Welcome to Briteland, the lost British Isle, last known country of magic.
Chosen at birth as one of five members of the Queen's Guard, the young knight Galavere has spent all seventeen years of her life training to protect the kingdom's reigning mo...
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Three painful hours later, Galavere slid into the throneroom antichamber, finding the rest of the Guard already waiting to accompany their Queen.
This is going to be torture, she thought.
The welcoming reception for the English princes was only moments away, and the room was abuzz with anticipation. The time since her meeting with Imogen had felt like only minutes to Galavere. The redness in her eyes was now gone, but the sensation of drowning remained palpable.
The room was thick with lore, the crowns of all Briteland's former monarchs hanging high with streams of shimmering water cascading down from their ridges and forming a small stream that ran the perimeter of the room. All Briteland's most important laws had been signed on the long, dark mahogany table that ran the length of the room, and rumour had it that Imogen's own mother had been conceived on it. Galavere's eyes landed immediately on the girl in the middle of the room, whose gravitational pull sucked everything and everyone into her orbit. Galavere had never lost love before. Would her heart might fall straight out of her, and shatter into a thousand fragments right there on the gilded tiles of the floor? A protective numbness took over.
Imogen was seated beside her older half-brother Kiril, their heads together in quiet conference, as they consulted an ancient looking moss covered volume. Kiril cultivated an air of distinguished royalty, though the throne had always escaped his grasp. He was widely known to be the lovechild of the old King and a low-magic peasant, unlike Imogen whose lineage was pure royalty. The chip on the slight but handsome royal bastard's shoulder ran deep, and he was clearly dissatisfied with his lowly advisory position. The look on his face told anyone watching that he thought himself the smartest person in the room.
A visit from the English always had a unique effect on each of the girls. Cressida looked suspiciously more glamorous, Tamorah had exchanged her usual blade for an enormous broadsword, Winny had likely spent the day reading about the history of English greeting customs, and Lumina undoubtedly had consulted the prince's star signs to check for any possible trouble within that phase of the moon. For her own part, Galavere was simply doing her best to appear as if absolutely nothing was different. And making a conscious effort to breathe.
Imogen murmured a few words to herself from the book while Kiril observed her with relaxed poise. "They have no knowledge of the prophecy. The Veil is safe as such. Eventually they will run out of these worthless gifts, and move on," Kiril whispered to the Queen in his usual low monotone. Galavere's aptitude for eavesdropping was never more keen than when the subject pertained to anything Imogen, though what this prophecy was and why it had anything to do with keeping the English at bay escaped her understanding. Galavere tried not to notice her Queen's long regal neck adorned with Briteland's pearl and sapphire hues. Imogen swung around to lock eyes with her, and the hair on Galavere's arm stood up.
"You'll be next to me in the receiving ceremony. There have been rumours of a tiger," announced Imogen. The Queen still wanted her by her side after what had passed between them? How were her eyes so clear, her gait so light?
