Bride of Kalathan

Destiny

After that, things were different. It was as if some milestone had been reached, as if it was time to move forward beyond the flirting and the secret meetings now. Theoland was excited, almost agitated when they met, still keeping a little distance but no longer pretending that his intentions were simply friendly.

"I will send my envoys to your father," he said the next day. "They will ask on my behalf for you hand. It is too far to go myself. I cannot spare the time away from the court."

"All right," she said, feeling a little winded by this announcement. He had forgotten, it seemed, to ask her if that was what she wanted.

"When they return I will tell Mother," he said, his eyes bright. He had asked if he could hold her hand, and right now he held both of hers in both of his, too tight, she thought, although she did not complain. "She will be very pleased, I know. It has been good, I think, to keep it a secret. There has been less pressure on me and more freedom for us to learn to know each other."

"Theoland," she said, frowning a little. This was new, to be making plans, to be moving forward somewhere instead of just talking. It was uncertain territory, and she was not at all certain what was expected of her, or even of what she wanted. "You have not shared your plans with me."

He looked at her, surprised. "Is something wrong?" He asked. "Would you prefer to wait a little longer? I want to marry you, Nuria. Have I not said it yet?"

She shook her head, smiling at his earnest face. "No," she said. "You have not!"

He grinned, clasping her hands tighter. "I am saying it now, then. I want to marry you. Are you happy now?"

"Why, Theoland?" she asked, feeling suddenly strange. She was not at all sure if she was happy about it. She was excited, yes, and honoured, but concerned too that it had happened so fast. "Can you tell me? Why me, of all the women you might have chosen?"

"Because you are perfect, Nuria," he said, solemnly, lifting up her hands to kiss them. "That is an easy question to answer. You are perfection, in every way. You are beautiful, and good, and pure. You make me want to be a better man, and if you are my queen I know I will be. You saw my faults and had the courage to confront me, all without losing the respect that I know you have for me as your king. It is glaringly clear to me, Nuria, that you are the answer to my prayer for the right wife, that you are the help I have longed for. This is your destiny, to marry me and to be the mother of the future kings of Kalathan."

Nuria sat, her hands still in his, overwhelmed at the certainty in his voice. "But I am not perfect, Theoland!" she said, shaking her head. "How can you think that?"

"But you are. Perfect, for me and for Kalathan."

"I don't know if I can live up to that, Theoland. I am ... only ..." Perfection? It felt more like a problem to her than a compliment. If he thought she was perfect, then he did not really know her. She was silly sometimes. She could be weak, vain, and selfish. She could be lazy and irresponsible and untidy – so many things. She was just an ordinary girl, not a perfect one. Surely no one could be perfect?

"Ssh," he said, lifting a hand and brushing it gently over her cheek. "And see – you are humble, too. I will send the envoys tonight, and as soon as they return we will be married."

That seemed to be all there was to say. It was getting late, and he had to go. He kissed her forehead, gently, and when he left she sat on the bench alone, her hands smarting a little from how tightly he had clasped them, feeling too many things at once even to know what they were. Somehow, he had chosen her, and a path had opened up that she knew would not be easy. She thought of the words of the Scriptures chanted in the Temple: Bless us with pride in our land and content with the destiny you have decreed for us.

She closed her eyes, repeating the ancient words to herself. The king had decided that her destiny was to marry him, and he did, after all, speak for God. She loved Kalathan and she was almost certain that she loved him. Next time she was at the temple she would repeat that prayer, and perhaps these confusing thoughts would change to confidence like his.

Their meetings continued as they waited for the envoys to return. A day and a half there, and the same back, she imagined, as the time passed. Then a day, not more, to meet with Father. When there was no word after four days she began to feel nervous. Theoland was anxious too, leaving her after only a few minutes on the fifth day and not coming at all in the afternoon. On the sixth day he put his arm around her shoulder and tried to reassure her that there was nothing to worry about; that the roads were probably muddy and slow and they would be back any day with the news. She leant her head against him and closed her eyes, feeling both impatient to move forward towards this marriage and apprehensive about what the next days and weeks would bring. She missed her family and wondered if they would be able to come to the wedding.

On the morning of the seventh day, he brought her a white rose and a gold ring, a thick band set with blue sapphires that felt impossibly heavy on her hand. Then he lifted her chin with his finger kissed her properly, on the lips. "I have a feeling my envoys will return today," he said, his face so close to hers that she could see the gold flecks in his eyes and the tiny creases on his forehead. "And then, my beautiful Nuria, our life can begin." She felt as if she was dreaming as he leaned forward to kiss her again. She could hear birds singing and a gardener's spade slicing at the earth somewhere nearby. She could feel the pressure of his hands in hers and the warmth of his lips on her mouth. This was really, truly happening – she, Nuria, was kissing the king. She thought of Hellis, suddenly, as he pulled away briefly and smiled at her, and felt just a tiny stab of disillusionment. He had taken her first kiss now, but he could not give her his. But then there was the weight of the ring on her hand – this was different. When the envoys returned their marriage would be announced. It was not all like what he had done with Hellis.

"Do you love me, Theoland?" she dared to ask, so aware that although he had not said it in words, he had chosen her above all the other women he had known. It should be enough to know that, but still, she found herself asking, wanting desperately to know that he did.

"Of course I do," he said, easily, smoothly, the words rolling off his lips as if he had said them many times before. "I love you, sweet Nuria." He did not seem to expect her to say anything, and so she rested her head on his shoulder again and closed her eyes. If he could be so sure, then so could she.

He was right. That evening after dinner she was called, by a servant, to the queen's chambers.

Hellis was intrigued. "What is going on, Nuria?" she asked, as Nuria grabbed her shawl and straightened her hair, her hands shaking as she combed it out while the servant waited impatiently outside.

"I will tell you later," said Nuria, her voice faltering with emotion. It still worried her that the trip had taken so long, and even as she hurried along the passages she had a feeling that something bad must have happened. It was odd, that she was being called so late, and to the queen's chambers. If it was good news, surely Theoland would have called her himself?

And it was bad. It was so bad that when she walked into the queen's apartment and saw him, standing by the fireplace with his hands over his face, she stopped in her tracks. Something, she knew, was terribly wrong.

"What is it?" she whispered to the queen, who stood by the door to meet her. The room was warm, but she felt a chill wash over her, from her head to her toes. "Is it my parents? Are they dead?"

"No, no. Just come in," said the queen, her voice steely and cold. "He insisted on seeing you, although I advised against it. He is very upset. Don't go too close."

Nuria stared at her, not understanding. Don't go too close? But then Theoland looked up, and the look on his face was something she had never seen before, from him or anyone else in her quiet, narrow life. He was upset; that was clear. But he was more than upset – it looked as if something was torturing him from inside. And he was mad too, she saw, taking a step back. The king of Kalathan, who had days before told her she was perfect and had gazed into her eyes with both love and longing, was glaring at her in fury now, his eyes wild, and he was raging, spitting mad.