, but expected. This was part of his job, part of being king, and he reminded himself it was one of the easier tasks.
Only Wintertide was more festive than the autumn gala, but the king always thought there was a kind of coercion in the celebration of Wintertide—a party to divert the attention of people facing the longest, often coldest, night of the year. The harvest gala was different and truly festive as long as there was a good harvest. There was nothing worse than trying to make merry after an early frost or torrential rains that wiped out the coming winter’s food. Luckily, he didn’t have to be concerned with either since the harvest had been plentiful. They would have a surplus, and aside from the unpleasant death of Ann’s sister and Chancellor Wainwright, the future looked worthy of a fine celebration.