Chapter 1: Katya

An atypical morning in the life of Thanet-by-the-Sea's Crown Princess, Ekaterina Kobytian.

Chapter 1

 

         It was a beautiful morning.

         From her window Katya Kobytian, Crown-Princess of Thanet-by-the-Sea, could see the golden-green long grasses on the crown land beyond the walls of Belgrad Castle rolling and swelling under a sky the bright blue of her brother Aleksandr’s eyes. Light, fluffy clouds danced across the framework made by the narrow, gothic window of her chamber. She might have had wide picture windows but that in the current political climate Queen Ylvana had deemed it imprudent; this morning Katya found herself resenting the necessity of having windows too narrow for a man to climb through, for they were also too narrow to really look out of.

         "A copper for your thoughts, your Highness." The cheerful voice of Eryana Countess Polina, Katya's lady-in-waiting, interrupted her brooding.

         Katya answered without turning. "I was thinking how unfair it is that I be punished for the mistakes of a few wide-eyed radicals over twenty Goddess blessed years ago." A year before Katya had been born, the queen's elder brother Edvik had attempted, and failed, a coup. Not that coups were uncommon political practice among the queendoms of the Nine Allied Nations, but Edvik was a man, making the attempt ludicrous as well as traitorous.

         "That's a bit simplistic, isn't it?" The countess disagreed gently. "No one would even remember Edvik the Betrayer but for your cousin."

         Katya groaned, "Goddess help poor Eylsamin." When Edvik and his  followers had been defeated, they had fled north to Barusk, where Edvik had married and fathered a child, Eylsamin. Then both he and his wife died suddenly and Queen Ylvana, in a burst of compassion, had accepted the orphaned Eylsamin back into the Thanesian court and restored to the child the rank of Princess. The move had caused great tensions between the Royalists, who were loyal to Queen Ylvana, and those Separatists who had been loyal to Edvik.  Eylsamin was a simple girl and sweet-natured, but her very existence had been a trial for Katya; several misguided former Separatists had even made attempts on Katya's life. How I wish she'd never come here!

         The princess sighed and firmly shook off her melancholy reflections. "Nothing to be done about it now, I suppose. I’d like my riding clothes first today, Ery."

         Eryana’s voice was muffled as she rummaged inside one of the three massive goldenoak wardrobes in the adjoining dressing room. Katya walked past her bed to the door of her dressing chamber.

         "Say that again?" she asked.

         "I said," popping out of the wardrobe with the requested riding clothes in hand, "don't waste your prayers on Princess Eylsamin, she's not the one getting married in three moons! 'Tis more the pity, as she would probably love to be in your position--"

         "More fool she," Katya muttered.

         "--and in the end I am not at all certain marrying a warrior prince is going to intimidate the Separatists." Eryana felt safe enough in speaking her mind to her mistress, for they had been bosom companions since they were children.

         "It's not the prince," Katya corrected her friend, stepping into the dressing room and lifting her arms over her head. "It's the country behind the prince." Those of the Nine Allied Nations were supposed to defend each other, but if put to it most of their allies would give only token military support; the only useful assistance would come from whichever foreign queen married one of her sons to Thanet's crown princess. "Or so Mother says."

         "What worries me," Eryana said as she pulled a white shirt and silver tunic down over the princesses’ chemise and laced them tight, "is how certain her Majesty seems to be that we will need this alliance." She frowned. "If Eylsamin had only publicly abdicated her right to inherit, though!"

         Katya smiled wryly. "Wouldn't have made a bit of difference, silly as she is. I could convince her to abdicate in my favor today, and tomorrow some clever-tongued noble could just as easily convince her the opposite." Katya and Eylsamin had been educated by the same tutors, so Katya knew her cousin's mental deficiencies well. "Well, better to have the support and not need it, then need it and be defenseless."

         "Good morning, ladies!" A hearty baritone hailed them.

         Katya whirled around to face the door, forcing Eryana to whirl as well or loose possession of the dark red ribbons laced up the side of Katya’s pant-leg.  "Sascha! How did you get in here?" The glare Katya leveled at her younger brother could have melted glass.

