Wicked Queen & Rebel Knight

By Nancy Hibbert

Nakira’s story:
I was eleven when the warriors attacked. Two years later war encircled us. Everyone knew someone who was killed.
I’ll always remember the way Father looked at me that last evening. He didn’t often look at me. I was never important. Girls were not.
I felt his gaze first. When turning, found his green eyes solemn. Evaluating. My only other memory was back of his purple cloak. Watching father stride from the hall. Faint glimmer of the gold crown across back of his forehead.
Even before I found servants packing my chamber, I tasted fear on my tongue. My stomach tumbled in knots.
“It will be for the best.”
Sometimes, I think Mother said those words.
Often that I only wished she had. That she’d given me some farewell before I was sent away. To marry a foreign lord in a foreign land. Not even a prince of any rank.
That was thirteen years ago.
For thirteen years, I lived in this new world. It has become my home. The other seems like long ago dream.
When the messenger arrived, he seemed like visitor from an imagined world.
The message: “King Brutus was dead.” My father.
King Feargan was dead.
King Halvod was dead.
My brothers. Older than me. I barely knew them even when I lived in Dalriada.
“You fair Princess Nakira are our remaining Heir.”
You are our heir.
I stared at the messenger disbelieving. Heir.
They wanted to make me Queen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nancy Hibbert
• Release date: Jan 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215535929

Nancy Hibbert

Honestly, I’m bored with myself.Doesn't anyone else get bored with everyday life. Getting up every Monday morning. Dullness of being a clock watcher and waiting for each work day to be over. This is why I write. Creating imaginary worlds is my escape from my ordinary clock watching life.Growing up in Moncton, New Brunswick, I preferred fantasy to reality. Soap operas and romances were my escapes, whether or not I understood my longings. One time I whined to my father, “I wish I could go to country clubs.”He’d laughed, “I invited you golfing.”I loved stories.Golfing with my dad couldn’t compete with movies where overwhelming odds were resolved between the time I sat and stood. Living in my fantasy world, I drifted through few boyfriends and many menial jobs. Until turning thirty.Happy endings were supposed to happen before thirty. I decided to move to Toronto.In Moncton, I worked for a busy courier company answering phones as an ‘all other’ operator. As in, press zero for ‘all other’ inquiries. In Toronto, I walked in circles for about a month looking for work. A month passed. So much for making my fortune. Desperate, I began looking for work in retail at the Eaton center. But managers wanted eager employees, not desperate ones. Tired, I stopped to speak with people at a booth for Herzing College. The only weren’t interested in hiring someone who only wanted a job. After a month, the only opportunity I got was to become a legal assistant. I went to school. While I dreamed of being a writer, I needed a job to pay bills.Since, I’ve moved back twice.And beneath everything, I dreamed of writing novels. But how many people don’t imagine being able to earn money doing what they love.My stories are reality escapes. Not meant to be taken seriously. Fairy tales for adults.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The hotter the day grew, the sleepier Pixora became. She lay in the smooth stretch between the roots of her favorite wizen tree staring up at the elm’s thorny branches. The branch ends were like fingers pointing to the faraway paths gods could travel from their sky palaces to the muck and mud of the earthly realm.

A barley fly landed on Pixie’s arm, and she swat it away.

Staring, she found the staircase of Lazuti gems the gods climbed down to choose the mightiest of warriors to guard their sky-blue palaces. Pixie did not remember her father, but knew he had been so chosen. As had so many other Dalriadian folk. Especially menfolk.

As she’d not killed the fly, it continued to buzz about her head.

Before shutting her eyes, Pixie looked in the potato field for her mother. With both hands, Ama hauled a bucket that Pixie could have stood in and sloshed water every two steps on each of the scraggily plants poking up from the dust. Sighing, Pixie curled arm about a tree root and rested her head on an elbow.

But something was odd. People were standing and walking away from watering pails. Older children were jumping and bliss dancing in jagged circles. What were they shouting? Blessed be our lady liege?

There! her cousin, Rufus shouted. I see them! Nearly a man, her cousin had freckles from chin to forehead, rooster red hair, and work hardened hands. He pointed at the far away road, and the young dashed off.

