You Don't Want the Crown

The Story of Slaine - 2

My wedding day is a nationally celebrated affair. My dress is from only the finest satin, it's sheer white. My ladies in waiting braid my hair for hours to have it ready. My veil is soft and thin. 
Everything is perfect.
A few weeks before my mother gives me my 'wedding night' talk. I'd heard whispers of it from other girls, but they merely giggled so that was not informative.
"Lie still, it may hurt but you mustn't cry. You cry so easily, but just grip the bed. The stiller you are the sooner he'll leave you."
So that's encouraging.
I'm transported to the royal palace in the days before the wedding. With my mother and father, of course, and half our servants.
It's a bumpy, four hour carriage ride and I'm nearly sick twice. I'm not. That would be messy. My mother glares at me as if that will stop my illness. It does help but it also makes me more nervous. We've only been planning for this day my entire life.  All of us. And it's up to me not to mess it up.
He has to like you.
He has to like you.
He has to like you.
"He's so handsome," my ladies in waiting are kind. They do ask me the question, "Do you think him handsome, my lady?"
"Do you like him, do you think?"
They aren't supposed to. If my mother hears such conversations she'll tell them off. But when we're left alone they'll ask me in soft whispers.
I'll smile gently and and say yes I think him handsome. Yes, I like him.
I don't say it because it's true. I say it because I don't want them to worry about me.
Word is that the Queen mother is very particular about her staff. She will not allow me to bring any servants with me, she will select my ladies in waiting. This isn't unusual but it is somewhat unkind in that usually ladies in waiting come with their lady after marriage. I accept the change, however, gracefully. As I do everything. I'm not to complain.  And I do not.
I should weep at my lost life, but my entire life has been little but preparation for this sacred moment. I'm prepared, packaged, and dressed, to be his. And so I am.
On the day of the wedding the entire city of Bray is teaming with people. In the streets, with banners, shouting my name. It terrifies me and I don't dare look out at them.
I'm in my long dress, my father walks with me into the church. I must walk up the aisle alone but he will walk me to the door. I am terrified of tripping on the dress. 
I am terrified.
I'm not beautiful. I saw myself in the glass. I'm plain. I'm plain with plain brown hair and plain brown eyes and my skin has freckles still and I have chubby cheeks and I don't look like a princess and they're all going to see that and they're all going to laugh at me behind my back. I just know it.
The church is blessedly quiet after the teaming crowds in the streets. I look down and keep myself steady. I breath as normally as possible as I progress down the aisle. I can't do this, but I can't do anything but keep walking.
I'm so very terrified.
He's waiting at the head of the church. Him. Him, my prince. My husband in a few short hours.  He's dressed in his royal robes, gold blonde hair is slicked neatly out of his face and the start of a beard. His eyes flick to me and I see him look at me, but his expression doesn't change from royal and almost bored. He's bored already of me.
After what seems like an age, I make it up the aisle and he takes my hands very gently in his gloved ones.
"Hi," he says, very quietly, not moving his lips at all to do it. It strikes me as the funniest thing to say in this situation, but I dare not laugh.
"Your grace," I whisper. I can move my lips a little under the veil.
"You've grown up a bit, I confess I barely recall when we met. What did we speak of?" He asks.
"You—mentioned—frogs—?" I don't believe I said that. Oh well. It's true and I've only had dreams about frogs under my bed for the rest of my life. Hopefully he's matured since then.
"That sounds like me,  yes, well," he kind of winces a little like he does actually remember, "Just about over."
It, in fact, is not just about over and goes on another solid three hours. My legs are aching and my general terror is only increasing. How can the rest of my life feel like this?
The priest speaks his words in Latin, but I know when the end is, and I stand there trembling waiting for the veil to come off.
Conri flips back the veil smoothly, then kisses my lips very quickly, so quickly in fact that I barely feel his lips on mine, then he slides a gloved hand into mine and squeezes it a bit. And in that moment I realize he's trying to be kind. He's never kissed me before he didn't want to do it in front of all these people.
The people in the church make their usual noise and we are ushered out. Me past my family and into a carriage with his mother. The women ride in the carriage the men on horses. So he and the King will ride on horseback.
"You feel all right?" The Queen asks. She's as beautiful as when I first saw her, now in a deep purple velvet gown.
"Yes, Your Majesty," I say, as I arrange myself and my dress in the carriage.
"Because you don't look it."
"Your Majesty, it's been a long day," I say, nodding.
"I've arranged for you to have three ladies with you for now. Two of them have been in my employ for years, and then the other I selected someone closer to your own age, from one of the noble families. I was an arranged marriage as well I know what it's like to be at court surrounded suddenly by strangers," she says.
"Thank you, your majesty," I say.
