NaNoWriMo Story Snippets

22. Excerpt from OATH OF RINGS

Author's note: Subject to editing, title is tentative, etc. Prequel to BREAKER OF RINGS. Not sure if I'll be able to finish it in November because I don't think one of the ideas will work, but I'm going to try.

Charlotte couldn't remember ever seeing so many in Castle Flair before, and yet she had never quite felt so alone in her ancestral home. Perhaps that was because, if left to her own devices, she had spent as much time away from it as possible. Whenever she could get away, she had been doing combat training with her brother Reid, which made his sudden death all the harder to bear. No one would say it to her face—even if she didn't always act like it, she was still the princess of the castle, after all—but she knew that some of Reid's fellow knights wondered if he had been so busy training her that he had neglected his own duties. The mere thought that she could be in any way responsible for her brother's death made Charlotte hang up her sword and retreat to castle life, even though it chafed at her spirit, and this banquet was worse than a month of embroidery lessons.

"It must be such a relief to have an occasion to wear your dresses again." Stephanie, daughter of the visiting King Vincent, approached but kept a sensible distance away from her Like Charlotte, she had grown up in a family whose legacy was centred on fighting, but Stephanie had shown little interest in taking part in battles herself. She was all too happy to procure the best warriors and let them do combat on her behalf.

Charlotte tried not to let her gaze harden. If it had been up to her, she would have kicked the McMahon clan members out of Castle Flair and their lands, but she also knew that everything she said and did—or didn't say and didn't do—reflected back on her father and would affect his alliances. "I did my initial sword training in a dress." She tried to make it sound more like an interesting fact to share than a blunt correction. "One never knows when they might have to defend themselves, and that is especially true of a princess. I can hardly ask an invading heathen to wait while I change into my fighting attire, can I?" Her laugh sounded brittle to her ears, as ready to shatter as her temper, but the surrounding din must have masked most of her disdain.

Stephanie's answering smile was just as forced, and twice as obvious. "Well, it won't be long until that's no longer a problem for you." There was a cloying sweetness to her voice that made Charlotte want to drink all the wine she could find.

It was very tempting to summon the winds outside Castle Flair and get them to blast Stephanie down the hall, but Charlotte forced her hands flat against her sides. It wasn't a well-known fact that she was an air-archer—in fact, she didn't even know if that was the right term, since such powers were so rare. Her father had procured tutors for her to help her control and hone her gifts, but he also didn't talk widely about them. Charlotte wasn't even sure if anyone in Clan McMahon knew about her ability. "What do you mean?" She hated not knowing something that Stephanie clearly did.

With a falsely bright laugh, Stephanie gestured at the banquet behind them. "You know why everyone's here, right? Your father is trying to find a suitable husband for you. When you playing with swords with your brother," she added, nose wrinkling up in disdain, "it was far more difficult, but now that you're settling in to life as a proper princess, several suitors have shown interest." Her smile was as sharp and lethal as any sword Charlotte had ever wielded. "Randall seems to be the most favoured candidate, though. Then again, your father always did have a soft spot for him. Why, he's practically like Ric's son." With that parting jab, Stephanie sauntered off, merging with the festive crowd before Charlotte could react.

Fervently hoping that her father wasn't talking to Randall, Charlotte surged through the crowd as best she could, murmuring apologies and promises for dances that would never come to pass. "Father," she said at last, gripping his arm tight enough to get his attention. Whenever King Ric was the centre of attention, it could be almost impossible to tear him away. "May I speak with you in private?"

"Charlotte! The lady of the hour!" Ric sounded like he had finished a barrel of wine all on his own. "Hello, sweetheart. Let me introduce Theodore—" Ric wobbled on his feet and if Charlotte hadn't been at his side, he likely would have fallen in a drunken heap.

"A pleasure," Charlotte murmured, trying to get the politeness out of the way. "I apologize for the intrusion, but I really must speak with my father in private. I'll return him to you as quickly as I can." Then she steered her father through the milling crowd, deflecting questions with a gentle smile. On the outside, she was every inch a regal princess, but it had never felt more like a facade.

Ric looked around in confusion when Charlotte stopped in a darkened hall. They could see the banquet through an open door, as if a framed portrait had come to life. "What . . . what are doing here?" Ric slurred. "The party's in there. . . ." He tried to move past his daughter to return to the feast, but Charlotte stopped him easily. "Charlotte, those are our guests—"

"Are they?" Charlotte looked for her stepmother—her second one, now—but couldn't see her. "I think they're your guests more than mine, Father." She hesitated for a moment, unsure how to word the next bit. She certainly wasn't averse to getting Stephanie in trouble, but she also wanted to see how much information she could get out of her father. How much she could trust any of it in his current state was another story. "While I was mingling, I heard several people say that you were trying to find me a husband."

Ric's eyes were glassy and wide. "Of course I am, sweetheart! I want you to be happy, to have a kingdom of your own someday!" He seemed to sober up somewhat as he added, "I know you always wanted to fight alongside Reid, but this will be a better life for you."

"I can still fight," Charlotte protested, letting go of her father's arm at last. The stench of wine on him was starting to make her dizzy, and she needed to keep her wits about her. "I don't need R—" She stopped herself quickly. There would never be a time when she wouldn't wish to have her brother at her side. Now that it wasn't possible, she had to do her best to both honour him and make herself happy. "I can fight on my own. I know I still have a lot to learn, but—"

"Charlotte." Ric's voice was still garbled, but his eyes had taken on a calculating sharpness. "You need to be reasonable. We need to continue the family's legacy. Now that Reid's gone, it falls to you and your other siblings. Do you think any worthwhile prince is going to want a wife who spends her days training for war?" He shook his head vigorously. "No. You need to be reasonable," he repeated, both to himself and to her. "So I invited all the best families. All the best princes. And they brought all their best gifts. Come see."

"Father—" But now it was Ric taking Charlotte by the arm leading her down the hall to what used to be her mother's sewing room. Now it was an informal space where she and her sister often talked away from the prying eyes and ears of the castle's staff. All the treasures piled on the floor were a new addition, however. "Father, what is all this?"