Page 2 of The Cornish Princess
Stuck in a fen.
With no way out.
Alone.
Withsprigganscreeping her way.
Nor would Gwendolyn’s voice be welcomed—not in this matter. Her only chance to speak against the new betrothal would comeaftershe and Prince Locrinus had met. However, given what she knew of Prince Locrinus, the thought of marrying him did not displease her. In fact, some part of her rejoiced over the news—not particularly Urien’s death, but the good fortune that she would now be wedding someone closer to her age.
Poor Urien had been a full score years older than Gwendolyn, a man fully grown when he and his father arrived in Pretania. When she was still only a babe in her crib, he was already wielding a sword by his father’s side. Consequently, by the time Gwendolyn grew to be his age—if he had lived—she might be commanding nursemaids to feed him and wipe his drool.Or worse.
It was not a very appealing thought.
Moreover, not that it should matter, considering her own malediction, but at twenty, Prince Locrinus was also said to be the fairest of Brutus’ four sons. Even as far as Land’s End, bards sang songs to his visage. They claimed he was golden like the sun—his skin bronzed, his hair yellow and shining, his intellect surpassed only by the beauty of his face. Yet, though she worried he might think her unworthy in comparison, it was his mind Gwendolyn admired most, and she hoped he would value the same in her.
But perhaps he would?
He was said to be a dedicated scholar, and Gwendolyn understood that as a young boy, his father had spared him to study with the Llanrhos Druids, so he could better know Pretania’s ancient tribes.
She also heard he’d taken a pilgrimage to Ériu, and more than Gwendolyn dared to confess, it titillated her to learn more about this experience.
Indeed, whatever his faith, solely by his actions, Gwendolyn already adored him. How could she not, when they seemed to be like minds?
She, too, ached for more and varied knowledge, and, far more than fear and might, Gwendolyn believed true peace could only be achieved through mutual understanding and respect.
She only hoped that Prince Locrinus might be persuaded to make another pilgrimage to Ériu.Why not?They should have many, many more years to travel before they would be called upon to serve.
Mulling over the possibilities, Gwendolyn sat listening to the present discourse, feeling something like bees hum through her belly. As best she could determine, neither of her parents had any true objection to the younger Prince. Nor did most of her father’s aldermen—most, because there were, indeed, a few who seemed unsettled by this news, Aldermans Ailwin and Crwys being the most vocal of the lot. Yet in terms of protests, neither had much to say about the Prince himself, instead returning time and again to matters of state that hadn’t so much to do with Gwendolyn’s betrothal as it did with the possibility of renewed conflict with the northern tribes.
And this seemed to be the true quandary: Her mother’s people were so firmly entrenched in the Old Ways that, until recently, they had steadfastly refused to trade with the “foreigner.” Now, at long last, after twenty-one years wed to a daughter of the most powerful Caledonii tribe, the Caledonian Confederacy had officially elected her father as their ambassador. This news came swiftly on the heels of the Loegrian messenger this morning, and it didn’t sit well with some elders, who believed it was one thing to negotiate with Loegria for the sake of the southern tribes, yet another to barter with anyone on behalf of Prydein.
“Wildlings,” her father had once called them to his Prydein wife’s face. And yet, regardless of the reason, Prydein had been quiet now for years, sending delegates instead of raiders to deal with Cornwall.
“It does not behoove us to jeopardize this alliance,” said the Mester Alderman. “Entirely for Cornwall’s sake, not for Prydein.”
Curious to see his response, Gwendolyn’s gaze slid across the table to First Alderman Bryok, who sat with eyes closed—perhaps contemplating a rebuttal? And yet the Mester Alderman spoke true. The alliance with Loegria had proven mutually beneficial, not the least for which their Cornish armies now had access to the finest of weapons and armor—thanks to Brutus’ new alloy.
Made with inferior materials, their old weapons oft broke merely by striking one’s foe, even against soft flesh and bone. Loegria’s new alloy was like magik—strong, lightweight, more flexible. It formed a deadly blade.
However, it wasn’t merely the new alloy to be considered. Ending the alliance would also weaken their position against the rest of the tribes. After all, as symbolic as it was, it wasn’t her parents’ marriage that finally settled the querulous northern tribes. It was the strength and solidarity of the Cornish-Loegrian union.
Alone, King Brutus would be difficult to defeat. Together, Cornwall and Loegria made a formidable pair, and so her father claimed, fear was the greatest of arbiters.
“I agree with the Mester Alderman,” said Bryok, after a moment.
His avowal was met with silence and pursed lips.
Two, against ten… or nine?
Judging by body language alone,Gwendolyn couldn’t tell. But it wouldn’t matter. Of the twelve, the Mester Alderman’s voice spoke loudest, and today, he was supported by his successor. Together with the king’s voice, this sacred trinity was the law of the land. The remaining aldermen hadn’t a prayer to thwart them. Still, Alderman Aelwin tried. “I disagree,” he said. “For all we know,hearrived with a mouthful of lies.”
He, meaning Brutus, the foreigner, who would style himself Pretania’s new High King, even above others who were born here— Gwendolyn’s father included.
Doubtless, some feared that with Brutus so entrenched in the West, soon the shift of power would be complete, and Loegria would have no more use for Cornwall. If this be true, Cornwall’s future hung by the slightest of threads—namely, Gwendolyn’s marriage. And she, more than most, understood why the aldermen might be concerned… particularly considering the Prophecy—the bane of Gwendolyn’s existence.
“Truly,” said Alderman Crwys, with narrowed eyes. “Where is this red tide of which he so oft speaks?”
“I, too, am for dissolution,” announced Alderman Morgelyn, despite that her father did not call for a vote. But his opposition was a bit of a surprise considering that he seemed to have some affinity for her mother. “Helends his warriors to defend our port, but why, when there has not been a breath of discord in so many years?” He did not once meet the Queen’s gaze. “I say we’ve no need of him! And, if you ask me, this is his way of infiltrating our forces to uncover our weaknesses. Indeed, I mistrust the man, and why should we allow a foreigner to seize take our lands—prophecy bedamned!” His gaze slid to the Queen’s as he lifted a handsome, golden brow.
