The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Fifty

Since the wedding, things had not gone quite as the Countess had planned. She had thought to take both herself and her new husband back to Tellsbury, and spend some time at her family seat, Burysmeade Castle, but Lord Wallia would have none of it.

"We must seize the moment," he'd said, taking hold of her shoulders and placing his large face within inches of her own. "Every second we delay gives time for the Princess time to claim her throne. We must reach the Citadel and fill the void created by her absence as quickly as possible."

"Oh, the Princess," said Calantha, pushing away from him. "Why must everything be about the princess. I've had six years of hearing about nothing but the princess. I don't wish to hear another word about her."

He rubbed her arms, in what Calantha presumed he must think a comforting gesture. "And soon you won't. Once you are queen..."

"Queen Calantha of Serrador," she said, lifting her chin. She rather liked the sound of that.

"Quite."

"I shall keep my name. I'd like to see the princess' face when she hears it being spoken across the land."

Wallia nodded lowly. "It shall be hard for her to hear such things without a head."

Calantha frowned. She had not expected that. "You would have her beheaded?"

"It would be too dangerous to have her running about the place. She could flee to Pryvia and have an army behind her within a year." He laid his hot palm on her waist and gave her a quick squeeze. "Imagine being called from a masqued ball in order to rally the troops against her! Such a bore. No, leave it all to me. I shall make sure she is out of the way."

Calantha smiled, but underneath the veneer of gratefulness her thoughts were in turmoil. She had not thought to have her childhood companion executed.

Of course she would not have been able to hang around the court in her former role, but Calantha had expected (after a suitable time in prison) to see her old friend again, stripped of her title and serving her as a lady-in-waiting.

And then, perhaps married off to some dismal baron with insignificant lands. They could have carried children at the same time, and then the former princess' litter would be able serve her own. That was to proper way of doing things. The thought of the princess' head lofted high on a spike seemed awfully... final.

"You are so good to me, Lord Wallia," she said, easing his hand from her and stepping from the room as fast as politeness allowed.

It did little good. Within the hour she'd been bundled back into the carriage, and the whole lot of them had were being transported like hens to market in that bouncing contraption. Even worse, that dreadful Sir Hilton had insisted on coming too. It was only after a considerable number of requests on her part that his wife, Lady Hilton, was asked to accompany them also. And now that sour faced dame was looking at her with the air of someone taken away from their sewing. But she could hardly have ventured to the capital without a maid to tend to her.

Calantha looked over at her husband, sitting by her side. He looked very fine in his dark blue doublet and hose. The colour set off his pale skin and golden hair, making them glow even in the shadows of the carriage interior.

He bounced his fine leg up and down, as if to some internal tune, and Calantha marvelled at how musical he must be. As soon as they reached the capital, Wallia must throw them all the most fantastical ball, so that everyone might look at them both, and see what a fine looking couple they were.

The Lady Hilton was just a jealous old mare, and that is why she starred with such disapproval.

"Squire!" shouted Sir Hilton. "Stop bouncing around like a injured Pryvian. You're bothering my wife."