As if sensing her mounting distress, her father rested his heavy hand on her shoulder. “Worry not, daughter. The soldiers’ presence is merely acquiescence to the wishes of my future bride’s family. They do not portend any looming threat to either our persons or the villagers.”
For safety he believed she worried. Yea, but not her own, nor that of their people. One man alone had captured her thoughts these past days, and of him she must rid her mind lest all be lost.
A palfrey as white as fresh snowfall walked through a gap in the mercenaries’ ranks, creating a hush among the gathered crowd. Christyne allowed her gaze to be pulled to the object of everyone’s attention. Sitting atop the mare was a slight woman who seemed even younger than Christyne’s own ten and eight years.
Her hair, the color of golden wheat stalks, glowed beneath the jeweled net and jaunty velvet hat with a plume of white feathers dancing with every subtle tilt of her head. A gold necklace circled her throat, the garnet stones embedded within accenting the red velvet of her dress and the white lining of her paned sleeves and damask bodice.
Prince Ernst beamed as he stepped to the young lady’s side and offered his hand to assist her dismount. The woman hesitated but a moment before accepting, her gloved fingers resting on his shoulders as he clasped her waist and settled her feet on the ground.
Christyne studied her father’s intended. Had this young woman been permitted a say in her future? In the man she would bind herself to in mere days? Though her father had his good qualities, he was still a man with enough years to have sired the girl he was to wed.
Christyne’s chest squeezed as the lady’s gaze remained fixed on the ground, her fingers twisted within the folds of her gown. Too easily could Christyne imagine being in this lady’s slippers. Indeed, if not for her father’s reluctant agreement, she would be—to the brute from the duchy of Schlestein, no less.
Wishing to ease the lady’s discomfort, she stepped forward so the hem of her own gown would be within the woman’s range of sight. “I am Christyne von Heildelbraum, and I welcome you.” She put as much friendliness and compassion into her voice as she could. As with a trapped hare, it seemed this girl would have scampered away within the breadth of a heart’s beat if she had not already felt the noose about her throat.
Prince Ernst’s laughter boomed. “Forgive me. It seems my thoughts scattered the moment mine eyes feasted upon my intended, and they have not yet returned to me.”
Christyne winced at his choice of words and his willingness to be overcome by his baser self. Such things should not shock her, for the wedding and bedding of younger women to produce heirs flourished across the empire like weeds choking out tender shoots.
“Daughter, I present to you my future bride, Clare von Hesseburg.”
The woman’s gaze flicked up to meet Christyne’s. Fathomless gray orbs assessed Christyne openly before the young bride-to-be’s shoulders squared almost imperceptibly. Uncertain though she may be of her future as the wife of a prince of yawning years, she seemed determined to take her place and fulfill the duty for which she had been raised.
Christyne felt for a moment as though she stared into a looking glass. Her own future was equally unknown. Would her father press harder for her to marry so that he might enjoy his new bride without his daughter underfoot? Would Clare wish the same so as to establish herself as the new mistress of the castle?
And what of Lorenz? Had their meeting been mere coincidence or a divine appointment? Her heart nearly ached with the need to hear and learn more of the Scriptures. Of grace and not works. Sanctification and not sacrament.
If her father sent her to another ruling state as a bride, would her opportunity to learn these new and radical truths be shut to her forever?
The prince clapped his hands, drawing the focus of all to himself. “Let us refresh ourselves in the great hall, one and all, with vittles and mead.”
“Huzzah!” The landsknechte grinned in approval.
Christyne hastened forward to direct the servants in preparations, thankful to depart from the horde of murderous warriors. Their stench filled her nostrils and caused bile to climb up her throat. She could not behold them without memories of the peasant uprising and subsequent bloody defeat assailing her mind and sending her mad.
She gave orders to the steward and then joined her father and Clare on the dais. Her own appetite had vanished at the first hail that the conclave has been spotted. In truth, she feared that, should she eat even a morsel, she would embarrass herself by its immediate reappearance. She could not let her unease be made known, however, so she picked at the crusty loaf of bread and the clusters of grapes that had been harvested from their own ancestral vines.
The hairs on her arms and along the back of her neck rose. As if she were prey within the sights of a hunter, she felt marked. She glanced around the room, but no one seemed to be paying any particular attention to her. Nay, they all appeared in their cups. What, then, caused her skin to crawl as if a spider stalked across her surface?
“Ah, HerzogKampff.” Her father stood and extended a hand in greeting, beckoning the Schlesteinian duke closer. “There you are.”
Kampff held Christyne’s gaze, the curl of a smirk twisting his lips before he returned his gaze to the prince and arranged his features into civility.
“Is it not fortuitous, daughter—nay, divinely ordained, as Bishop Wilmer would no doubt proclaim—to have stumbled upon the duke as we traversed the woods?” The man who sired her looked upon her not as a father but a ruling monarch. One who would not stand for his word to be publicly reproached. “As you previously expressed a need to acquaint yourself with his person, I have invited him and his men to remain as our guests for the nuptial celebrations.”
Kampff approached the dais with an air of self-import and mockery, his gaze upon her needling. “It is good to see you once more, princess.”
She could not voice the same regards, the words being as much a lie as his had been.
“What is this?” Prince Ernst exclaimed. “You have already been introduced to my daughter?”
Christyne glanced to her side. Though her father’s words held only a hint of curiosity, she knew he was a man who held the reins with a tight fist. He did not like to be apprised of matters after the fact, so learning that the duke had deigned to meet with her without first gaining his approval would be a mark against the man.
Christyne was returning her focus to the threat in the room, knowing enough about combat to understand one should not turn one’s back to one’s opponent, when Clare snagged her gaze with a widening of her gray eyes. She flicked a look toward Kampff, then returned her regard to Christyne with a questioning lift of her brow.
What did the lady wish to know? With Kampff the answer must always be nay. With a subtle shake of her head and downturned lips, she let her displeasure with the man be known.
“But a day past, my men and I entered your fief following a report that an arrow had been loosed into a heretic upon your lands. It is for this reason alone you find us in your woods, as I claimed then and still hold to be true now. Thoroughness, however, did necessitate I inquire of your household whether the apostate had been seen, reported, or captured and brought here for detainment. Little did I anticipate my inquiry would also serve as my introduction to your lovely daughter.”