Wanting to see too, Pixie scrambled up, but they were too fast. Where was her mother?

Grown folk were clumped together searching faces for dirt. Women shook skirts, and from a sack this blue, bright as a jay wing, was lifted. Had it fallen from heaven? Pixie had only ever seen cloth of black, brown, or gray, but women were draping blue and gold scarves about their heads and over their skirts.

The familiar ridges of her mother’s warm fingers, wrapped about Pixie’s hand like an unbreakable hug. Ama pulled her, and they ran for the castle. On reaching its shade, her mother yanked her back, and Pixie scowled. She wanted to see more than big people legs and blinked up accusingly, but the overwhelming happiness on Ama’s face stole her words.

Smiling as she never did, her mother raised their hands to a point, leaned to her ear, and whispered, Look, they’re coming. Following their point to the far distant line where the sky touched the earth, Pixie saw a carriage being drawn by the horses.

Everyone from all village clans was standing in front the castle ground staring, pointing, and whispering as though enchanted. Pixie, afraid of breaking the trance, dared not ask - but what sort of carriage was this? It looked made of yellow wood, but no tree was that large, and was pulled by four great yellow horses. Blue ribbons were braided through the horses’ golden manes, and sky-coloured silks were wrapped about its six wood posts and stretched tent-like above - hiding whoever rode inside. Its wheels were as tall as Pixie’s shoulders and looked a mix of wood and pewter. Bells chimed with the horses’ steps and she could see dirt being broken beneath their mighty hooves. Who’d be inside such a carriage?

When the carriage stopped, the coachman turned to the crowd, tipped his floppy hat to them and grinned. The crowd grew silent when he jumped down and hurried to open the door. A man seeming to wear every colour got out. Green covered his head and hands. The jacket atop his dark red tunic was the colours of a meadow. His trousers were the colour of the sun. There was blue about his neck and a high ruffled collar beneath that that was yellow like gold.

He turned his meadow back to them, and assisted a woman, dressed entirely in black, out the carriage. The woman did not look near so interesting, but everyone cheered on seeing her.

There was something odd about how the man looked at them; it was not exactly angry or mean but she sensed unfriendliness. The woman looked friendlier as she attempted to smile at them, but also a bit afraid. Pixie hoped she was not afraid of the man. Then she was watching their backs as they turned and went into the castle.

Pixie felt heaviness fall over the crowd as though sadness had poured from the sky. Her eyes were drawn to the most beautiful of them, Ravenna of the Rathbone clan, dressed unlike herself in a long flowing yellow gown trimmed with blue, a matching ribbon through her hair. A gust of wind tossed back her black hair and streamed out the ribbon. Rathbone used to be the highest clan. In her hands, Ravenna of Rathbone, held a fancily carved wreath with many twisting flowers. It was a gift that had it been accepted would have brought good fortune - that it remained in Ravenna’s hands was very bad luck indeed.

(Nakira)

It was warm inside the carriage, but Princess Nakira shivered on looking out. Why did nothing look familiar? Dalriada was her home. She’d live here the first fourteen years of her life and ought to feel as though returning - instead of… Like her gorgon head. Wide eyed and screaming.

And how could Milfred sleep? The carriage bounced, seeming to hit every rut in the road, leaving Nakira feeling bruised and battered from one side of her bottom to the other. But mainly she was afraid.

She’d thought once here, she’d remember. But muddy hills? Had these not been green meadows? Did she not remember gathering wild flowers and seeing nothing but green all around her? Where was the clover? The multi-coloured flower gardens?

They reached the peasant fields. Folks, bent over dusty rows, stood to stare at their carriage. Nakira pulled back from the window trying to find some comfort in her cushioned seat.

Ouch. The carriage wheels hit another rut churning up more red-gray dust. To keep from choking on the metallic tasting ash, Nakira pressed her black sleeve to her nose and mouth.