         Aleksandr Nicholai Fiann Barislaw d’Kobytian, Prince Royal of Thanet-by-the-Sea, grinned at his elder sister unrepentantly. He was dressed for riding as well; white linen shirt under an aqua samite tunic, and dark leather pants tucked into riding boots. Currently he leaned with casual elegance against the doorframe. "Picked the lock. With these," holding up a black leather case; inside were small blue electrum instruments that vibrated slightly with the spell of Undoing that had been Smithed into them.

         "You did what?" Katya was aghast.

         The young man’s smile faltered, just a bit. "What is the matter, Katya?"

         "The matter, idiot," Eryana snapped back as she wrestled on the princess' boots, "is that if you can pick the lock into this room, then so can an--a criminal."

         Eryana had substituted the word ‘criminal’ for ‘assassin,’ but Sascha had caught her meaning. "Oh, leave off," he suggested flippantly. "No one is going to get past your guard who is not supposed to."

         "Speaking of Mikehl," said Katya, who had managed to get her jaw under control again, "where was he during all of this?"

         "Dealing with a distraction your wicked brother told me was happening down the hall," came a second masculine voice; a slight young man, huge green eyes snapping with anger, followed the words. Technically, Mikehl Sir d'Gregovic was Katya’s minstrel, a common enough member of a royal household. Only to a very few was he known for what he truly was: many years ago, the Queen had decided that the best way to counter an assassin was with another assassin. Mikehl glared at Sascha, but spoke to Katya. "Your forgiveness, Highness. I will not make the mistake again."

         Sascha stared at them in bewilderment. "It was just a bit of fun!"  He protested, taking a step back at the look in Mikehl's eyes. "Wasn’t it? I mean, Mikehl would never have left if anyone else had asked, would you, Mischa? There was no real danger." He widened his eyes, the picture of innocence.

         Katya glared "I wonder what Mother would say about this most recent example of un-princely behavior."

         Sascha gasped in mock horror. "You wouldn't!" Kneeling in front of his sister, he took her hand in extravagant entreaty. "I pray you, your Most Royallest Highness, please do not inform the Queen! I do indeed most humbly beg your pardon for any fleeting moment of distress I may have caused you!"

         Katya laughed and pulled her hand away. "Oh, get up, imp! I forgive you. But do not," firmly, "try that again."

         Sascha bounced to his feet and swept her a courtly bow. "Certainly, dear sister! I shall endeavor to practice my new art only on doors which do not lead to your chambers!" He winked lasciviously at Eryana, who snorted.

         Katya rolled her eyes. "That’s not what I meant, but have it your own way. Now get out!"

         "I’m going, I’m going!" He backed out of the room, laughing.

         Mikehl still stood just inside, and it was clear from his expression that he was nowhere near as forgiving as his mistress. "I shall commission new, more complex door locks for your Highness’ chambers. Discretely, of course."

         Katya waved a hand at him, still smiling.  “Of course, but do not be too hard on him, Mischa. He meant no harm." Her focus turned inward. "I envy his naiveté."

         Mikehl snorted derisively. "He is a child in a man’s body, and that is no good thing, ma’am. He has no awareness of just how unstable the situation here is. His lack of understanding could be dangerous."

         Katya nodded. "Still, this particular instance was caused more by his need to best you at something, dear Mischa."

         As far as Katya and her mother were concerned, Mikehl’s most outstanding qualities were his suspicious nature and the fact that he did not look like a bodyguard. No one who was not already aware of his rather specialized skills would believe for a moment that this slender, graceful man with his pale, delicate features was also a highly trained assassin. And so long as no one knew, none of the young hotheads of the court would be tempted to prove themselves on Mikehl's time.

         Except for Prince Aleksandr, who had been informed of Mikehl’s status as a matter of course. Within a week of the "minstrel’s" addition to her Highness’ retinue, the prince had challenged the bodyguard to a secret duel. It had ended badly, and rather quickly, for the prince. Fortunately, Sascha was a good-natured young man who rarely held a grudge, and the two had cemented a friendship on the basis of Mikehl teaching the prince some of the assassin’s more interesting secondary skills. Like lock picking.

