Chapter Text
The spring residence was bustling, almost hectic, with preparations for the Beltane feast. Any feast day was a source of high energy, for the King was a great lover of festivities and took advantage of the occasion to share the wealth and bounty of his land with as many of his retainers and vassals as possible. This feast day was no different, though a distinct note of tension undergirded everyone's movements, stiffening smiles and souring the atmosphere. For months, the neighbouring kingdom of Cardassia had been mounting increasingly bold invasions into disputed territory on the borderlands between their kingdom and the kingdom of Federa. Despite fervent calls for war from the petty warlords of those lands, the Federan king refused to launch a counterattack, instead insisting on hosting a diplomatic summit at midsummer to resolve the situation. Rather than quelling the warlords’ dissent, the king’s decision had spurred them to threaten rebellion. In response, the king issued personal invitations to the dissenting warlords, inviting them to participate in Beltane festivities at his spring residence in Gaia. Another attempt at a diplomatic solution to a violent problem. Nothing had gone awry yet, but the friction between the separatist warlords and the loyalist nobility was palpable and cloying.
It was in the spirit of tense gravity that Her Royal Highness Kathryn, princess and heir apparent of House Janeway, stood at the window of her bedchamber and observed the movement of squires and knights in the courtyard below. Certainly, it was not uncommon for many household knights to be in residence on feast days; it was well-known across the land that the King would never commence a feast without first witnessing a marvel – and marvels almost always spurred a knightly quest. Any one of the knights of the land could be singled out for their valour, courage, or honour to act in the King’s name; it was not an opportunity to be missed. And yet the otherwise banal sight of people striding around armed and armoured to varying degrees set Kathryn on edge. Which of these individuals might seek to turn their sword on her father in a few months’ time? Which might harbour thoughts of doing so today?
“Your Highness.” Terra, Kathryn’s lady-in-waiting, interrupted her reverie.
Kathryn turned away from her window, and the knights in the busy courtyard below. “Yes, Terra?”
“Your outfit has been prepared.” Terra gestured to the divider where freshly laundered cloth had been neatly draped.
Kathryn inhaled. “Let’s do it, then,” she said, moving toward the divider and removing her lounging gown. The outfit she had prepared was not traditionally what she would wear to a feast: tight-fit black trousers instead of a looser pantalon, a thin shirt of tightly woven chainmail covered by a high-necked and long-sleeved black tunic reaching down to her mid-thighs and cinched at the waist with a thick belt, a black-dyed leather armour piece secured across her chest, shoulders, and upper back, a long cape of rich red wool cascading down to her ankles, draped over with a capelet of the same dyed wool embroidered on the edges with stars of silver and gold thread, both clasped at the base of her throat with a brooch in the form of an upside-down wedge shield across which a lance and a rose, both of gold, lay parallel to each other – the insignia of the House of Janeway. Knee-length, black leather boots with a sensible heel and a small, delicate silver tiara tipped with gold stars completed the ensemble. The cape and tiara were a bit extravagant, well suited to a royal feast – but then, so were some of the decorated suits of armour some knights preferred. Still, to Kathryn’s eyes, it seemed quite clear that this was an outfit chosen for purpose rather than frivolity – for protection rather than pure aesthetic. It was no secret that the royal princess was a skilled combatant; she had entered and won several tournaments in her own name. But she never attended a feast ready to respond to a marvel… or a threat.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she met her own steady gaze, observed her stoically neutral expression. At least if her guts were twisting themselves into hideous knots from the fear that she may provoke the warlords to violence with nothing but her fashion choice, her face had the decency not to betray that fear. All she needed to do was project confidence and calm; if she didn't act like there was anything offensive or provocative about her presentation, it would lower the chance that the warlords perceive it thus. Yes, Kathryn thought to herself, you’ve been trained for this. The Federans were at a distinct advantage in their own castle; it would be foolish for the warlords to lash out here amongst the king’s most loyal vassals, his most fearsome knights. As long as Kathryn could keep control of herself, then she would have control of the situation.
“Terra, do I look presentable?” Kathryn asked, turning to face her lady-in-waiting.
“I’m sure the court is at risk of considering you the marvel this feast day,” Terra answered.
This elicited a fond smile from Kathryn who shook her head and turned her gaze towards the ceiling to mask her shyness. “I am sure you’re exaggerating for my benefit, but thank you for saying so, Terra. Now,” she regained her composure and fixed her gaze once more on the lady-in-waiting. “Is there time for a cup of coffee before we have to make our appearance?”