"I've had several discussions with my son. I have informed him he will not bed you until you are past twenty. If he has not heeded this advice I am instructing you to tell me. You must assimilate to life at court, and get to know him prior to having a child," she says, "Tonight I expect him to speak with you privately and leave. I mean it when I say you must report to me on his behavior. He's been wild his whole life, I don't expect to tame him but I do expect to manage him. He takes after his father, and I have very little hope for any child he fathers having any measure of common sense or self restraint."
"Your Majesty," I have no idea what to say here. Sixteen years of etiquette lessons wasted. I have no response to that. It is better than how my mother expected my wedding night to go? Maybe? Do I perhaps not have to sleep with him? That would be so nice?
"If there is any problem with your rooms or your care do come to me or one of my ladies. We want you to be happy and comfortable here. I will be teaching you your duties for the day when my son ascends the throne and you must assume my role, therefore in future we will be spending a good deal of time together so the 'your majesty's' every sentence need to end. You may call me that if you wish, or lady mother as my son does when you feel comfortable doing so," she says, primly.
"As you wish," I nod.
"You're a quiet girl. Hmm. We'll see how that lasts."
Blessedly that's the last thing she says. By then we are at palace and the fanfare resumes.  Conri and the King are there to get us out of their carriage and escort us inside. Now it's primarily not onlookers but instead nobles.
It's tradition that, after the wedding ceremony, bride and groom are escorted to the marital suite, which in this case is his bedroom in the palace. In future, I will have a separate room however tonight I'm expected to be with him. His mother apparently ordered him to leave? Can she do that?
Anyway, this means we miss dinner which is fine as I couldn't eat a thing. The rest of the family gets to have a wedding feast, not us. I couldn't eat but I also don't necessarily like what we're supposed to be doing.
The palace is huge, with stone stairs everywhere and tapestries and I'm immediately lost. Immediately. The overwhelming feeling like I'm about to combust or burst into tears, wells up in me again and I do all I can to stop it, but that means I don't memorize where we are going. Conri takes my hand to basically guide me which he seems to sense I need.
We're swept into a large room, with a bed, I'm just going to point this out, that is big enough to hide a bucket of frogs under. There are screens on either side of the room for us to change behind. Conri goes behind one without a second comment. A couple of serving girls come to help me get out of my dress, he doesn't seem to have anyone.
"Sorry, my lady—your highness—," a girl kneels next to me, trying undo the complicated wedding dress from me.
"It's fine—fine," I say, she's young she must be the one my age? She's got a square jaw and firm lips, and deep, deep grey eyes.  Her hands are firm and steady as they work their way down the buckles on my side. I hate to be the cause of anyone's nervousness I'm nervous enough for all of us. "What's your name?"
"Ita, my lady," she says.
"Ita, I'm Slaine, it's absolutely fine do what you can I'm not going to wear it again," I say.
She almost laughs then seems to stop herself.
The girls get my dress off eventually and mostly let my hair down, this takes what feels like an age, yet I don't really want them to go. They slip me into a soft nightgown, and then they slip out to let me emerge from behind the screen myself. Ita looks back at me with something like pity and I give her the smallest of smiles. I'm basically shaking with nervousness.
Apparently I had no reason to be.
"Right—you and my mother had an awkward chat? She's good at those. Anyway—I suppose I'll see you around sometime!" Tripping out from behind his screen, completely dressed and trying to put on boots while standing then giving up and falling against the bed.
"Where are you going?" I ask, because this is his room.
"Out," he points at the window, "We'll do this —," he blushes, "another time, maybe? Oh damn, forgot she told me to do that. My mother had lists of instructions and she said it all quickly— does your mother do that to you?"
"Yes," I laugh a little, surprising myself with my honest. "She does, your grace."
"Please dear god, call me Conri not enough people do,  and we're married for heaven's sake," he says, feeling his own pockets down for no apparent reason then groaning and going back behind the screen.
"Slaine," I say, sitting down awkwardly on the far side of the bed.
"Slaine," he smiles at me, then produces a knife.
"What's that for?" I get up and retreat across the room.
"I have no actual clue. I was told! But, my mother, she said 'now you're going to listen to me very closely', and then like everything after that, was, I didn't get it, gone, but then this morning she said, 'get blood on the sheets to stop gossip' and she like, shook me, so it was important, so," he says, completely unceremoniously, about to cut his own dumb hand open.
"It's first blood—when girls haven't been slept with anyone before they bleed," I say, blushing deeply, holding out a hand to stop him.
"No wonder I did not pay attention the first time that's completely awful—moving on, where do you think it goes?"
"Just—not on the quilt—there," I turn back the bed so the sheets are exposed, blushing furiously. "Don't cut your palm either! Just like—,"
"Too late, done, how much—?"
"I don't know!"