Behind them, the hut dwellers paid no mind to the stream of bitter dust, but trotted after them. What did she remember of peasants? What did they want? None of their misfortune was her fault. She had naught to do with the war. To keep her safe, her father had insisted on her going away. She’d been sent to Cornaire to marry Milfred, who was not even of royal blood, but the fourth son of a common lord. That was twelve years ago, when Nakira was fourteen.

Nakira tried to remember. But as a young princess, King Brutus’s only daughter, her life had been in the castle. Peasants were out in the fields. At the great roasting festivals, they’d be merry-making. She remembered them plucking pork skewers from flames and biting into steaming meat. Grease would run down their chins. They’d drank wine and ale from tall glasses that they’d clunk noisily together paying no attention to spills. And the laughing and wild circle dancing.

They’d been so loud. Seemingly fearless. Big and wild - but maybe she’d been little. She remembered her father and older brother, Feargan, scorning her fear. Those of royal blood were not to fear peasants.

What else? What else?

The men had been loud. The women had stomped their feet across cobblestones and raised their skirts twirling about. There was splashing of drinks. Clinking of glasses. And wild music. Rhythmic striking of wood. Ringing of bells and the sound of pipes seeming to dance wind-like through the long grasses. And colours. Peasants had worn colours as varied as the field flowers. And they’d been of as many sizes.

Peering between the curtains, Nakira watched the following crowd. They looked as brittle and gray as briar trees. But peasants had been as various sized and colours as the surrounding field flowers. These had wild, desperate eyes. And they looked hungry.

They began descending, and Nakira could see gray stones at the hill bottom. Dalriada castle.

This is my land. Dalriada is my kingdom. The gods have willed for me to return. Athenee will bless and prosper me.

Nakira slid her fingers over the dark amulet at her throat - her Athene charm. The back was a smooth silver plate just larger than a coin and the front, Medusa’s gorgon head – wide-eyed and screaming. That day she needed all the strength and wisdom the goddess could provide.

Finally, the carriage stopped bumping along, and Milfred jolted awake with a snort. They’d reached Dalriada castle. At least the great walls still loomed skyward as she remembered.

Were you in true sleep? Nakira asked.

Milfred shrugged rubbing the kink from the back of his neck.

As the dust settled, cheers rose around them.

Milfred pulled back the curtain, and looked from the castle to the rough crowd.

This is Dalriada. Those were people working in the fields. When they saw the carriage, they began chasing after us.

Milfred let the curtain drop.

Nakira was glad she’d worn black. It signified her mourning at the passing of her family. And for all those fallen in the war. Black to match the sorrow. But Milfred wore a waistcoat as green as forest elms and embroidered with purple lilacs. His breeches were orange, and his tunic was rich burgundy with gold trim and silver and gold buttons. He smoothed his sandy curls and covered them with his emerald top hat. A sapphire sash he wrapped about his neck and into green velvet gloves, he sunk his hands. Nakira had not but a black shawl to wrap about her shoulders.

Should I wear the crown? she whispered, not wanting to be overheard.

Their coachman, Barret, jerked open the door and grinned up at them as the crowd cheered, Blessed be!

Nakira shrunk against the cushions. Did they expecting her to save them? Another thing she’d forgotten. Royals represented the gods of ole. Though these people looked in need of saving, what could she do?

Mocked in Cornaire, she’d given up the ways of ole. It was not a Maia metal she wore about her neck, but Athenee – the Greek goddess of wisdom.

Showing no fear, Milfred jumped from the carriage and held his hands out for her. Expectantly. Nowhere else to go but out, she set her bare hand into his green glove.

Hand beneath her elbow, Milfred swung Nakira to the ground, and the people cried, Blessed be our lady liege.

Nakira’s hand went to the medallion at her throat.

These people thought she could save them. In unison, they fell to their knees on the dusty mud outside the castle.

How could they expect saving from her? She only remembered Dalriada in snatches. And their gods? Had she not learned their gods were not but…?

The people of Cornaire scorned at how they worshipped trees. What sort of backward people could believe everything came from some great life tree? Or was it seeds? Nakira tried to remember.

Hadn’t there been some great circle temple outside the castle? She turned to look but there was only ashy dirt. Milfred pulled her back – toward the castle.

