Page 4 of Breaking Briar

The baby giggles, bringing about another wave of adoration from those surrounding the crib. Though I could have gone to see the infant at any point, I opted to stay behind, watching the others with a careful eye. Any one of them could be vying for the throne. The pact is not yet sealed, and as such, we’re vulnerable.

No one else seems to understand this or even care. It’s all about the baby and our marriage. It’s beyond ridiculous.

Next to me, Master Balcom nudges my shoulder, his lips set in a firm line. “You should at least look upon your betrothed. The others are watching you just as closely as you watch them. Do not bring shame to the Godwin name.”

I resist the urge to snort as I make my way over, the crowd parting as I look upon my bride. Her wails pierce the din as she shrieks out her indignation. No doubt she’s far too overstimulated right now, but no one seems to care for what’s in her best interest.

With a sigh, I lean over the crib to look at her, doing my best to find something endearing about a baby I have no ties to. She wriggles about, a mass of pink skin confined in a white, flowy gown. Already she has a fine covering of dark brown hair, just as dark as the inquisitive eyes that look up at me.

The moment our gazes lock, her cries stop. The silence is deafening as everyone looks on, their shocked faces not going amiss. Reaching down, I run my finger over her cheek, marveling at how soft and tiny she is. To think, at some point, all of us were that small.

“Would you care to hold her?” my father questions as he slides in next to me.

All burgeoning feelings of tenderness flee. “I would worry I’d harm her. Better to leave her in the crib.”

The couples around me simper and sigh as if I’ve just said the most romantic thing. Their reactions are disgusting. There’s absolutely nothing romantic about this meeting.

Thankfully, before my father can respond, the doors whoosh open as a group of women enter. The good witches of the various kingdoms smile at everyone, their eyes sparkling with excitement. With their wands raised high, a stream of colors drifts behind them.

The colors of the rainbow fill the room, taking away any lingering, festering gloom. Even the guests seem to feel lighter, giddy, and joyful. I wish I could join in, but my mind will not let me relax as I watch them pass on wishes and blessings to the crowd.

I continue to scan the area, waiting to see who else will show up. Thankfully, the dark one is not amongst them, but that doesn’t mean she’s not out there waiting. Granted, from what I’ve heard about these witches, they cannot abide evil, and so she should not be able to get near so great a force of good.

My fingers clench around the ornate wood as the thought of her beady eyes and slimy shadows impale my brain. I detest how my knees threaten to quiver as fear once more overtakes me. It’s fine for Father to cower in the face of danger. It’s what is expected of him at this point. But not me.

Never me.

I am the heir, the redeemer. Even though I know I’m nowhere near old enough to take on that mantle, I never want the people to see me as weak. They need to have some other hope in these dark times besides calling on King Kendrick for aid.

Squaring my shoulders, I step away from the crib, my strength renewed. I nod to each of them in kind as they circle the baby, doing my best not to read into their glances as they look between my face and each other. Though they say nothing to me, the air crackles with unspoken words.

Perhaps they too see me as an abomination? Shaking my head, I do my best to dispel the words from the wicked one earlier today. They will serve me no good. Soon, however, they seem to forget all about me as they coo over my destined bride.

As I peer over their shoulders and look down at the infant, I try to stir feelings of any kind. But they’re just not there. Perhaps that’s what makes me an abomination? But then, surely, the witches wouldn’t be so fickle.

Besides, how can I have any sort of feelings for someone I don’t know or even converse with? At what age am I supposed to have all these stirrings suddenly thrust upon me? To hear the adults whisper, I should be showing signs of affection toward those of the opposite sex, but no one brings out these feelings in me.

Despite what they say when they think I cannot hear, not even men draw my eye. It’s as if strength, battle, and honor are my true lusts and vices, and will probably be so for the foreseeable future. Still though, as I look down at the wriggling mass as she gurgles up with that toothless, drooly grin of hers, something pricks my heart.

It’s not love, and it’s certainly not lust. A kinship, perhaps? All I know is she is now considered my possession, and I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Again, my fingers ball into fists, but this time, it’s with a firm resolve and not anger.

With a cold, calculated suspicion, I eye the witches as they touch and tease her, their faces exuding pure happiness. They’re far too chipper for my liking, and no doubt harbor some grave ill toward her. I must keep Briar safe from their plots and plans.

Father seems to trust them above all else, which means I cannot. Not when he’s so quick to lie down and beg like a dog. Though they do not actively hurt the child, they’re disturbing her rest. Even now, I watch as her eyelids grow heavy, only to pop back open when another touches her.

They mutter as they stroke her hair and pinch her cheeks, keeping their touch light enough to keep the baby from crying out. One by one, they step back, their eyes sparkling as they hold hands. After a few moments of nonsensical chanting, they release and hold up their wands.

“To you, young Briar,” the witch with the red wand cries out, “I give the gift of beauty.”

Shocking, since the baby already looks like she’ll be pretty enough. But I suppose I should be grateful for a lovely bride.

“To you, young Briar,” the witch with the orange wand mutters, “I give the gift of intelligence.”

A sensible gift. I would rather have a smart, cunning wife than someone who was daft.

“To you, young Briar,” the witch with the yellow wand intones, “I give the gift of obedience.”

My nose wrinkles at that one. To be compelled to be obedient doesn’t seem like a gift, but more like a curse. However, it might make her more pliant in the ways of ruling. It would be nice to not have to battle with my wife over matters of court.