Her Rightful Place

10: The Palace of Roses

"Who goes there?" a sentry calls in Vyrunian from the watchtower nearest the drawbridge as two young women, Mordalcean by dress, approach on horseback. It is near sunset; in fact, it is nigh time to raise the drawbridge and lock the gates for the night. One woman wears a long, dark cloak over her clothes with a hood hiding her face in shadow, and the other is uncommonly pretty, making both highly intriguing to the Vyrunian guards.

"Two ladies on business for Prince Xavier of Mordalce, sir. It's an urgent matter of utmost secrecy. We must see the King and Queen immediately," Christelle answers in faltering Vyrunian, which she learned from her father. Mireille, cloaked and silent, pulls Xavier's ring from her thumb and extends it for the guards to see while staring at the magnificent structure before her. Xavier was right, about that cushion I embroidered, she thinks, remembering how she had recreated this very palace in thread upon it and how the Prince had contemplated it. This place is the same. But what can it mean? I still cannot believe that I could be....

"It is sunset, time for us to be closing the gates, and you look not like the sort of ladies with whom His Royal Highness Prince Xavier would associate."

"It is an errand of the most urgent and unusual nature, and see you not this ring?" Mireille demands in Mordalcean, holding it higher. "It's the royal ring of Prince Xavier himself, given to us as proof of our service to him."

Christelle's eyes dart nervously to Mireille even as she fumbles through a reasonable translation of Mireille's words, wondering when Mireille received this token and when she'd planned on telling her best friend about it.

"Oi, Hubert, check it out, will you? My eyes aren't that good." A large, burly guard approaches them from the gate on the other side of the drawbridge. Christelle trembles, not wanting to face a man of his stature, and her horse prances nervously. Mireille is firm, resolute, completely unmoving; underneath this stony exterior she is beside herself with anxiety, but she refuses to show it, knowing that it could be their undoing. The guard called Hubert finally reaches them and examines the ring in Mireille's hand for a long moment.

"Have you any other proofs, wench?" he demands roughly. Mireille simply stares at him.

"Do you doubt the word of a lady, sir?" she questions eventually, still in Mordalcean. He glances at Christelle with exasperation, and the blonde quickly translates. Hubert sighs mournfully and examines the ring more closely.

"I think it is legitimate. Open the gates."

"Are you quite sure? The one looks like a common village wench, and the other like an enchantress. The Queen won't like that one, or my name's not Archibald Quincy III."

"That I don't doubt, but what if they really are from the Prince? Do you mean to start a war with our rich neighbors to the east?"

"All right, fine, we shall let them in, but if they be false and this is some sort of trap, it'll be your head on the chopping block, not mine!"

"What sort of trap could there possibly be from two young wenches like these? You speak nonsense. Why, there's at least a dozen more armed men my size in the Throne Room. You're wasting time. Open the gate!" A loud creaking and a low rumble are heard from somewhere within the palace walls and the gates slowly swing open. "Follow me." Mireille and Christelle nudge their horses forward and follow the guard into the courtyard beyond those gates, a large, spacious place with a few fruit trees scattered about and flowers blooming in even rows along the walls. Mireille and Christelle dismount and begin leading their mounts, who are exceedingly glad to be relieved of their burdensome riders. Hubert motions for them to halt as they reach the main doors of the palace, and a couple stable boys come up and take their horses away.