The hall was raucous with chatter, laughter, and activity. Lords and ladies, knights and squires had been arriving at the castle gates and slowly accumulating in the great hall steadily over the course of the morning. Now they were nearly mid-afternoon and the hall was full to bursting with guests from all over the kingdom mingling in groups, oscillating from table to table, drinking, snacking, gossiping, laughing. The King had made his appearance nearly half an hour before Kathryn, so when the crier banged his staff and announced her arrival, she headed straight to his outstretched hands and grasped them as the members of court paused their conversations to bow her in. The festivities resumed as the King squeezed her hands gently. “Kathryn,” he said with an affectionate smile, dampened only by a hint of exhaustion lurking in the recesses of his gaze. “You are resplendent, daughter. Whatever marvel graces these halls today could never rival you.”
Kathryn squeezed his hands back and held herself as straight and confident as she possibly could. “You flatter me, Father. I only hope the marvel appears soon so we can get to feasting.”
“I hope the same. All the festivities today have left me famished,” the King replied, sharing the briefest of strained looks with Kathryn.
Kathryn refrained from interrogating further while standing in the great hall packed full of people, friends and foes alike. It was unlike the king to risk displaying sensitive information to the keenly observant courtesan. Politicking with the warlords must indeed have been strenuous, and likely unsatisfying. Kathryn wondered if the chainmail had been good sense rather than anxiety-driven overkill after all. Pursuit of such sullen thoughts was interrupted, however, by the approach of a lesser count of the land, Lord Mark. He bowed deeply and said, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all,” Kathryn answered, a smile stretching instantaneously across her face. She willed herself to ignore the lilting tumble of her heart as Mark returned her smile. “I’m glad you are in attendance on this feast day. I trust your journey here wasn’t troublesome?”
“No journey to your court could ever trouble me, Highness,” Mark said softly. His expression remained gracious, amiably neutral, but a slight colour rose in his cheeks. Kathryn had to think consciously about breathing. She was saved from having to concoct an appropriate response by the approach of another noble begging the King’s attention. “Please excuse me, daughter, my lord,” he said, leaving Kathryn with a knowing look of approval.
Kathryn was just beginning to contemplate whether she was relieved or wanted to explode into oblivion on the spot when Mark took half a step closer and punted her heart from dread mortification into a stuttering sprint. Though they had been courting each other for months now, they had not yet publicly announced their engagement. As a result, Mark fastidiously observed the appropriate protocols of social courtesy, never coming too close or behaving with too much familiarity – always standing just on the edge of Kathryn’s personal space, tantalisingly close and yet just out of reach. It drove her deliciously mad. Normally, Kathryn relished and appreciated his careful attention to social protocol; today, however, she wished she could take him by the hand and let his physical presence be her reassurance that all would be well. “You look stunning; this is quite the commanding outfit,” Mark said to her in a low voice, the heat of his gaze seeming to melt her member by member as he took in the sight of her.
“Thank you,” Kathryn replied, wanting to look anywhere but at him, and finding herself incapable. “I was worried it might not be well accepted.”
“It is different, to be sure, but you would be hard pressed to find anyone in this court who would not approve of a choice made by their beloved and fearless Princess.” Somehow, he made such an innocent flattery sound sultry and personal. Not for the first time, she wished that they had not decided to postpone their public engagement until after the summit with the Cardassians; she wanted him to have all of her, and to have all of him in return – whenever and wherever they were.
“Oh, I’m sure dissenters could be found easily enough. But I am pleased that you, at least, are not counted among their number,” Kathryn answered, trying to affect a tone between flippantly flirtatious and pointedly inviting. From the way Mark’s eyes seemed to darken as they held her gaze and he shifted his weight back and forth as if restless, she guessed she hit her mark.
Kathryn quickly lost herself in conversation with Mark, and then with a rotation of members of the nobility as they inevitably interrupted. More than once, she was mildly surprised to remark that amongst the number of her collocutors were several dissenting warlords. Each time one approached, all her insides tensed into a nauseated defensive ball. But they made no move towards violence and left Kathryn verbally unassailed, though psychologically distressed and sick to her stomach. The warlords failed altogether to disturb the festivities, and minutes turned into hours as the guests of the court whiled away the time waiting for the marvel that would open the way to feasting. As time dragged on, Kathryn found herself increasingly anxious and impatient. It wasn’t unheard of for the court to wait long whiles for a marvel, but as she downed her fifth cup of coffee, foot tapping rapidly under the table, she wished that the marvel would hurry up and appear before she threw up her rapidly-beating heart or watched the king die at the hands of a bored and dissatisfied warlord.
Almost as if her jittery and anxious energy had spurred the cosmos into motion, the door to the great hall was flung open and in barged a marvel.