SOFY STRODE QUICKLY down the stone corridor to the king's chambers, her maid Anyse at her side. “Oh, I hope I'm not late,” she worried, brushing hastily at her hair. “Is my hair tangled?”
“It's lovely, Highness,” said Anyse, always diplomatic. “Just…here.” She pulled a brush from an apron pocket and Sofy stood still long enough for her to pull the brush through quickly. It caught several times.
“Oh damn,” Sofy fretted, “it's been doing that a lot lately, hasn't it?”
“Not at all, Highness. You have the loveliest hair in Baen-Tar, but it's no wonder you get tangles when you never slow down.”
“Slow down?” Sofy exclaimed. “Alythia's wedding is less than a month away, Rathynal will be here shortly and every provincial lord and his entourage will be arriving, all demanding entertainments, decorative quarters—and gods forbid anyone should find themselves bored or in disagreement with my program…oh hells, how did I end up with so many responsibilities?”
Anyse fought back a smile. “You volunteered,” she said succinctly.
Sofy gazed at her in despair. “I did, didn't I? Heavens, I'm such a fool.”
“Nonsense, you're simply too kindhearted and intelligent for your own good, that's all.”
Sofy brushed her long hair with a hand, then grasped Anyse by the arm and pulled her on down the hall. “I wonder what father wants me for. Perhaps I'll be able to get out of it soon, then I can get back to rehearsal…oh! Could you rush back and tell Alythia I'll be late? She insists she needs my help to decorate her wedding shawl…my fingers will be raw to the bone from needlework at the end of this, I'm sure of it!”
“I'll tell her, Highness,” Anyse reassured her. “And your gown for the banquet tonight? Shall you leave some time for a fitting?”
“Oh drat!” Sofy said crossly, drawing an amused looked from a tall Royal Guardsman as he stood at attention. “I knew I'd forgotten something…look, could you just arrange the green-and-blue one with the curl pattern? I'd thought since it is a foreign reception and green and blue is not so far from Lenay purple and green, is it?”
“Quite adequate, Highness.”
“And stop calling me that!”
“In the royal quarters, certainly not, Highness.”
They stopped before the grand twin doors to the king's chambers, panelled white and inlaid with gold, unlike the plain dark wood of most of the Baen-Tar Palace. Sofy took a deep breath, wondering at her nerves. It had been days since she'd last seen her father, or Koenyg, for that matter. Lately, they'd both been spending much time in closed chambers with advisors and, some said, the holy fathers of the Saint Ambellion Temple. There was serious trouble in the north with that prize fool Lord Krayliss, they said, and now, a foreign delegation had arrived. She had far too much on her plate to be concerned about the issues that troubled the family's menfolk, but meeting her father was never a lighthearted affair.
Anyse adjusted the silver Verenthane star against her princess's chest. “There. Your Highness is looking forward to M'Lady Sashandra's visit for Rathynal?”
Sofy grinned at her and spun a pirouette. “Sasha's coming to stay!” she sang happily. “I hope she stays a week! No, I hope she stays a year! Maybe I'll…” and she slapped a hand to her mouth, horrified. “Oh no, where are my wits? I'm late already!”
She readjusted her hair and dress in a hurry, with Anyse's mirthful help. Took another deep breath, made a face at Anyse when the older woman could barely refrain from laughing at her overexciteable charge, and pushed through the wide white doors.
The doors opened onto the reception, a grand, rectangular room of dark stone and decorative wall hangings. Upon the wide carpet stood many men, sipping from glasses whilst immersed in conversation, as musicians played the reed pipe and gitar in one corner. Sofy blinked in astonishment—many of them were clearly not Lenay men, for no Lenay man, Goeren-yai or Verenthane, would have been caught dead in the outfits they were wearing. Their boots were high and polished, their leggings tight and their beaded tunics were fitted tight about the torso, yet flared puffily at the shoulders. Cuffs enveloped their hands in explosions of embroidered white lace, offsetting the predominance of darker, richer colours. Many men had curls in their hair and the hint of perfume scented the air, stronger than Sofy's own. They stood in conversation with various palace officials and some officers.
Then she saw Koenyg, excusing himself from one conversation and striding to her side. His calm expression darkened to a scowl when no one could see. “Where have you been?” whispered the heir of Lenayin. Sofy's elder brother was a broad, solid man, with none of the lean elegance of his foreign guests. His wide-sleeved jacket was made of luxuriantly soft skins with a leather tunic beneath, displaying none of the decoration of the foreigners. But then, it had never been the way of Lenay men to preen and prance like mating birds.
“What do you mean ‘where have I been’?” Sofy retorted. “Have you any idea how busy I am?”
