Chapter 2

Grayson

“Mother, do I have to go through with this?” I asked quietly so Father would not hear me. He had already lectured me the whole way here, I was afraid he would get physical if he heard my complaint. It wouldn’t be the first time.

My mother raised an eyebrow. “Are you questioning your father’s judgement, my love?” She adjusted the veil covering the lower half of her face to hide my father’s latest “correction.”

“No, Mother,” I replied without hesitation. “I just wish I had more time to meet and get to know my bride… maybe find out if we are compatible. Maybe fall in love,” I mumbled the last part.

I had grown up listening to the fairy tales my grandmother used to tell me. Even though my parents hadn’t married for love, I knew it happened. Queen Sarah and King Marcus had reportedly been a love match. They met on the battlefield, in fact, defending Alderei from Godfrey, the country to the north. She was the daughter of the previous King, Patryk, and Marcus was the son of an Earl. It all sounded very romantic to me.

“You’ve met the princess, Grayson. What more do you want?”

“I saw her once through a carriage window when they came for Dupont’s funeral, Mother. That does not count as a meeting.” I had been kept away from the visitors during the funeral proceedings.

My mother hushed me. “This is the only way we could keep to the terms of the treaty now that Dupont is… no longer with us. I can’t help that your meeting with the Princess didn’t meet your standards. Ever since King Marcus went missing, Queen Sarah has been leery of travel and visitors. We should be honored they came to the funeral at all. She didn’t allow Duke Arthur and his family to come.”

Why won’t she ever just say he is dead? Does she think she’s protecting me with these euphemisms? I know my brother is dead, and I know I’m a pale comparison.

The mention of Duke Arthur reminded me of something. “Mother, do you think the Duke and his family will be here today?”

“It is likely,” she said off-hand, “though I heard the Duchess died a little over a year ago.”

I gasped. “Duchess Christine is dead? Why didn’t you tell me?” I would have tried to write Abby again.

“Hush, boy,” my father snapped, as we were ushered to the Great Hall. I involuntarily flinched. “No one cares about your laments. Act like a man, for once.”

“Yes, Father. Of course.”

I had been told to keep my eyes down as we entered the hall. Father did not want me to ‘gawk at the riches’ of Alderei. Part of me hoped that maybe no one would notice me and I could hide myself away all evening, thereby saving myself the uncomfortableness of meeting my – originally my brother’s – betrothed.

Unfortunately, all eyes were on me as the heralds announced our arrival. Even with my eyes lowered, I could tell the castle was beautiful and richly decorated – at least the entrance chamber was. I could see why my father might be jealous. Eswen was not a prosperous country.

I listened as my father greeted Queen Sarah warmly. It never ceased to amaze me at how he was able to change his demeanor in an instant. I kept my eyes on the floor to not give my thoughts away.

I bowed deeply to the Queen and kissed her hand. “It is a pleasure to see you again and to be here,Your Highnesss.”

The Queen smiled brightly at me. “We are glad to welcome you to your new home, Prince Grayson. You’ve met my daughter, Princess Catherine, before, I believe.”

I bowed to the princess and gave her hand the briefest of kisses.

“A pleasure to meet you, Princess,” I mumbled. I did not add “again”.

“A pleasure,” she replied, in a tone that let me know it was anything but. I eagerly moved on behind my mother, not wanting to spend time with someone who clearly did not want to spend time with me. I lowered my eyes back to the floor, again hoping to become invisible. I suppose that could have been worse.

“Your father… an amazing soldier and man, but such a pushover when it came to his wife and girls,” I overheard my father say, like that was the worst thing a man could be. “But I understand he is at least training you both to fight and to lead, since he has no sons? Is that correct?”

I finally raised my eyes from the ground, interested in how the person he was addressing would respond to my father’s condescending question.

I never did hear the response, because the moment I looked at her, time stopped. I felt as though I had awoken from a dream and was looking at perfection herself. I could barely breathe and I felt my knees go weak.

The young lady before me was small in size and stature, but her arm muscles were well defined. She had dark curls that fell over her shoulders, trying to escape the braid they were in, and the most beautiful emerald green eyes I had ever seen. The world around me disappeared as I looked at her. It was only her. No one else mattered. No one else would ever matter again.

She was greeting my mother, awkwardly, when I recognized her face. She had just stepped back from my mother when I said, “Abby?”

She looked at me in surprise and seemed to take a moment to take me in. “Gray?” She wasn’t sure if it was me. Had I changed that much?

“You remember me!” I smiled brightly at her, relieved, and amazed by how beautiful she had become.

She matched my smile, “Of course I remember you.”

I wrapped her in a hug, just like I used to when we were children. She was much shorter than I remembered, only coming up to my shoulders. Perhaps I had just finally grown taller. When she wrapped her arms around me, I barely kept my composure as I muttered, “I’ve missed you so much,” into her hair.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I heard her say softly into my chest. I ran my hand over the soft dark blue silk on her back. I was holding my best friend again. I had so many questions for her.

Of course, my father cleared his throat and gave us a dirty look, causing us to let each other go. I know the parting was reluctant on my end, at least. I said we had much to catch up on and she agreed, before I moved on to greet her sister Rose, also with a bear hug.

My eyes kept straying back to Abigail throughout the rest of the receiving line. After we had moved on, she continued to greet the rest of our party, and looked graceful and poised while doing so. I noticed her dress fit her perfectly, showing off her muscular, curvy body. She looked much different than I remembered. Time had been kind to her. Gods, she is beautiful.

I had always found Abigail pretty, though I had never found the courage to tell her. I had been afraid it would ruin our friendship. Then something had ruined our friendship, and now I was here to marry the princess. It seemed I had truly missed my chance.

As I watched her, I remembered the last time I saw her. We were 14 and my family was leaving to return home after our regular visit.

That particular visit had been different, somehow. We were no longer allowed to nap together, as we had done every Sunswell since we were four years old, nor were we allowed to have sleepovers as we had always done. It was annoying to both of us, and being told we were “too old” to do that anymore wasn’t a satisfactory answer for either of us.

Abby had gotten her first moon blood the second week we were there, and she was in a great deal of pain. We spent several afternoons in the tree house her father had built, spooning as she cried. She said the warmth from my body eased her pain somewhat. In the evenings, we would do the same in a nest of pillows we had made in front of the common room fire. A few times when I knew she wasn’t looking, I had closed my eyes and let my light take away her pain for a little while.

Our last night there, she was finally feeling better, but we laid in front of the fire anyway. She had turned to look at me, her eyelids heavy, her face finally free of pain.

“Thank you so much for these last few days,” she said sleepily. “It would have been awful without you.”

I had smiled at her, “Anything for you, Abby.”

She closed her eyes then, and did the last thing I’d ever expected – she kissed me. I returned the kiss, and it was beautiful. She had fallen asleep afterward, her head on my chest, as I stroked her hair, and we slept in the nest of pillows undisturbed.

The next day had been slightly awkward, though not in a bad way. I remember we blushed a lot that morning, but we were happy. We still hugged each other tightly, as we had always done. “Write me when you get home,” she instructed, as always.

“I will,” I promised, as always. I left that day, smiling, thinking she loved me as I loved her. That was the last time I saw her, and the last time we spoke.

I needed to speak to her privately. I needed to know why she stopped writing me.