         Still, every so often Sascha’s ego would get the better of him, and he would attempt to best his sister’s guard in some way. Normally Mikehl was the picture of patience with the prince's practical jokes, but not this time. "This is more than a silly jest," he said emphatically. "What if his Highness had been under a geas? What if someone of ill intent had merely trailed him to your chambers? Another assassin? "

         "Oh, pooh!" Was Eryana’s rejoinder. "It did not happen, and that is that. Next time, Mischa, you will be more vigilant, and if necessary I myself shall have a word with his Royal Pigheadedness."

         A surprised laugh burst from Mikehl’s lips. "Ha! That should set the devil on his ear! If you will speak to him, my lady, then I shall be contented."

         Eryana sniffed, pleased. "Now, enough of this depressing conversation. Her Highness must finish her toilette."

         Knowing when he was beaten, the petite knight smiled slightly, bowed and left.

         "Much better," the countess huffed. "Far too many men for a lady’s dressing room. Now come sit," and one plump hand indicated the dressing table, "so I may dress your hair. You have Morning Court to attend."

         "As ever," Katya grumbled as she seated herself in front of the ornate table and mirror, her expression settling into a sullent pout. The expression did not sit well on her face, not that Katya cared whether she looked pretty while she pouted.  Her face was too narrow for beauty anyway, her nose slightly too long, and her lips too slender, although of a pleasing shape. Her large, grey eyes might be attractive to some, but her only universally agreed upon beauty was her luscious, silvery-blond hair, which she wore so long it was rumored in court that scissors had never touched its length.  "Only make it something that won’t be mussed by a short ride."

         Eryana’s clever fingers made short work of arranging Katya's tresses into an elegant style; twisted back from the princess' face, secured with silver and abalone shell combs at the top, and the rest left to swing loose in frothy waves. The style provided a base for a small silver and mother-of-pearl crown to nestle atop her head. Katya turned her head this way and that, testing the balance of the tiara and the set of her hair. Then she made a face at the green taffeta court dress hanging in isolated splendor in a corner of the room.

         "Ugh. I’ll look like a fête doll." Normally, Katya preferred plainer garb, mostly trousers. Unfortunately, her mother had been including her in more court functions of late, functions that required far more complex garments.

         "You’ll look like a princess," Eryana reproved. "As you should. As you are.”

         Katya laughed. "Alright then, Countess Polina, as I am. Let us break our fast, shall we?"

         With a deep curtsy, Eryana let her princess precede her from the room. As she bent her head, the morning sunlight picked auburn highlights from her deep brown hair, which was braided and mostly concealed beneath a transparent, jeweled chaplet. She wore a light moiré gown in several shades of pink, from the color of the palest shell to a deep, dusky rose. Her bodice was pale silver laced with pink ribbons; the Crescent Moon and North Star, the arms of House Kobytian, were embroidered in slightly darker silver on the front and back. With her round face, pale alabaster skin, dark eyes and pouting lips, sweet natured and sharp-tongued Eryana was considered one of the great beauties of the court.

         As it should be, Katya thought without the slightest trace of envy.

         During breakfast, which the two ladies shared with Mikehl and Sascha, a page arrived bearing a scroll for Katya's hand. As the princess read the missive, her grey eyes widened. "Great Cema'at be merciful!"

         "What is it?" Sascha asked incuriously.

         "Mother says that the Prince of Roma and his entire retinue have arrived at the castle gates and are demanding entrance!"

         Mikehl, who was busy serving out eggs, sausages, muffins and chai to the others, nearly dropped a plate. "What? He's three weeks early."

         "Send him away," Eryana suggested. "Several of the other gentlemen and their entourages have arrived early. They camp outside the walls, or reside in hotels until the Opening Ceremony. What makes this Roman so special?"