Tucking smooth strands of her dark hair up into its bun and tightening her black shawl over her black dress, she let him lead her. She forced her lips to smile and waved toward the crowd, but felt pained having to look at their misery. Everything was so barren and miserable, she wanted to hide.

Unable to take the crowd’s pleading eyes, Nakira turned to look to her husband. His expression showed no such conflicted feelings and hardly any interest.

From a line of servants standing before the castle, two rushed to open the polished front doors. Once Princess Nakira and Milfred were through, the servants followed them in and formed a line for their inspection and approval.

Nodding, Nakira dismissively told them, Fine which was the last thing she felt. Her father would never have approved of their frayed uniforms.

The silence was unnerving. Leaning on Milfred’s arm, she whispered, When I was a child, it was always noisy here - soldiers everywhere. I had to take care lest I be run over.

Had the war killed everyone? And why had they been attacked? None of the rebels remained to take over the rule. Were they too all dead? Her father, the rightful King Brutus had been killed as were both her brothers. Not even her mother, Queen Isolde had survived. Letters had explained how unable to bear the losses, Queen Isolde had died of grief. But her mother had never been a strong soul. Nakira, married out of the country for her protection at the war’s beginning, was all that remained of the royal family. Soon she would be made Queen over what was left of Dalriada. But what did she know of ruling?

Nakira grew up in this palace without paying much attention to the people or its running. She tried to remember who she sought out for favours, but could only remember demanding butter tarts. Servants brought her what she wanted, which she accepted with little thought or appreciation. But who were these people? How did they see her? Young darling princess with bothersome requests? Interruptions of their more important work. While both her brothers had been trained to rule, no one imagined she, as a girl, would be given any power.

Servants, carrying their luggage, led them to the large elegant bedroom that had belonged to her parents. How odd that her parents’ bedchamber was to be their space. Did their ghosts linger?

She remembered hiding outside their door waiting for Father to leave. Waiting to hear his heavy tread, the rattle of his chainmail and tap of sword, as he went down to where her brothers trained among other young knights. Once he was gone, Mother was alone.

Mother, if being dressed in queen finery, would be at her dressing table surrounded by fussing maids. Nakira would be ignored unless she made a fuss or kicked one of the servants.

Finding Mother reading poetry was the best. She would be happy and would invite Nakira to sit by her at the fireside. Through verse, Nakira had learned how the world began with a single flame and how it would end with a raging fire. Her favorite tale was of Daphnee escaping the flames by transforming into a songbird. Why had none of the prophets mentioned the coming war? Or how much death it would bring?

The times she found her mother buried beneath the bed furs became more common as the years passed. At first, she used to crawl beneath the bed furs to be close to her but that became boring and servants would scold. Stop bothering your mother. She is not feeling up to your attention.

Milfred went to this large four-poster bed, flopped onto it and stretched out amongst the furs, I must say this is impressive.

Nakira smiled. He was so easily comfortable. But shouldn’t they be doing something?

Servants arranged their belongings in the wardrobe closets.

Ah-hum. My Queen.

Nakira turned and saw a silver knight bowing to her.

Sir Danridge. Finally, someone she recognized. Despite his being older and greyer than when he served her father, she knew him and was so relieved, she could have hugged him. He did not return her smile, but regarded her as sternly as he’d done at her father’s side. He’d been her father’s unsmiling general who had taught her brothers’ fighting skills and kept their scuffling under control. Not someone to be defied, as a child she had feared his gruff nature. But she also remembered him protecting her from rough older boys.

He stiffly crossed the threshold and bowed formally to them. Guided by his demeanour, Nakira nodded her face and stretched him her hand.

He lifted her hand to his forehead and said, Good Queen Nakira and good prince. I think it best we share words. If you will kindly listen, I will try to explain what has become of our once rich land. And how Dalriada might be made prosperous once again.

Of course, Nakira replied. Milfred, however, was not interested, Sorry, I haven’t the strength. You go ahead if you like.

Milfred! Nakira pleaded, This is Sir Danridge. He knows more about the Kingdom than anyone else.

