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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Galavere swore to herself that she would stand at attention in front of the antichamber for as long as it took, struggling to hear what Imogen and her advisors might be saying even though she knew it would be impossible to hear anything through the enchanted oak doors. The Guard had already been waiting for Imogen's reappearance for hours, and their conversation had slowed to a halt. Not even Cressida could fill the time with banter about which prince would give a better foot massage. Tamorah was silently sharpening her sword, Winny was trying to feed Peggy remotely using a manifestation charm, and Lumina was mouthing the words "jeweled box" to herself over and over again searching for meaning.
Her own head was the last place Galavere wished to be just at that moment.
Cruel images flashed through her mind, throbbing like a headache that hadn't quite reached its peak. Reginald's smug look, Leopold's blush as he knelt, Imogen's inscrutable expression. Galavere had imagined herself a thousand times getting down on one knee in front of Imogen the way that painfully handsome young prince had. Seeing Leopold's face again in her mind's eye, Galavere was pained thinking how her own appearance paled in comparison to his. Galavere was handsome, but not like that. It was not her sex that made an arrangement between her and Imogen seem so farfectched. Briteland had always allowed its people to choose their companions as they wished, but Imogen could never marry Galavere. The laws of the Guard and royalty could not be negotiated.
"Oh dear, I feel as though I might fall asleep right here," Winny yawned, leaning against a stone column.
"Should I knock, just see if maybe they don't need us anymore?" Cressida was met with a chorus of tired heads shaking "no." The tension of the moment still had Galavere's heart racing.
"Lumina, in your expert opinion, is this 'gift' of a prince's hand in marriage really valuable enough to force a betrothal between Imogen and- I mean how likely... is the Veil going to... do you think she'll say yes?" Galavere asked in a whisper, struggling to state her question even though she'd been formulating it for the better part of an hour.
Lumina blinked, her reverie interrupted, and she looked back at Galavere with misty eyes. "I don't know. I'd completely forgotten about that prophecy until this afternoon. There are thousands of prophecies after all."
"Right, so maybe there's one that says Imogen will maybe, maybe marry someone totally different, like a-a regular person, or a high magic person. Or maybe that she won't marry at all?"
"Maybe?" Lumina looked like she was going to say something else, but just then, the head of the Night's Watch approached.
"Will you be needing us tonight?" Stefan asked Tamorah.
"Indeed. I'm starving." Tamorah was already taking off towards the dining hall.
"Are you sure the Queen will be safe? Perhaps we should stay on tonight," said Galavere.
"We won't be of any use protecting her if we're all starving and sleep deprived," Tamorah replied, issuing a final directive at Stefan before disappearing down the corridor. "Notify me immediately if the Queen requires anything."