         Three weeks hence would mark the beginning of Summer Court, a period of three summer moons where the unmarried nobility from the Nine Allied Nations gathered to determine preferences that would, or so their parents hoped, eventually lead to marital alliances. Since literally hundreds of nobles, from royal heirs to minor country ladies, would be attending, protocol dictated that all visitors be presented to the host monarch on a strictly first arrived, first served basis. The lesser nobles had been arriving for weeks now hoping for a higher place in the order of precedence. By using his royal status to claim the first audience, the prince of Roma was quite literally stepping on thousands of blue-blooded toes. 

         Katya shook her head. "I do not know, though I suspect it may have something to do with the death of the Roman ambassador."

         "Ambassador Xova died of old age," Sascha objected. "And her body transported back to Roma already."

         Katya sighed. "Whatever the reason, Eylsamin has already greeted him, and if Mother does not it will seem discourteous. He's being presented at the end of morning court. Damn Eylsie," she fumed. "The silly thing's too friendly for our own good. She probably saw the Roman prince in the courtyard and said 'hello' without thinking what it would mean. If you’ll hurry and finish your breakfast, Sascha, you should have time to head back to your apartments and make yourself presentable before court convenes."

         "What about you?" He protested, indicating her riding gear.

         "I am not required to be in attendance until the end of morning court, some three hours hence; Mother has requested that you be present throughout," handing him a folded parchment square that had been concealed within the scroll. "Something about a necessary lesson in responsibility." If she sounded a bit smug, her friends could not blame her.

         "What?" He snatched the parchment from her. Then he sighed, running nervous fingers through his blond curls. "Damn."

         After a much less leisurely breakfast than she would have liked, Katya hurried out to the royal stables for her morning ride, taking the steep stairs down from her tower rooms two at a time.

         As she passed through the glittering corridors of Belgrad Castle, servant after servant greeted her politely, all busily preparing the castle for the impending invasion. Castle Belgrad was a legend of beauty and architecture across the Crescent, all slender towers and soaring arches of white limestone impregnated with rainbow quartz. The main floors were silver-veined blue marble, and the graceful, curving furnishings were fashioned from the local goldenoak. Tapestries depicting Thanet-by-the-Sea’s Hundred Noble Houses hung proudly along the main corridors, while priceless works of art graced every vaulted nook. Three hundred and thirty-three guest suites made up six wings, while the family quarters, ballrooms, kitchens, dining rooms, reception halls, libraries, offices, squash courts, pools, concert hall and art gallery took up the other three. Gardens, (formal, meditation, maze, water, and private,) wound in between the various buildings and tucked themselves in every sunny corner. The servants’ quarters, kitchens, and laundries were under the castle proper, dug out of the ancient cliff-side; all of the rooms were heated and cooled magically, and air tunnels often took the place of open windows for ventilation. The castle kept its own stable, mews, cattery and kennel, a barnyard that supplied fresh eggs and milk, gardens of rare and expensive fruits, vegetables, and herbs, as well as a newly refurbished barracks for the Thanesmen, the elite castle guard. The castle’s southeastern wall connected to a private dock atop a magically created waterway that gently carried the Royal barges, and less notably the delivery barges, down and up the sheer cliff face which separated Crown Belgrad from the roaring sea a thousand feet below.

         And every inch of it had to be cleaned, scrubbed, groomed, polished, aired and decorated before Summer began. The preparations had been ongoing for moons. Katya burst out into the central courtyard at a run, wondering idly what the commoners thought of Summer Court.

         Probably that it’s all balls and glorious dresses and true love, she snorted to herself. If only they knew what a nightmare it is for me; they may have to toil, but at least they may marry when and whom they choose. I am to pick a husband like I am picking a new gown! And how in the name of Nimue am I supposed to get to know someone well enough to marry him in three moons?

         Then she saw Destria, saddled and awaiting her just beyond the stable doors, and all thoughts of marriage and alliances faded from her mind. Destria was a colorhorse, a line bred exclusively for royalty. Besides her excellent proportions, smooth gate, sensitive mouth, easy temper and high intelligence, qualities that rarely existed all together naturally, Destria had been magically altered in the womb to conform to Katya’s aesthetic specifications. The mare's coat was the same pale gold as Katya’s long hair, her eyes a bright aquamarine, her mane and tail waterfalls of pure silver. As Katya untied the reins from the hitching post and mounted, the princess could feel Destria's trembling eagerness to run, to be free.