Sir Danridge nodded and stepped towards the new prince. Pardon my crudeness, gentle Prince. It is only the kingdom has come under hard times and I - not intending to offend - would most urgently request a moment to consult with new rulers about these matters.

Milfred stared blankly, not used to people addressing him so formally, before throwing smile at Nakira and responding in a mocking tone. Oh, most honourable Knight, of course I will pardon your crude speech. Only see that it does not happen again. Then he laughed loudly.

Nakira approached him and said in a hushed, angry tone, We must listen to the problems in the kingdom. After all it is to be our kingdom.

It seems all right to me and I'm tired. I'm sure whatever problems there are can wait until I'm refreshed. Besides are there not others, servants or something, to deal with these problems?

Her face burning with frustration and humiliation, Nakira shook her head. Even though lazy in his homeland, Milfred was to be prince of Dalriada. Hadn’t he any dignity he could draw forth?

Turning to Sir Danridge, she said, Let us go to the library where we will be better able to discuss matters, and led him there. Her steps echoed heavily down the wood corridor.

The next morning sunshine streamed into their bedroom. Nakira felt strange to be waking in her parents' bedroom, but the sun cheered her. And Milfred was awake and dressed! I’d take a tour with you now, he said.

But should they wander about? Sir Danridge had warned, ‘Always appear the proper monarch,’ and her parents had never gone strolling.

Someone knocked.

If it's your dear old knight, should I let him in? Milfred asked going to the door.

I'm not dressed. Nakira answered grabbing her dressing gown.

Humph. He's too old to notice. Milfred opened the door.

Two young smiling maids in loose graying uniforms stood holding steam pails of water. Gray kerchiefs covered their hair and their cheeks were flushed from the strain of holding the heavy pails. Behind them, a round broad-face woman frowned severely. Her black uniform was crisp and tight over her hips, breasts and belly. Trudging forward the girls emptied their pails into the queen’s grand tub, stood rubbing their upper arms and looking to the older woman. The matron did not return their gazes but set a large box on Nakira’s dressing table.

Sir Danridge sent me to prepare the Queen, she said.

Prepare her? Milfred mimicked, but the woman only motioned Nakira to her. At Nakira’s compliance, Milfred raised his hands helplessly and turned his back to them.

Proper presentation was important, Nakira wanted to explain, but Milfred, looking through a bookshelf, had lost interest.

You should call me Matron GaRaem, the woman told her.

As Nakira bathed, Matron GaRaem appraised her and her wardrobe before taking from the box four-inch-high boots and a wig as black as a crow. Best if you look fearsome as you need the people’s respect. They should look at you with awe and fear. Youth and beauty dissuade authority.

Nakira’s true hair was dark but softened with red highlights. This colour is close enough to yours that people will accept it as your true hair, but it gives you a regal appearance.

When Nakira was out of the tub, the matron scowled at her bare feet, white dressing gown and loose dark hair. Never look expectant but tilt your chin so that you seem to be looking down at people. And don’t smile! the matron instructed.

Nakira nodded, accepting the wig, but insisted, four inches is too much; what dignity is there to my hobbling about?

Transformation completed, Nakira looked to Milfred but he was reading and waved her away. When he did look up, he only stared.

Nakira looked from his wide eyes and slack jaw to her reflection. She’d succeeded in looking fearsome. From the ends of her fingers to the top of her neck, she was hidden beneath black cloth. The wig was a black coil on her head and a top in rested Dalriada’s heavy gold crown. Milfred stood and they exchanged surprised looks. She was as tall as he.

You look like one of Medusa's hags, was his only comment.

The Matron GaRaem gave them a stern satisfied smile and curt nod, and went to open their door. She called in four Dalriadian guards - each had a golden flame in a triangle emblem on the left shoulder of his graying uniform. Nakira didn’t remember the symbol. Wasn’t Dalriada’s signet a great oak? Wooden spears were held in their right hands, points up above their right shoulders. Matron GaRaem arranged them in a square one with Nakira and Milfred in the middle.