"Can't say we didn't try, well, this hasn't been fun," he says, wiping his bloody palm on the sheets and then his own shirt before putting the knife back. "Have a good night's sleep then?"
"Where is it you're going?" I ask, as he backs toward the window.
"Out. Wasn't that my mother's embarrassing discussion? Here's mine: we don't need a child yet, ergo—this—," he gestures to the room, "Does not need to happen. We were arranged to be married, you seem very nice in your person, good idea not to cut my palm, that's on me, should have listened—but I'm going to keep to my schedule and you can have yours. If and when you want children you let me know I'm sure you'll be able to find me," basically backing into the window.
"Okay," I steady my breath,  this is fine. Not today. We don't need a child tonight. "That's fair. But this is your room."
"Oh, I know."
"So why are you leaving?"
"Good question. You're expected to sleep here, so," he shrugs, "Do you not want to stay in my room?"
"I mean, it's okay."
"No, what?"
"Are there frogs under the bed?" I ask.
"Not recently," he shakes his head.
"How recently?"
"Not today."
"But yesterday?"
"Yeah, potentially. I was accomplishing something—,"
"Did you remove them for me?"
"No, my mother did, we argued for an hour and a half, ask her about it sometime," he says, cheerfully, opening the window.
"Are they okay?" I ask, feeling a little bad they were clearly his pets.
"Yeah, relocated 'em to a guest room—anyway, as I said, see you around sometime?"
"Okay—okay why are you going out the window? Why not just walk down the hall? To whatever room your frogs are in?" I ask, I ask it because I genuinely don't think he has the reasoning abilities to figure that out.
"Oh, I'm not going to bed, there's a tournament in County Kirk tonight what am I supposed to do NOT participate just because I got married today?" He asks, sitting half on the window sill.
"Tournament?"
"Jousting."
"They don't hold those at night," I say.
"They do when they're being done without anyone's permission. Are we supposed to be doing it—? No. Is it at all a good idea—? No. But shouldn't we really be allowed to do it because it's fun—? Not really, no. Anyway. I'm off. Do you want to come—-?"
"What?"
"Did you fucking die?" A man at arms crawls in the window and I almost scream. The man has dark hair and eyes, and deeper skin than Conri. He is wearing regular clothes of a traveler, but I'm guessing he's a squire or man at arms. A bit old to be a squire probably.  He is slim though, and smooth cheeked unlike my husband, with a husky voice and general glare.
"It's my wedding night it's going to take a while—,"
"Really? How often have frogs come up?"
"Slaine, this is Sir Bran Gallagher, my unwilling co-conspirator, Bran this is Slaine, she's—ah—,"
"Your wife?" The newcomer looks so disgusted.
"Thank you," patting the other man's head, "Anyway, Slaine, we'll leave you to it,  unless you wanted to come?"
No. Go to bed. It's been all day.  Do not go somewhere at night with two men who are complete strangers, who raised you?
"Really? Can I?" I also don't know why I said that.
"Sure, why not? More escaping royals the merrier," Bran says, completely sarcastically.
"Sure, it would be fun! You can see me joust," Conri says, cheerfully, "I'll get you a set of clothes."
"Your stuff's too big, give her my escape clothes," Bran snarls, still perched in the window.
This is insane. Why am I doing this? I should just go. I should go to bed.
"Put this on," Conri pushes a set of clothes into my hands.
"Wrap up your chest with this," Bran says, sauntering over to a dresser to throw a scarf at me.
"My ah—cousins and I maybe, possibly, cause my father stress— but who else is going to take little girls to tournaments and gambling?" Conri says.
"Preferably not me, but you know?" Bran mutters, slouching over to the window. He's taller than I, but still a good bit shorter than Conri.
"Will we be caught?" I ask, as I put on the clothes behind the screen. Is this a trap? Could they be tricking me somehow to give me back? "Will they find out?"
"No!" Conri says, enthusiastically.
"Absolutely!" Bran says, equally enthusiastically.
"We will? What will happen?" I ask, tripping out. I've never worn pants before or such a loose shirt.
"His and Her Majesty will blame him completely, AGAIN they don't even blame me anymore, which is awesome," Bran says, throwing a hat at me, "Put the hair, under that and you'll look less like a run away girl."
"They will completely blame me for this thing I'm responsible for, come on, have you climbed out windows before?"
"She's a fucking royal fucking lady what do you think, wise ass?" Bran hisses, crawling down the rope. He quite turns the air blue and makes me blush with his swearing.
"No, I haven't," I answer anyway.
"Well, it felt polite to ask how should I know what women do, I spend all of my time with you?" Conri says, crawling out.