         "All right, my darling," Katya whispered. "Let’s go."

         Destria galloped out the Stable Gate and into the green countryside, her gait smooth as flight. Katya had no destination in mind, sometimes following country roads, sometimes cutting across the woodlands that were the royal hunting grounds. Past the woods were miles of rolling hills, the crown land Katya could view from her window, meant to keep the common population at a respectful distance. Katya enjoyed the privacy and safety, knowing that ancient, magical wards kept the unwanted out of this area.

         So, when she crested a small rise and saw the outline of another rider standing at the top of the next hill, she was understandably surprised. She reined Destria in cautiously, though it couldn’t truly be an intruder. Anyone who gained access to crown lands was given a token to wear that identified him or her to the magewards. Since the wards hadn't sounded the alarm, Katya was safe enough.

         The rider’s shadow turned towards her and waved. She waved back reluctantly. If the rider had not recognized her and she rode away without speaking to him, no harm was done; but if he had, ignoring him could be misconstrued as an insult. Katya considered her options and decided not to take the chance.

         "Good morrow, sir," she called resignedly as the rider came within earshot. Though she could not make out his face, it was clear that the stranger rode a color-horse, a beautiful specimen of velvet black hide with crimson mane and tail. Wonderful; he’s visiting royalty, but who? Could this be the Prince of Roma?

         "Good morrow," the stranger replied in a pleasant baritone; Katya couldn’t quite place the accent. "I had not thought to see anyone else about this early."

         "Morning court begins early here," she explained.

         "Ah." He drew near enough for Katya to see his face. He was tall and quite handsome; cobalt blue eyes shone merrily above an elegant nose, high cheekbones, full lips, and a stubborn jaw. His skin was pale and contrasted with thick, lustrous black hair of medium length.

         "Ekaterina Kobytian," Katya introduced herself as the stranger drew alongside her.

         "At your service, madam," the stranger replied, taking her outstretched hand and dropping a polite kiss upon its back.

         "And you?" Katya asked delicately, as it was considered impolite to ask for someone’s name outright. Though I think I can place the accent now. Briton? Eirish?

         "I am of Eire, ma’am," he replied.

         "Ah, I see," she smiled politely, and tried again. "And from your magnificent mount, I can see--"

         "The horse is not mine, ma’am," the stranger interrupted.

         "Oh?" Katya was startled. Did the man mean to imply that he had stolen it?

         "Yes," he smiled. "I know not the customs of other lands, but in Eire all horses are the property of the crown."

         Katya breathed a sigh of relief. "Ah. So that means--"

         "I am exercising this horse on behalf of him who lets it currently."

         "Ah. So you are in the service of whomever has 'let' this horse?"

         "You could say that, ma’am."

         Now Katya was beginning to become frustrated. "And who might that be?"

         "The Prince, ma’am."

         "Which Prince?"


         "Why, my Prince, ma’am." The man sounded surprised that she should ask, and the corner of his mouth twitched ever-so-slightly.

         Katya, however, was not so easily thwarted. "And your Prince is of Eire?"

         "I suppose so." The stranger smiled enigmatically.

         He’s baiting me, Katya realized. But why, I wonder? She tried to remain calm. "You suppose so. Good sir, either your Prince is of Eire or he is not."

         The stranger cocked his handsome head to one side, as if considering. "Well, he is flesh and blood, ma’am, but I do suppose there is some air mixed in there, somewhere."

         Katya rolled her eyes. "Not air, you fool, Eire! E-I-R-E, as in the country you hail from!"

         Now he was definitely laughing at her, eyes shining with suppressed mirth. "Oh, that Eire! Of course, ma’am, my Prince is of Eire."

         Katya sighed. "Finally. So this is the mount of Prince Kallan Eth."

         "Oh, no, ma’am!" Now the stranger sounded shocked. "Why, Prince Kallan’s steed is ever so much finer than this one," giving the patiently standing stallion a fond slap.

         "What? But you just said--"

         "This is the Prince’s steed, ma’am, but not Prince Kallan’s."