Excitement rose in Nakira’s belly. Stomping soldiers. Like when she was a child and would sneak down and crouch against a castle wall. Hidden in shadows, she’d stare at the long line of steely guards marching about her father. How thrilling it had been to see those arms swing up together to the beat of their pounding steps.

Matron GaRaem straighten them in the centre of the square, and Nakira put her arm through Milfred’s. He rolled his eyes and Nakira tightened her grip, desperate to make him understand that ceremonial pomp was not ridiculous. But when the matron nodded for them to go out, the excitement in Nakira’s belly became fear.

As soon as they stepped from the Dalriada castle, shabbily dressed villagers appeared. Their faces seemed to glow as though elated to look at her. Nakira clung to Milfred’s elbow until pinching, and he scowled. She forced her fist to relax.

These were her people and she, their queen. She was no imposter but, by blood and birth, divinely appointed to rule. Let them see her nobility. Raising her chin, Nakira allowed her gaze to drift. The ragged people looked back meekly and would bow beneath her scrutiny. Still, she felt an expectation in their stares. Like they had demands of her.

Wanting to show Milfred the best of her kingdom, Nakira led them down to the courtyard gardens. In the queen’s gardens, servants had grown magical curing herbs and flowers of every imaginable colour. Nakira remembered her mother inspecting stems, leaves and blossoms while she followed behind her skirts. Her mother’s favourite word was always lovely.

Nothing but dust was left in the stone circle basins. How could there only be dust? A neglected garden ought to be overrun in weeds, not dust. Blinking back tears, Nakira looked up to Milfred, but rather than showing interest, he bit back a yawn.

The crowd around them had grown. Had the entire village come to stare at them? And they had only four scrawny guards. Not that any in the crowd looked threatening, but there were so many of them. Nakira’s stomach fluttered as she struggled to keep her face impassive and her posture dignified. Milfred, not so concerned, kept turning his head and stretching his neck to look at everything. But what was there to see in such a ruined land? No flowers and few trees; just long rows of dusty fields. While Nakira remembered how beautiful the kingdom had been, Milfred could not imagine anything beautiful every existing in such a dull place.

Nakira was becoming stiff and Milfred bored, when an old man approached, dragging a boy of about eight forward and declaring, I want justice!

Their guards swung down their lances so that they crossed protectively, but Nakira motioned for the elder to approach.

I have proof, he declared. These people are witnesses. A few people nodded solemnly. A woman, presumably the boy's mother, was crying and slowly making her way through the crowd.

Nakira’s jaw dropped, knowing this would be their first official act. During her father's rule, proven thieves had their hands cut-off. Looking at this small fragile child struggling unsuccessfully to free himself, she did not want to issue such an order.

Without any such deep concerns, Milfred with raised eyebrows, and asked, What did he steal?

Bread. I'm a baker.

Please. The woman who had now reached them pleaded. Please, we are poor people. It was only because we did not have enough money to buy food. Please, in normal times my son would never have stolen!

Bread? Milfred exclaimed with disbelief. With a shrug, he took a gold coin from his pocket and tossed it at the man. Here this should cover it. The coin fell to the ground as catching it would have meant releasing the boy.

In the times of King Brutus judgments were not whims but formal decrees based on what was best for the kingdom. Was Milfred’s casual remark to be taken as an official judgment? As shocked as Nakira felt, the people must have felt so equally for they merely stared at Milfred. The boy’s mother held her hands tightly clasped, either pleading or praying and a man came behind her and set his hands on her shoulders.

While Milfred was not entirely oblivious to their reaction, he considered the matter done. The madness of peasants. How could they get so worked over bread? Having never gone without, Milfred had no patience for their trivial problems. What a boring, depressing people. Wanting to be away from their sorrowful looks, he continued on his tour. If only there was something to see.

The guards remained with Nakira as she faced the crowd. In an attempt to restore order, she commanded, You heard my husband! Release the boy at once. He has been allotted a pardon by the worthy, Prince Milfred of Dalriada. The boy was reluctantly let go and muttering began. Drawing in courage, Nakira exclaimed, Dare you question Our Authority? Who amongst you dares? Speak now!

