The procession continued through the outskirts of Tornia, past homes and shops, the buildings becoming smaller and closer together, even though the road remained wide, clean, and straight. The trumpeters blew loudly, and shouts and cheers came from all around. Catherine couldn’t help but smile and wave to the people hanging out of windows and calling greetings to her.
The road became a little steeper and then bent to the right up a slope toward the castle walls and a huge open gate from which bright flags hung. More people were crammed along the road up to this point, but beyond the gates the crowd changed. An immense courtyard, so large that Catherine’s father’s whole castle might have sat within it, opened up around her. It was filled with an equally immense crowd of Pitorians. There seemed to be three groups: purple-haired foot soldiers standing to attention; an impressive array of mounted cavalry with blue hair; and, in the middle, a throng of men in tight trousers and jackets. At last the procession came to a halt, with Sir Rowland saying, “We must wait here, Your Highness. There is to be an official welcome.”
Catherine felt her breath coming fast and shallow. The noise and the heat were overwhelming. She swayed for a moment in the saddle, and caught herself thinking how it would look if she fainted.
Pull yourself together. Sit straight.
And then the dancing began. Only in Pitoria would the official welcome open with a dance. But these dancers were clearly of a standard Catherine had not seen on her travels. The first pair vaulted impossibly high, passing each other and twisting in the air, even bouncing off each other. Others joined them until there were ten men, a dozen, whirling in a blinding dance. The speed was intense. The sun beat down and the ground seemed to throb with footsteps as still more men joined in until the whole courtyard seemed to be a mass of leaping men. It ended in a synchronized twirling bow to each other. Then they turned as one and, their faces serious, they bowed to Catherine. As they rose, she noticed one man was smiling. Catherine smiled back and said to Sir Rowland, “Wonderful as always.”
“Yes, Vario is one of the prince’s best dancers. It’s a great honor for him to lead the welcome.”
“Of course,” said Catherine, though she was irritated with herself for forgetting that such intricate formal dances were led by a single man. She might have made an impression on its people, but she still had much to learn of this country.
“We will now meet the king and Prince Tzsayn. I will go first with Prince Boris; you must follow with your ladies, Your Highness.”
Boris dismounted stiffly, and as Sir Rowland made his way to the doors of the great keep Catherine turned to her maids and signed, Look happy. Dazzle!
She set off slowly, purposely dropping farther behind the men. She was confident that King Arell would not be as impatient as her father, but she was also sure that a little waiting wouldn’t do him any harm. She might just be a pawn in this game, but a pawn still had some power.
The sun was low in the sky behind her now, and Catherine’s dress shone golden in its light. She moved more and more slowly, letting Sir Rowland and Boris disappear inside, passing the men who had danced in her honor and who now lined the route. Catherine concentrated on keeping her back straight and swaying her dress so that the crystals caught the light and sparkled. She reached the doorway and stopped, aware that anyone looking out from within the keep would see her as a shining light.
Dazzle, she told herself. Dazzle.
Catherine took a breath and stepped into a huge marbled hall. Again she paused, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. The room was lined with nobles, mostly men but many women too. At the far end was a dais and standing on it were two men. Sir Rowland and Boris stood to their right, their introductions seemingly over. Catherine was pleased she had taken her time. Now all eyes were on her.
She walked on slowly, resisting the urge to look round and focusing ahead. King Arell wasn’t as old as she’d expected, or, rather, he was thin and wiry but stood strong and upright. He wore a purple velvet hat with a fur trim rather than a crown. Beside him . . .
The prince was of a similar build to his father, his skin a dark golden brown color on the right side of his face, but his left, even from this distance, seemed strange. He stood gracefully, one hand on his hip, staring directly at her. His eyes seemed dark, almost black, but there was no expression there.
Finally Catherine arrived at the foot of the dais, where she stopped and looked up at the king. This was the man who’d negotiated with her father for her to be delivered up to a man she barely knew. Her amusement at the dancing had left her, and she was reminded again that she was here to marry a man she’d never spoken to.
Sir Rowland said, “Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, may I introduce Her Royal Highness Princess Catherine of Brigant.”
Slowly, deliberately, Catherine took a step back from the dais and sank into the Brigantine deep curtsy, her head below the knee of the king, as low as she could go, reminding all those present of where she stood in the hierarchy. She might have her fine dress and her own white-haired followers, but she was being given to a prince by a king, and she wanted these men—and everyone watching—to see it for what it was. It wasn’t a celebration of love; it was a deal. At best, the forging of an alliance; at worst, a sale.
As she stood, Catherine met the king’s eyes for a moment and only then dared to look into the face of the man who was going to be her husband.
Prince Tzsayn was not ugly; indeed, he might have been handsome if not for his strange complexion. The left side of his face was a lighter brown color than the right, and smooth, as if all lines and wrinkles had been melted away. He wore a fur-trimmed hat, below which his black wavy hair curled, and a high-necked jacket with sleeves so long they brushed his fingertips.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Princess Catherine. I hope your journey to us has been pleasant.” King Arell’s voice was surprisingly gentle.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. My journey was interesting and enjoyable. Pitoria is beautiful, and its people have been most welcoming.”
King Arell smiled. “I hear that you are winning them over.”
“I think they have won me over, Your Majesty.”
“Then I hope my son and I can do the same.”
Catherine was so surprised she didn’t reply. The words were so unlike anything her father might have said that she didn’t know how to react.
She glanced quickly at Tzsayn, but he still wore the same formal expression as he had on her first approach.
King Arell continued, “I must now make my welcome speech, but let us talk more this evening.”
Catherine was escorted to the side of the dais by Sir Rowland. From there she had a good view of Prince Tzsayn’s unscarred side. He was striking from this angle, with high cheekbones, dark brown eyes, and black hair curling to his jawline. This was to be her husband. He seemed cool, as her mother had said he was. Cold even. But what could she really tell just from looking at him? She wanted to talk to him, but King Arell was still speaking, and as soon as his father’s speech was over Tzsayn turned, bowed to her, and walked slowly from the hall.
“This way, Your Highness,” murmured Sir Rowland. “I will show you to your rooms. You must be tired.”
Catherine allowed him to guide her down from the dais and through a pair of elaborately carved wooden doors, though she was desperate to look back and see more of her future husband.
* * *