         "Fine!" She snapped. "Then this is Prince Dainnan Eth’s."

         "Aye, ma’am."

         "Why did you not just say that?" Katya nearly shouted.

         "Your pardon, ma’am, but you did not ask if this was Prince Dainnan’s mount." The stranger’s eyes widened with feigned innocence.

         "Yes, I did."

         "I beg to differ," the stranger corrected, "but I recall with perfect clarity. First, you asked where I was from, and then if I owned the horse, and then if I was in the service of him who lets, and then--"

         Katya had had enough of being baited. She drew herself up to her full height, more than enough to intimidate most people. "How dare you make light of the Crown Princess of Thanet-by-the-Sea?"

         The stranger leaned back. "Oh, no, ma’am, I would never! I have the greatest respect for her Highness." Then he leaned forward to whisper, "Tell her that when you see her, won’t you, ma’am?"

         "See her? B-but--" and while Katya stuttered, the stranger bowed gracefully, put heel to his restive horse and galloped away. "Come back here!" Katya shouted at his hastily retreating back. "Come back here this instant! I am the Princess! Me, you a*s!" Destria’s nervous shifting brought Katya to her senses. She was suddenly aware that this outburst could have been overheard. A quick scan of the surrounding meadow reassured her that no one had witnessed her being made a fool of by that irritating Eirishman.

         "Except the Eirishman himself," she muttered, and suddenly laughed. "Oh, Lady bless me! Well, at least I am a fool to none but myself and some horse-servant. It could be worse."

         A chiming from her wrist caused her to start before she remembered the early Summer gift Sascha had given her: a chronometer, tiny enough to fit in a jeweled band that clasped around her wrist. It was the latest invention from the Thaumaturgy School in the University at Mecca, where the best of the magi went for postgraduate study. It told time accurately to the second, and was linked by a powerful spell to the International Date Line that ran through Mecca itself.  "Damn!" She exclaimed, for just now it was telling her that she had less than twenty minutes to return to the castle and present herself for the end of Morning Court.

         When Katya arrived back, Eryana and Milla Tolvinek were waiting at the entrance to the stables. Both were dressed for court although Milla, Katya's Thanesman bodyguard, wore tooled leather trousers instead of skirts.

         "Am I in time? " Katya asked breathlessly as she vaulted from Destria’s back.

         "Only just," Eryana answered brightly. "We’ll have to dress on the run." From behind her back, the lady-in-waiting produced Katya’s green taffeta gown, hose, and jeweled slippers.

         "Lovely," Katya groaned, tossing her reins to a stable hand.

         "If your Highness had taken me with you--" Milla began. Guarding Katya was both an honor and a trial; just now the Thaneswoman felt the trial aspect the most keenly, for it was her duty to accompany Katya everywhere. When the princess didn't avoid her, that is.

         Katya rolled her eyes. "I know, I know; reprimand me later!" With that, she took off at a dead run, unfastening her clothes as she went.

         They took the back way, through the servants' halls. It was faster, and there was less likelihood of being spotted by anyone who might be offended at the sight of a half-dressed princess sprinting past. Eryana was hard on her lady’s heels, ready to take Katya’s tunic and riding shirt, which she then passed on to Milla. The boots were kicked off next, and Milla scurried after the errant footwear as it was sent flying in opposite directions.

         "I am paid to little for this," Milla growled as she retrieved Katya’s left boot from inside a large ceramic vase against the wall.

         "Nonsense," Katya panted as she paused to unlace her leather riding pants. "It’s a pleasure to serve me; everyone tells me so."  Eryana threw first the light green petticoats, then the sea-foam green court gown over Katya’s head, the many folds of the petticoats covering the princess’ legs just as she wriggled out of the pants. "Stockings!" She cried, holding out one foot for Ery to slip the short, sheer knee-stockings on. "Please," she added as her head popped out of the top of the dress, "and thank you," as the second stocking was placed.

         "My pleasure, ma’am," Ery murmured with a wink at Milla.