She glared suspiciously at the now silent crowd. On this day no person shall lose their hands over stolen bread. This is to commemorate the day in which order, through the return of Our Royal Presence, was restored to Dalriada.

The crowd calmed, Nakira looked until seeing Milfred talking intently and laughing with a man about his own age. She beaconed for his return, but he simply waved, making it clear she was on her own. Deserted, she was greatly relieved to see Sir Danridge approaching and called, Sir Danridge, how good to see you. Would you be most kind and join us as we tour the Kingdom?

Sir Danridge bowed before her and offered her his elbow. My Queen is without an escort? However, you do seem to have a large entourage. Addressing the crowd, People, give your new queen some space. Back to your duties. Growing food in the fields is the best way to show devotion to your new queen.

They left the crowd and walked along a dirt path to the stone fence that surrounded what had been the Braxon field. The Braxons had cared for cow pastures and cultivated wheat fields with pride – generation after generation. While the fields had not the grandeur of the queen’s garden with its perfectly aligned columns, there had been a simple beauty in the green meadows scattered with wild flowers.

Nakira was shocked to find nothing remained but the fire-blackened frame of the once great stables and wild tangles of overgrown grass and hay. What happened to the Braxons? she asked in dismay.

I believe many have survived – moved onto fields that are producing or taken work at the castle. My gracious Queen Nakira, your face shows grief their loss – which is kind of you – but now is not the time for grief. My Queen can only help her people by making them strong. By showing that you are strong.

Queen Nakira looked into Sir Danridge’s aged face, as delicately lined as a spider web. When he smiled kindly at her, she nodded in agreement.

They returned to the castle and Nakira went wearily to her bedroom to wait for Milfred. She sat at her dressing table running her fingers through her hair when he entered.

Humming contentedly, Milfred asked, Getting ready for tonight?

I'm thinking of cutting my hair?

Cutting your hair? Why would you want to do that?

It would be easier. The wig will fit me better, if I don't have as much hair to cover.

But I don’t understand. Why do you want to wear the wig? It’s hideous.

That’s the point. It makes me look authoritative. The people will respect me if I look-

Like Medusa? How long will it take you to gain their respect? Longer than it will take for your hair to grow back. Milfred shook his head with disbelief. I can't believe you are going to cut your hair to wear that thing.

She shrugged and picked up a razor, It’s not as though you've ever paid much attention to my appearance. In fact, you seem to prefer short hair. Nakira slashed the razor across her hair causing thick strands to fall to the floor.

You’re not even cutting it straight, Milfred protested taking razor from her and picking up a comb. At least let me cut it straight. He cut so that the back was a straight line across her collar. Not too bad, but if your aim is to look like a boy you will need more than a haircut.

Nakira smiled at his tease, but serious matters needed to be discussed.

I was talking with - when we were living in Cornaire it was not important that we… that we have children. But now, we are responsible for continuing the Dalriada line and creating heirs to take over the crown.

Milfred Grestyn eyed his wife warily, but did not argue.

Together they went down for their coronation. Trumpets were blown as they entered the great hall. Nakira, determined to appear calm, looked neither right nor left, but kept her chin tilted upward, lips firm, and eyes fixed on the head table to which she walked. Prince Milfred, as would become custom, followed a pace behind her.

Rose-petals were thrown at their feet and a high priest tossed incense smoke over them to bless them. To show them honour, Sir Danridge brought forward the sword that had been passed hand to hand from King to King for generations. This he lay at their feet reminding them the land was without a king.

Dishes of honeyed pumpkin and roasted game were rushed out on grand platters. Glasses of mulled brews were raised and blessings called. Seated beside Nakira, Milfred drummed his feet beneath the table, twisted about, and gazed from speakers to crowd faces. Getting increasingly restless the longer the ceremony droned on, he sputtered into his goblet on seeing a face in crowd. He grew more restless the longer the ceremony droned on. Bending to his wife’s ear, he whispered, I need to get some air.

Nakira stared at him disbelieving.

What! The ceremony’s about for you. My getting sick by your side will not do any good. It’s so stuffy in here.

He scrapped back his chair and hunched away.