And in all this neither of them give me any advice, but somehow I manage. There's a pair of horses waiting beneath a tree. A big black charger and a smaller bay. Bran mounts the bay swiftly and holds the other horse's reigns. Both horses are already loaded with supplies.
"You can ride with whoever—,"
"You're her husband—jackass."
"That's a good point—are you mad at me?"
"No, why would you think that?" again, fairly sarcastically.
"I'll ride with you," I tell Conri.
"I don't know. I've had a long day—," Conri sighs.
"I know, you got married, you better help her up—Jesus Christ," Bran is so tired already.
"Well, I don't usually ride places with people," he hisses, just swinging me up on the horse's back, a hand on either side of my waist. This can't be easy but he is several heads taller than me and just hefts me up. Then he climbs on in front of me, rather fluidly for someone who said he didn't do this with people.
"Hold on—well you've ridden horses before."
I have not.
"She probably hasn't."
"I have," I haven't.
And we ride off into the night.
I wind up clinging to Conri for dear life. I've never been on a horse, let alone the back of a horse, let alone not side saddle, let alone dressed as a man in the dead of night. My heart is pounding in my chest. I don't know what I'm doing or why I even agreed to this? It sounds insane to me and yet I also feel dangerously thrilled. Like this is what fun is meant to be.
The tournament grounds is barely a patch of dirt and a few stands. Torches are lit everywhere. And the entire place is teaming with people. But not, like, nobles. Peasants. Well, he did say this wasn't a sanctioned joust.
"No real names," Bran says, holding the horse as Conri hops off then helps me off.
"She knows that," Conri says.
"I was reminding you."
They unload the horses and bicker generally, I stand by awkwardly, breathing in the night air and trying to place what's so off about it.
Then I do.
No one is looking at me. Absolutely no one. I'm just another person in scruffy clothes helping hold horses and chatting with my companions. No one is looking at me or expecting me to be anything.
It feels very strange.
The men lead us to an area where the knights line up waiting to joust. I've never seen a joust before in person and given how dark it is I doubt if I'm going to see this one as well.
Bran helps Conri put on his gear, a mail shirt and gloves and such, and they both put a helmet on the horse which I think is polite.
While we wait in something of a line, Bran evaporates, only to reappear silent as a shadow, bearing ale or beer I don't know, for them and a couple of pies for us.
"Here, ever had one of these before?" Bran hands me one.
"Definitely not," I say and the stoic man finally cracks a grin. They offer me their ale, but I decline, sticking to the greasy pie. It's the most disgusting thing I've ever eaten, and tastes great. After all day I find I'm completely starving.
Eventually it's Conri's turn up. We're to hang back and in the dark I can barely see. Bran peers, but doesn't look like he knows what's going on as well.
"Does no one really recognize him?" I ask.
"Unlikely. But you'll find the people love their prince. They know boys are going to be boys and they've come to expect him showing up in places like jousts or the market, or down by the warf. He tends to wander, and they love him for it," Bran shrugs a little.
"How long have you served, at the palace?" I ask, realizing that I only know how to make party conversation. This is not a party. This is much more like a kidnapping.
"I was a page there starting when I was about nine, then I was a squire when I was twelve, completing my knighthood same as him," they jerk their head indicate Conri who fell off his horse or something? I don't know I don't understand jousts. "Now I'm a knight, there's a few others that primarily act as men-at-arms to him. You'll meet us all eventually. We're your guards too, if anything, ever is amiss, you tell one of us and we'll set it right. We have our ways, and the rest, even your husband, don't necessarily need to know if you don't want."
I nod, in thanks, "Are you married?"
"No," he laughs a little, "I have a kid though. He's four."
"Ah—you—," I have no idea what to say. He's not a noble that I'm aware. He might be of average or middling birth, but it seems he's merely a knight whom my husband has befriended.
"Yes, illegitimate. And you can be less surprised, if I could make good decisions then would I be standing in this field in the middle of the night with a kidnapped prince and princess? You can say no, it's fine."
"Yeah— no you would not."
"There it is. There are some mistakes—infinitely worth making. I hope you find yours, Highness," he scoffs, ending the conversation as Conri returns.
"Having fun? Your go," he says to us both generally and they start switching the armor to Bran. I don't think that's how jousts are intended to work but it's how this one is working.
Conri realizes I've never been to a joust before and takes pains to explain the rules to me. He has a lot more technical terms but it amounts to two men with limited brain cells bearing huge wooden spears riding at each other at full gallop, trying to smack the other's shield with said large wooden spear. And the person who lives and doesn't fall off the horse and damage what little brain he has wins. Again he has more technical words for it which is very nice but that's what I get out of the conversation.
"Seriously though? Having fun?" Conri asks, smiling down at me.
"Yes," I say, after a moment.
"You sure?" He laughs.
"Yes, I just—don't think I've had fun before."