Chapter 18

Only a few days later, Gwendolyn was woken by the sound of Gavral’s solemn voice, asking, “Lady Gwendolyn, are you ready to move into your chalet?”

Gwendolyn awoke with a small start, half expecting to find herself in her bed in Bartet, preparing to marry Willister Everald. She didn’t know exactly how much time had passed since she ran away from home, but she knew it had been about a month, and she was approaching the time when, had she stayed, she would be married.

Instead, somehow, she found herself a Marquess. Every day she woke up and had to remind herself that that was real, and not some strange fever dream brought on by being caught in the rain near the caves around Lake Sudwick. Not some strange hallucination brought on by her mother’s sleeping syrups. Not her overactive imagination, running amok as she cleaned the barn and fed the animals each day.

“Mmmm,” Gwendolyn mumbled, stretching. She sat up in bed and saw Gavral standing in the entryway to her room. Two women beside him were carrying trays of what looked like pastries and meats. They wore the simple, but well made, uniforms of the Royal kitchens.

“I’m definitely ready to eat that,” she said, eyeing the food heaped high on the platters. With a smile, Gavral waved a hand and the two women entered, making for the low couches on the opposite side of the room and setting the food down on the table between them. The smell wafted over to her, a spicy-sweet scent rising up from the pastries and mingling with the rich, meaty flavor of salted pork.

To Gwendolyn’s surprise, Princess Sharaa walked into the room behind them, popping out from behind Gavral with her arms full of something. Whatever it was, it was covered in some simple tan colored linen.

“Princess,” said Gwendolyn, scrambling with the covers, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

“I know,” laughed Princess Sharaa. She sat herself on one of the couches, so perfectly at ease that one would think she was in her own rooms. “I wanted to see you off!”

“I, well, thank you,” said Gwendolyn.

“Come, let’s eat,” said Princess Sharaa. She swept her arms in a wide gesture toward the food. At the door, Gavral bowed.

“I’ll be back at midday to escort you to the Violet Chalet,” he said, backing out of the room. “I believe all of your belongings have been transported to the chalet already, but if you think of anything else you would like prepared ahead of your stay, please just ring the bell,” he added.

Once he had closed the door, Gwendolyn got out of bed, still embarrassed to be in a dressing gown. Princess Sharaa was dressed extravagantly by contrast, her dress today a beautiful sheath dress that appeared to be spun of gold. Looking closer, Gwendolyn saw that it appeared to have silver stitching across the bodice and the hem. Leaning back against the warm blue and gold couch, Sharaa looked like an incarnation of the Gods.

“Sit, sit,” the Princess. “Oh, that reminds me!” She exclaimed as Gwendolyn sank into the other couch. “I brought you a gift from my sister,” she pointed to the cloth bag, which Gwendolyn now recognized as a clothier’s bag. Gavral had explained—as he supervised the packing away of her scant possessions—that they prevented damage to clothing during transport.

Rather reluctantly, since she still wasn’t used to extravagance and she had received quite a lot of it in the past few days, Gwendolyn opened the bag.

A gorgeous, finely detailed blue dress spilled out. Gwendolyn recognized it immediately as the dress that Duchess Rayla had worn when she had passed through Bartet.

“Oh, I can’t accept this,” Gwendolyn said.

“Nonsense,” the Princess laughed. “Rayla almost never wears the same outfit twice. Better that you take it than it gathers dust in one of her chests.”

“It’s so beautiful,” mused Gwendolyn, running her hands over the smooth linen bodice. Putting it aside, she reached for a pastry and said, “thank you. Can you thank your sister for me?”

“Of course,” replied Princess Sharaa, “but you can write to her and thank her yourself if you like. As a Marquess, you’re entitled to communicate with the Royal Family.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin!” Gwendolyn exclaimed.

“Well,” Sharaa said kindly, “do you know how to write?”

Gwendolyn nodded.

“Then start there, perhaps.”

“How would I send it?”

“You can just ask Gavral,” Princess Sharaa replied. “I believe he’s been assigned as your household Chancellor?” Gwendolyn nodded, her mouth full of pastry, and Princess Sharaa continued, “so he will explain who has been appointed to handle your outgoing mail. Most likely a butler or maidservant will ensure that any letters you wish to write make it to couriers.”

“This is… overwhelming,” said Gwendolyn, who knew very little of the workings of the King’s court and the nobility. She had read a few books about past Kings and a few fairy tales about noblemen, but beyond that, she had no real knowledge of what her new position meant. “I mean, I just…” she continued to pause, unsure of how to express what she was feeling without sounding ungrateful. “I guess it all seem a bit unreal,” she finally finished.

Princess Sharaa just nodded kindly, reaching over to pat Gwendolyn’s hand. A second later, though, her hand jerked as they both looked toward the large windows against the opposite wall. A thud echoed loudly through the room, startling them both.

“Oh no,” Gwendolyn murmured, noticing that Solithi was throwing herself against the windows. She couldn’t be using her full body weight, since the windows held up under the strain, but Gwendolyn knew that they couldn’t hold forever. She rushed forward, trying to open the way onto the balcony, but unable to figure it out. For her part, Solithi had stopped throwing herself into the windows, but now raising her sharp, blood-red claws to the glass, she click-clacked against the panes to attract Gwendolyn’s attention.