         Jeweled slippers were slipped onto Katya’s feet a second before the princess took off again. Around one corner, then another, up a flight of stairs with Eryana behind her, struggling valiantly to tighten the dress’ laces, down a corridor and the Privy Door was in sight.

         "Thank goodness Mother is not requiring a grand entrance of me this time," Katya panted. The Privy Door opened just behind the throne for the exclusive use of the Royal Family and their most trusted retainers.

         "Wait," Eryana ordered as they reached the anteroom off the Privy Door.  "Let me check you. Milla, listen at the door, will you?"

         Obediently Katya pulled to a stop and stood, struggling to catch her breath, letting Eryana tug at her gown. Milla leaned up against the Privy Door itself, one ear pressed to the dark-stained wood, attempting to hear what was going on inside.

         "You're sweating," Eryana disapproved. "Turn to me," and from a pocket she produced a  stylism, small, faceted silver ball that sparkled slightly with some inner fire. "Cool her sweat," she murmured to the stylism, "and cosmetics to match silver and sea green costume, blond hair and grey eyes." Then she touched the ball to Katya's waiting face.

         The stylism flashed a muted silver light once, twice three times. With the first flash, the beads of perspiration sliding down the princess' face and sticking to her hair vanished. With the second, her face was heavily tinted with cosmetic color; bright coral lipstain, pink rouge and violent sea-green eye-shadowing. The third flash muted the illusory cosmetics to suit Katya's skin tone.  Eryana studied the final effects critically. "It'll do."

         Katya snorted. "Why you even bother, I'll never know." She eyed the sparkling ball with the distaste of one who knew her asthetic limitations.

         Eryana ignored her. "You're rea--oh! I almost forgot!" As the lady-in-waiting spoke, she opened the bag in which she had carried the princess’ wardrobe and pulled out a parcel wrapped in tissue. With careful fingers she unwrapped it, revealing the edge of a fantastically embroidered corset of the kind worn on the outside of clothing. A ‘bodice’, it was called, and they were all the rage at court this season.

         Only I am certain that none of the other ladies at court have one quite like this, Katya thought. For inside the silken fabric and gem-crusted embroidery lived several places to hide deadly little ‘surprises’ of the sort with which Mikehl would be familiar. Her favorites were the two hollow stays running down the front panels. Though seemingly the normal boning that kept a lady’s back and other assets upright, the bottom two-thirds had been hollowed out to form sheaths for two diamond-sharp stilettos. Their jeweled handles protruded a mere half an inch from the bottom hem and blended in with the caps of the other stays; Katya had spent many a secret hour in front of her mirror, practicing pulling the stillettos out to surprise imaginary foes. A simple spell set upon the fabric ensured the colors of the bodice would harmonize with whatever dress she might wear; just now, green and silver came to the forefront. After all, the Crown Princess could not be seen wearing the same bodice day after day.

         "I dislike you carrying all of this hardware about." Eryana fretted as she laced the bodice tightly.

         "I dislike it rather intensely myself," Katya answered whimsically. "Unfortunately, it is either this or abdicate, and I am not quite ready to give up the throne."

         "Don’t even jest about that," Milla said solemnly from her position against the door. "I think they’re about ready to announce you."

         "Just in time," Katya chuckled, taking Milla’s place in front of the door. "I do want to thank you ladies for your timely assistance. It was much appreciated."

         "Again," her bodyguard grumbled.

         "Again," Katya agreed cheerfully.

From the other side of the door, silver trumpets pealed a fanfare, and the door swung open. Light flooded in, all but blinding the three women. The ringing alto of the Court Herald called into the throng, "Announcing Her Royal Highness, Ekaterina Maria Anzelika Belkovna Kobytian, the Princess of Avlantia!"

         Hearing her formal title always made Katya wince, as she’d only been to Avlantia twice. But every eldest daughter of the Queen was titled Princess of Avlantia, so there was little she could do about it. For first in line to the throne, there seems to be little I can do about a great many things. With that rueful thought, she put on her best royal smile, gathered up her skirts, and stepped into the room.

