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For when the delegation from Lyonesse had joyfully arrived to celebrate the spring rites of Marzanna with the Rose Court, they had met treachery instead.
My father, Leodegrance, could not conceive the truth of what was occurring. Instead, he misinterpreted it as the false steps of a young and overly eager king.
So when Arthur demanded that Lyonesse send additional nobles as “surety” for the safekeeping of the ones who had already been taken, my father stupidly complied. Worse, he went so far as to enter into a marriage alliance with the king of Camelot, offering his only daughter as a token of Lyonesse’s continued friendship.
The bargain was struck.
I was the dice tossed onto the table to be shuffled back and forth. My fate was thrown from my father’s once-loving hands into those of a cruel stranger.
Marriage to Arthur might not have been so bad. He was not who I would have chosen, but I had always known my marriage would be arranged for me and was likely to be to a man.
But what happened was far worse than my wildest imaginings.
The marriage never occurred.
The wedding night did.
My father did not deliver me unto evil himself. He sent his most trusted ambassador for that.
Lord Cumbrage's head now hangs outside the king's wall alongside a number of other familiar faces from Lyonesse.
But before that dark conclusion, there was mirth and merriment—all forced and false, of course.
Gifts were exchanged. The betrothal documents were signed. A dowry contract was drawn up.
How much was Lady Guinevere of Lyonesse truly worth? Five hundred plots of rich fertile farmland? Or six? Three gold caskets filled with sea pearls? Or four filled with rubies harvested from the coastal mines?
Of course, King Arthur and his court covered me in finery while I waited for all the negotiations to be sorted. Noblewomen were assigned to clothe and tend me, draping me in lush robes and decking me in precious jewels. All fit for a queen.
Arthur greeted me in a formal welcome ceremony.
I looked into his cold, handsome face and saw my future torment foretold in his eyes. My freedom dried up like dew on blades of grass.
The members of our court who had been held hostage by Pendrath stood around us, their faces expressionless. They knew I was there to redeem them with my freedom. With my very life.
A princess of royal blood could do no less for her people. Could she? My father certainly did not think so. Or else why would he send his daughter to the man who, by rights, should have already been his enemy?
I lifted my chin. I carried on. I prayed in the temple by Arthur's side, begging the goddesses' blessing upon our marriage. I joined Arthur in supplications to his new god, Perun, in rituals led by the new High Priest, Cavan, in the newly constructed temple as well.
I touched my head to the cold stone, and I prayed.
I stood in banquets and I supped at feasts. I danced in courtly dances, my hips swaying in memory if not in happiness.
Finally, the day of the ceremony arrived. The day in which rings would be exchanged, vows made, and a new queen crowned.
Except all broke into chaos.
Arthur’s displeasure rang out through the castle, and the marriage festivities sank under the weight of his fury.
A covert attack force led by my father and eldest brother had attempted to infiltrate the Pendrathian border on the day of my wedding.
They were struck down, of course. My father? Killed. I was told it was instant.
His torment was over much quicker than mine.
The alliance was off. The marriage? Worth less than nothing.
But my value as a hostage, a symbol of Lyonessian resistance? Satisfying and crushable.
