The prince awakens in his chambers as the light shines through the heavy drapes. He stretches his arms above his head, his mouth opening in a large yawn as he sits up in his grand bed. He tosses the covers aside as he sets his feet onto the frore floor, causing him to jerk his feet back under the covers. He is now fully awake and tries again, carefully setting a foot onto the floor once more. He walks in only his underclothing down the hall to the restroom, where he relieves himself and then heads back to his room. His servant, Maverick, stops him before he can escape back into his room.
He lets out a low groan as he is approached by the middle-aged man. "Yes, Maverick?" The prince asks before Maverick has even made it over to him, but he continues with his message that he was ordered to carry. He clears his throat before addressing the prince with a small bow.
"Prince Grant, your father wishes to meet with you immediately in the throne room," he says clearly, and then he turns on his heel, walking away. Grant sighes heavily and walks back into his room, slamming the door behind him. He hurries for his plush robe that his parents had had made for him last winter. He slips his arms into it and leaves his private chambers again, heading for the throne room. The servants were hustling back and forth, trying to avoid the prince's path as he passed.
He raps his knuckles against the mahogany door, standing straight, waiting to be directed to enter. His father's voice calls him forward and he grasps the golden knob in his hand, slowly turning it as he pushes against the tall door. It opens and he walks in, his father seated in his throne, already dressed in his usual attire. Black slacks, a off-white tunic with silver dancing across the chest, and his crown was perched carefully on top of his greying hair. He greets his son with a coy smile. A sign that he had joyous news for his, now of age, son.
"My boy," he says, his English accent bounces off the walls, echoing hollowly as he rises from his throne. He makes his way over to his son, and wraps his arms around him in a manly embrace. He steps back, patting his son's shoulders. "Happy birthday!" Grant offers his father a small smile and bows his head.
"Thank you, Father," he replies. His father drops his hands to his side once more, and beckons his son to follow him to the window. Grant follows and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with his father as he stares over his kingdom. In the distance, there is a castle, much larger than the one the king and his family reside in now. The king cups his son shoulder in his palm and gestures with his free hand towards that same castle.
"Son, do you see that?" he asks. He looks to Grant for an answer. Grant clears his throat, staring at the castle in mild wonder.
"A castle, Father," he replies unsure. His father's laugh booms off the stone walls. In the distance, there comes the sound of birds urgently flapping their wings.
"My dear boy, that is the home of your bride." Grant's eyes widen in surprise.
"My bride?" he asks, bewildered. "Father, you must be joking." The king's face falls at his son's response and he straightens his back.
He speaks in a stern tone, "I do not joke about something such as this, Grant. You are to marry the Queen of Elmore." Grant froze at his father's words and his jaw drops.
"The Queen? As in Queen Sarah of Elmore?" he questions. His father nods his head slowlyl, allowing the new information to sink into his son's mind.
"She looks forward to meeting you this Saturday," he continues, turning away from the window and seats himself back into his throne. Grant stares down at the minuscule fields of his kingdom, while the peasants of the lower class worked to tend to them. He blinks his eyes, trying to clear his mind, as he turns back to his father, who was watching him.
"Why can I not marry the Queen's eldest daughter?" he asks. The king chuckles and rests his head in his hand.
"My son, Queen Sarah has no children. You and I both know that. Her last husband, God rest his soul, was killed in a hunting accident eight winters ago." Grant nods his head, recalling the tragic news of King Malcolm's untimely demise. Grant nods his head sadly. "Queen Sarah is a very lovely woman."
"But she is much older than I," Grant counters, he clenches his hands behind his back. "Why Elmore? Why not...somewhere else? I hear the King of Oxford's daughter became of age last spring." Grant's mind wonders to the thought of the lovely Princess Juniper, whom he had had a pleasure of spending a summer with when he was a young boy. The king notes the look in Grant's eyes as he sits up once more.
"Princess Juniper is to be married sometime this upcoming spring to the Duke of Haxford. King Octavian announced their engagement early last month. I've been meaning to tell you that she would like you to attend. Which you will. Your mother and I will be in your company as well for the event." Grant nods his head sadly, his last lifeline gone. He looks down at his bare feet and lets out a hefty sigh.
"I would be more than happy to attend Princess Juniper's wedding with you and Mother." The king smiles.
"Good for you," he glances out towards the window again, before looking back at his son. "Queen Sarah will also be accompanying you as well. She was already planning to attend the event, alone, when we spoke about arranging you to marry her."
"How long have you and Mother been...thinking this over?" Grant asks skeptically.
"Since...late last month," the king answers. "It was a short time after the King Octavian's announcement." He nods his head, unsure of what to say next.
"Is she kind?" Grant asks, daring to glimpse at his father, who nods his head in response. "I would like to hear it come from your own words, Father." The king gapes at his son, his anger building.
"Young man, watch how you speak to me. I am your father and I will not tolerate your disrespect."
"I am not trying to disrepect you, Father. I merely wish to know the woman you are asking me to marry," Grant states cockily. The king slowly rises to his feet, his anger boiling at his son's ungratefullness at his gift.
"I am not asking you, Grant, I am telling you. Queen Sarah is a kind woman, very generous in her mind and heart. Many princes would kill to marry her, but yet she agreed to marry you. Take some pride in that. Now leave me," he says as he turns his back to his son. "Go back to your chambers and prepare for your journey. You will leave after lunch, and you will respect your mother and I before departing. Is that clear?" Grant nods his head sadly, looking down at the floor.
"Yes, Father," he says quietly.
"Good. Now leave me." Grant sulks back to his chambers, dressing himself in black slacks, a navy blue tunic, and a red sash. He sits himself on his bed, slipping his shiny, black, dress shoes onto his feet. He approaches his mirror and stands tall.I am going to marry a queen. He thinks to himself. This can't be real.