To our most noble queen. Your face will restore our honour. Sir Danridge called raising a red glass to her and nudging the knight beside him to his feet.

The more the people rejoiced, the more Nakira’s stomach ached. How could she ever meet their expectations? What did she know of providing proper leadership? What if the gods didn’t approve? Unlike the people, she knew the drawing of sticks had been prearranged in her favour. When the acorns landed in perfect formation and a cheer rose from the crowd, she wanted to hide her face. When the ceremony finally it ended and Nakira returned to her bedchamber, she wished she could sink into the floor with relief.

She set her father’s crown on the dressing table and stripped the wig from her head, yanking out some of her entangled hair. Why could Milfred not have waited to satisfy his strange lust? Wanting to be free of her suffocating black silks, she nearly tore the gown from her body. Hugging her naked flesh, she gulped down several shaky breaths. Her reflection stared at her from the glass. ‘Your face will restore our honour,’ Sir Danridge had said, but she saw nothing but fear in wide green eyes. How could her pale scared face ever restore anything?

This is my land. Dalriada is my kingdom. The gods have willed for me to return. Athenee will bless and prosper me.

Meaningless words she used breathe courage into her flesh on the bumpy journey here. The people here did not know Athenee. Dalriadians had their own gods who were to bless her. But why should the gods of ole bless her when she’d abandoned them and barely remembered their stories?

She took the Athenee metal from around her neck. Athenee’s kind face had been a comfort. The screaming gorgon head gave her courage. But there was no place for it here. Nakira set the metal on the mantel.

Pulling nightgown over her head, she went to look at the shelf of books. Some must contain stories of ole. But she hadn’t the patience to search. Which of the gods was real? Or were any? Would calling out to gods she doubted only make them angry?

Always appear the proper monarch.

Unable to find words and not knowing even which god to pray to, Nakira fell asleep without saying a word to any of them.

Sleep was restless and broken when she felt an uncomfortable pressure between her legs. She lay on her back with her nightgown bunched around her waist and Milfred on top of and inside her. It had been more than a year since they had lain together this way. Despite her shock, she silently waited for him to finish feeling only startled and a slight burning discomfort. Once he was done, she curled on her side away from him.

Hey now! What is the matter? Milfred demanded. I did what you wanted! Earlier this day you said… You know I don't like to be with you like this - but for you…

What could she say? She was the one who raised the issue of their having a child, but it was hard to feel grateful. Sighing, she answered, I do not care for the act any more than you do.

Chapter 2

(Tierolm)

Hot and sun tired as they were, the Lukas clan was delighted to see the tavern sitting in the clearing. It was not bigger than a hovel with walls of timber and deer hides, but the red rooster painted by the door marked it. Inside they’d find chicken, whiskey, and women. Even more pleasing was the wide river running behind its stone cooking pit and chicken coops. Seeing it, the younger of them coaxed their horses to gallops.

Colbort and Veo Briant reached the water first. Once their horses were mid-stream, they half-jumped half-tumbled in, splashing and yelping, it’s cold. Nerchum, Rolf, Seguin, and Lewin dashed after. Splashing and hollering like rambunctious youths. But they had been travelling for ten years and none were boys anymore. Of them, Veo Briant was the eldest and had been fourteen when they’d left Loreyn. Lewin, the youngest, had been twelve.

Hardened by months of riding horse across foreign lands, the Lukas clan was easily mistaken for warriors. Days crossing mosquito bogs, weeks across brown-green-yellow meadows, months more until ten years had passed. Shivering and clinging to horses for warmth during winter and then baking under summer blazing skies until their skin was coppery leather and hair like sun-whitened wheat.

Earning was not always easy, but they had done well in the last town of Habversnap as folks had problems with wolves attacking their sheep. A shepherdess had even been killed. So, they were happily hired to smoke out and kill the wolves. Not that the sheep herders were wealthy, but they’d earned a bit of meat, few coins and the map Tierolm rechecked. The map showed they were at the Peticodia River and that the tavern was triangled by lands of Kolrein, Boblyn, and Reidvine. Unfortunately, the map showed no further than Reidvine, which was beneath the triangle base.