Keeping her head high, Katya paced to the center of the aisle leading up to the throne on its dais, and nodded to the assembled nobles. They bowed back. Then the princess took her place on the dais next to Sascha, one step below and to the right of their mother, sternly not gazing out the high, arched windows marching along the length of the Throne Room.

         Instead, she looked at the room itself. Most of the color therein was provided by the over two hundred nobles who had come for a glimpse of the foreigner prince, though Katya's cousin Eylsamin was noticeable by her absence. The new bodices were much in evidence, as were the bare arms and legs that heralded summer among the seacoast nobility of Thanet. Since this spring was chillier than usual, many wore stockings under their shortened hems.

         Leaning over slightly, Sascha whispered in Katya's ear, "They put me in mind of a flock of children who've outgrown their trousers."

         They both snickered until the Queen flicked them an admonishing glance. Katya envied Queen Ylvana that trick, and wondered if she’d be able to silence people with a look when she assumed the throne.

         Somehow, Katya doubted it. Ylvana carried herself like the warrior she was, having fought in the Border Battles when she was a Princess. Katya was almost as tall, but was willowy and soft where her mother was whipcord and bone. Her lack of martial expertise was one of the main reasons that Ylvana had decided Katya needed a husband's support before it came time for her to take the throne.        

         And so we're hosting Summer Court this year, hoping displays of my future wealth and power will impress where I myself cannot, Katya thought bitterly.

         The double doors at the far end of the throne room opened. The Court Herald ground her staff of office into the floor three times and announced in ringing, cultured tones, "His Royal Highness, Leonas Olvanus Barronum IV, Second Prince of Roma, Lord of Leranum; and various noble friends."

A well-dressed young man strode confidently down the carpeted center aisle of the room followed by fifteen other men, passing the tapestries representing each of the fifteen Great Houses, while a gentle breeze coming from the air tunnels riffled both their hair and the banners bearing the devices of the Hundred Noble Houses hanging from the ceiling. Each of the foreign nobles wore burnished breastplates over leather kilts, and carried empty jeweled scabbards at their hips; obviously,  Leonas wished to make an impression of military prowess without actually bearing arms into the presence of the queen..

         Stopping before the dais, Leonas put his right fist over his heart and bowed from the waist. "Your Majesty," he announced. "I must apologize most humbly for my precipitous arrival, but my errand could not wait."

         The Queen nodded slightly. "Thanet is well pleased to have the noble queendom of Roma represented in the form of a most beloved Prince."

         Leonas unbent from his bow, and his men rose to their feet in unison. "I bear this missive from the Queen of Roma; she informs me it is of great import." He handed a thick packet of paper to Queen Ylvana's Seneschal. "And now, my duties concluded, my men and I shall repair to our camp outside the walls, where we shall await the Opening Ceremonies. Our baggage train is but three days behind us, so we will only camp rough until then."

         Aleksandr winced, and Katya sighed inwardly, for with that statement Leonas had made it impossible for Ylvana to refuse to shelter him.

         If the Queen was resigned, she did not show it. "Nonsense. I will not allow the royal son of our great Sister to the north to sleep on the ground outside our doors like the merest peasant. You shall remain here in comfort, and we shall fête your coming." The courtiers cheered, and Leonas bowed his acceptance. "And now, your Highness, may I present my daughter to you?  Her Royal Highness Ekaterina, Princess of Avlantia."

         "Welcome to Thanet-by-the-Sea, your Highness, my lords." Katya smiled in what she hoped was a charming manner, knowing Leonas was merely the first in a long line of potential suitors. In just over three months' time, Queen, Council and country fully expected the Heir Apparent to announce her engagement. Whether I am ready to or not.

* * *

         From her place near the back of the Throne room, a lady watched with hot eyes the antics of the Queen, Princess and their noble visitors.

         How dare they? Her thoughts raged. Prancing about up there, ever so graciously accepting of the inconvenience the Roman prince brings with him. As if they had the right! Murderers! Liars! Usurpers!

         ::Peace, mistress,:: a raw-voiced thought came to her. ::It is only for now. All will be as it was ordained. In time.::

         She ground her teeth, but nodded slightly. ::Soon, I will have what is mine.::