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“Your Majesty, if we are to be wed we might as well aspire to conversation.” She said at long last, her foreign lull getting the best of her pronunciation. She was certain the new king was schooled in speaking Spanish, but he did not initiate a discussion in the language and Chelina preferred not to look the fool. The King remained silent, but at last he met her eyes - perfect blue and exotic black exchanging as little emotion as the new monarch wished. They had been silent all through the seven corse meal the private and formal dinner offered. “Would you rather me call you Christopher? That is your name, is it not?” She challenged, cocking an eyebrow in exasperation.
“No one calls me Christopher.” He answered flatly.
“Then what do they call you, if not your name?” Chelina inquired, tired of the lack of words being used in what you could hardly call communication.
“Your Royal Highness, once.” He lied. “Your Majesty, now.”
“His Late Majesty called you Highness?” The princess chortled, a mocking sort of laugh that was prideful if not insulting. He didn’t reply, and Chelina hardly expected him to. “When we are man and wife I will not refer to you by such titles, it would force a distance between us, I think.” If we are man and wife, that would be more appropriate. The princess knew that her betrothed was exerting every effort to find the hidden girl that he had danced with at the ball.
Mysterious Maiden, Secret Princess and other such obscure whispers had been hanging on everyones lips from that night onwards. Chelina remembered how divine the lady had been, how graceful and otherworldly she had looked as she danced almost as well as the look on the former prince’s face as he saw her, the smile lighting up his once dark and severe face brighter than the sun. The girl had entered last, presumably to make an entrance with undivided attention on her and before Chelina quite understood what was happening the Prince had excused himself with a heart stopping flash of teeth that she had at first mistaken to be aimed at her.
Who is she? She had asked as she watched from the gallery, the Prince turning about the room with the most beautiful girl anyone had ever seen before. No one knew, but Chelina would not let that get in the way of the marriage she had been promised by the Grand Duke. Zaragoza needed the geographical security this little kingdom could offer, even if it’s militia was undermanned and scattered. All the other princesses attending had been daughters or brothers of Kings, save Chelina. She was the only surviving child of the former prince and sole ruler of Zaragoza, and when he died she had become reigning lord of the realm. Whoever married her would wed their land to the whole might and military strength the principality possessed, and join the kingdoms together under one monarchy. Who else had that to offer? The Grand Duke had seen the sense of it, and she had been promised that the King would observe the reasoning behind it. This new king, however… Chelina considered it would be beneficial if he was a fool, than she might look after her kingdoms with unchecked control, but a foolish fiancée would jeopardise the entire understanding between them.
No. This maiden would not threaten her country, her country’s alliance. His Grace had established the certainty of their alliance. She didn’t know how he was so confident in the mystery girl remaining a mystery, but he had told her not to worry - and knowing that the Grand Duke was not a man to be confident unless there was impossible for anything to go amiss, she was sated.
“What, indeed, are we to discuss over the Pea Timbales?” The princess proceeded to question as the side dishes were laid out on the table, looking to the green mess with a critical eye. “I am not one to ignore the obvious point of discussion, Your Majesty, so you would excuse me if I request you tell me what exactly you are thinking to achieve by finding this ‘mystery princess’.” She continued, looking across the table with a pointed stare that spoke volumes.
“I have often heard that princesses are expected to remain silent unless spoken to and to avoid problematic topics of discussion.” The King responded at last, returning her stare.
“Sovereign’s daughters, yes. I was born a sovereigns daughter, but I have been a sovereign since I was three.” She laughed at the response, amused at the attempt of wit. He was not dull, this new king. “I have never been expected to keep silent in fear of discomforting others, and I hardly find it necessary to take up the practice now. Tell me, what do you think will you gain in finding the girl?” Silence, but the Princess was accustomed to that by now. “Will she bring your country security? Peace, prosperity?” Chelina pressed on, raising a glass of wine to her lips.
“I did not think to classify you as one who enjoys such trifles, Your Highness.” The King responded acidly, recalling her past remarks at the ball.
“I stand by what I said.” Chelina smiled a devious smile, pleased by his memory. “Your kingdom is smaller than many others, and it could, indeed, be bigger with the right friends and enough soldiers. I am a warmonger of sorts, Your Majesty, but your people will not love you without some occasional peace. Tell me, do you believe the woman you are so inarguably in love with can guarantee this small, next to defenceless kingdom security?” She churned the red wine about in her goblet, letting the liquid swirl as her dinner companion thought in silence. Good, let him think.
The King was thinking, but not about whether or not the kindly woman he knew would bring his nation strength. He knew she would. What he was pondering was what this foreign beauty was alluding to.
“Yes.” He eventually told her, certain of that, at least. Of Princess Chelina’s thoughts, he was not entirely sure of.
“And are you convinced that what you say is true?” She asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Then that is satisfactory.” She relinquished, sipping her drink. “I hope you find her.”
“Truly?” He seemed surprised, shocked even, at the concept.
“True, no one has ordered me to marry you, nor has anyone declared it completely necessary.” Chelina allowed. “Yes, I will marry you if this girl can not be found and yes, I will not be excessively pleased if you do; public appearances, you understand. In the eyes of other royals, I will be the scorned princess with a rich land that was so gracious as to not ruin international relations with this quaint country.”
“Of course.” The King chuckled.
“But, despite what merciless criticism I shall give this land to all who might listen, you will always have the unwavering friendship of Zaragoza.” Then she reconsidered her words, back tracking. “Unless I find myself marrying the King of Florin or the Prince of Guilder, then I am afraid Zaragoza will become only a province of one of those kingdoms who both have a rather rocky relationship with yours.”
“I look to put that to rest.” The King assured her, and Chelina knew that he meant it. Belligerence was hardly his nature, she knew that if nothing else.
“You will forgive me, I’m sure, for not exerting all my efforts to aid you?” She nudged, hesitant. With a regretful sigh, the King nodded in agreement. “To our understanding.” Chelina toasted, allowing the attendant to refill her glass.
“To our understanding.” He agreed, though in his heart Kit knew that he would never be happy should he not find the courageous girl from the forest.