“One second, girl,” Gwendolyn muttered as she continued to run her hands along the edges of the windows, trying to find the way to open one.

“Here,” Sharaa rushed up behind her, “let me.” She flicked her wrist expertly, turning a small hidden latch that Gwendolyn hadn’t noticed, and then threw the door open. Solithi gave a trumpeting, thunderous roar of joy, rushing over to Gwendolyn and cuddling up to her like the world’s largest dog.

“Hey,” Gwendolyn laughed, trying to keep her balance as Solithi pushed her head against Gwendolyn’s shoulder in a gesture of affection that could kill a small child.

“She does like you,” Sharaa noted. “I guess she’s grateful. We all are.”

“Gwendolyn,” a voice came from behind them, back inside the room. Startled again, Gwendolyn turned abruptly, and behind her Solithi gave a little snort, nudging her arm for attention.

Standing just inside the room, Gwendolyn saw Prince Aparen. Beside her, Sharaa didn’t look surprised at all to see her older brother. Gwendolyn felt her face go red as she swept into a low curtsy. Prince Aparen walked from one side of the room to the other, but remained just inside, leaning against the now open window frame.

“I came by to give you something,” said the Prince, a laugh hidden behind his voice and in his eyes as he looked over Gwendolyn’s shoulder at Solithi, adding, “I can see I am not the only person who wanted to bid you a farewell before you move to your new estate.”

Gwendolyn blushed an even deeper red. The Royal Family was so kind, and she had nothing to give them in return. It overwhelmed her. “I don’t…” she muttered, “I mean to say, your family has already given me so much.”

“This isn’t from my family, it’s from me,” he said. He stepped forward into the sunlight. Gwendolyn looked up, on instinct, into his eyes. He was tall, and in the sunlight his eyes seemed a brighter purple color, rather than the stormy blue they had seemed before. His dark hair was not quite as black as his fathers, and a few strands shined in the light.

He held out a thick book, bound in leather with gold brushed pages and gold lettering on the front. Gwendolyn let out a little exhale of breath at the beauty of the book, taking it gently into her hands.

The cover read ‘On Nobility: A Study of Life in the King’s Court’ and in smaller letters was printed, ‘by Duke Richert Sandel.’

“The Duke was a friend of my grandfather’s,” Princess Sharaa said, peering over Gwendolyn’s shoulder.

“Yes. And much like you, he was elevated to the nobility after rendering a great service to my family. In Duke Sandel’s case, the service was saving my grandfather’s life,” added Prince Aparen. “After his elevation, he decided to write down all that he learned of the court’s customs and such. At first, just for his own records to help him remember what he learned, but my grandfather eventually asked him to turn it into a guide. For others to learn, if needed.”

“Thank you,” Gwendolyn whispered reverently as she stroked the cover. “It’s a beautiful book,” she added. It was, all crisp leather and deep embossment. The books she had always seen in Bartet were well used, and while they were a different kind of beautiful, she’d never seen such a lovely, new book.

“I thought it might be a help to you,” Prince Aparen. Gwendolyn started slightly when she realized he was keeping his eyes down, almost embarrassed. “Of course,” he added, “you can always ask if you find yourself with questions.” Then he hurried to add, “I’m sure my siblings or I would be happy to assist.”

Behind her, Gwendolyn heard Princess Sharaa giggle.

“Well, thank you,” Gwendolyn muttered. “Both of you.”

Solithi interrupted the moment with a gentle noise, almost like the nickering of a horse. It made all three of them laugh as Gwendolyn turned back to the impatient dragon, who pranced around when she had the attention once again.

“Do you know what she wants?” Gwendolyn asked the siblings, who watched Solithi with amusement in their eyes.

“I think she wants to take you for a ride,” Prince Aparen said.

“No one ever rides a dragon except the Royal Family member the dragon is bonded to, or their guests,” Gwendolyn said, recalling the information from one of the books she read.

“Usually, yes. But where they have no pair bond… and you did save her life,” mused Sharaa. “The truth of the matter is no one rides a dragon without a dragon’s permission. That’s usually a pair bonded member of the Royal Family, but…” Sharaa trailed off.

“I don’t want to impose.” Gwendolyn demurred.

“Best do as the dragon says, then,” laughed Prince Aparen. He threw her a cheesy wink when she looked over at him, then he beckoned her forward.

“Solithi,” he said over her shoulder as she approached him, “meet us at the drables, we will get Gwendolyn properly fitted for a flight.”

“Drables?” Gwendolyn asked as Solithi gave a little roar of delight and took off immediately.

“Ah, yes. The dragon stables,” Sharaa laughed. “Believe it or not, my father, the King, a man of great dignity and power, invented the word.”

“When he was seven, and therefore at least slightly less fearsome,” added Prince Aparen. “Come, they’re a bit of a walk.” He turned imperiously and walked off without a backward glance.

Still in awe, and somewhat apprehensive, Gwendolyn followed the Prince, with Princess Sharaa trailing behind her.