“Practising ceremonies and embroidering costumes does not constitute busy,” Koenyg answered, presenting his right arm for her to take. Sofy did so, quickly replacing a scowl of irritation with a friendly smile for the guests. Koenyg walked her to the edge of the carpet and all the men stopped talking to look at her. Something in the foreigners’ eyes made her uncomfortable. Not that their gaze was rude—they were far too cultured and dignified for that—but it was…judgmental, somehow.
Koenyg stopped and, to Sofy's surprise, all the foreign men gave a round of polite applause. Sofy smiled, because it was funny, and…well, every girl liked to be praised, even with such strange, foreign customs. She curtsied. And continued to feel uncomfortable, whatever the well-practised charm of her smile.
“Sister,” said Koenyg, with polite formality, “please allow me to introduce Duke Stefhan of the Bacosh province of Larosa.” Indicating a man before her who seemed to stand a little straighter than the others. Sofy curtsied, grateful of the chance to lower her eyes and smother an abrupt surge of distaste. Larosa! She'd heard tales of the Larosa, some of them from Sasha. Larosa was the most powerful of the Bacosh provinces and most of the Bacosh spoke the Larosan tongue, or were influenced by their culture. Larosa had led numerous wars against the Saalshen Bacosh over the past two centuries and had been defeated each time. She had heard what the Larosa had done to captured full or half-caste serrin, with or without the excuse of war, and her blood ran cold at the thought.
“Duke Stefhan, here is my youngest sister, the Princess Sofy Lenayin.” Sofy extended her hand and the duke took it lightly. He wore more rings than Sofy even owned, let alone wore.
“Utterly charmed,” said the duke, with a strange accent that was itself rather charming, and pressed her hand to his lips. The duke had a goatee and dark hair in curls down to his shoulders. A handsome man, Sofy thought, in perhaps his mid-forties…with a funny nose, bulging at the tip. “Your Highness, you are even more beautiful than all the tales I have heard. My companion Master Piet is a skilled bard, I must have him write a song for you so men can sing of your beauty all through Larosa and all across the great Bacosh lands.”
“Indeed,” said another man—Master Piet, it seemed. “You set me an easy task, my Duke. Before such a beauty, words and song cannot but leap to my lips.”
Against all her better judgment, Sofy found herself blushing. “My Duke, Master, you flatter me.”
The duke's eyes widened. “Flatter? No, no, Your Highness, you must not think so!” The accent, Sofy thought, really was very nice. All the sounds were soft and all the hard Lenay vowels seemed to flow together with velvet ease. “I have found, in my travels through your beautiful kingdom, that all the mountain women are full of vigour! Perhaps it is the mountain air, or the wonderful water. But you, my Princess, you have a rosy glow to your cheek, and a gleam in your eye, that is unsurpassed. Unsurpassed. And I would be honoured if you would accompany me to the dinner tonight.”
Sofy blinked and looked at Koenyg. The dinner…of course. The banquet, rather, to welcome the arrival of this foreign delegation—the Larosa. They had come for Rathynal, the great meeting of Lenay clans. And Koenyg wanted her to be the duke's escort? Well, that was hardly surprising—she was the one who usually got stuck with that kind of thing. The one who actually liked talking to strange foreigners, or anyone, for that matter.
“Would that interfere so terribly with your busy plans?” Koenyg asked her. Men laughed to hear that touch of dry irony—a brother's exasperation with feminine obsessions. Especially amusing from blunt, pragmatic Koenyg.
“Of course not!” Sofy retorted and favoured the duke with a smile. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all. The duke seemed nice and lowlanders certainly knew how to outshine Lenay men with charm. Besides which, there were so many beautiful crafts, songs and paintings she'd seen from the Bacosh provinces; surely the duke was a cultured man and they could talk of such things. Sofy loved the arts above all else…and as for Sasha's tales about the Larosa, well, Sasha certainly was prone to exaggeration. “I would be delighted to accompany you to the banquet tonight, Duke Stefhan,” she said.
“Such a treat is more than I deserve,” replied the duke with a sincere smile. “Please, allow me to introduce the men of my companionship.”
“Of course, that would be lovely…” Before her brother could turn away and leave her with the duke, she quickly whispered. “Where is father? I'd thought he would be here?”
“Father is meeting,” Koenyg said vaguely. “He'll be at the banquet.”
“Meeting with who?” Sofy wondered, as the Duke led her first to Master Piet, who also kissed her hand. Everyone seemed to be in meetings, at the moment. All these comings and goings were too much to keep track of. She only hoped that Sasha would come sooner rather than later. Sasha helped things to make sense. And, as much as she enjoyed the flattery of the Larosa men, it was a little annoying to be treated so condescendingly. Not only like a girl, but like a child. Just let them try and do that to Sasha!