Amaskan's Blood, Raven Oak [read me a book .TXT] 📗

“You have said nothing of the news, my sweet,” King Leon said, his fingers twirling his apple core, its leftover juices leaving small trails of liquid on the table. His brows furrowed in concern, which Margaret dismissed with a shake of her head. Instead she pictured Prince Gamun Bajit of Shad and smiled.

“The news is welcome to my ears, Father. I was lost in thought of my future and ask forgiveness for my silence and the concern it caused you.” His face relaxed as he tossed the apple core into the bowl. He stood and stretched his arms above his head. Her father’s six-foot frame and muscular bulk had provided a protective shelter since her earliest memories.

Except when she’d been sent away.

She blinked the memory from her mind, returning to the prince. At age twenty, she rarely sought her father’s embrace but knew it was there should she need it. I hope Prince Bajit is as safe. And as tall. A grin decorated her graceful face, and she smoothed away the smile-lines. The face of a princess. Our children might resemble the handsomeness of my father. It would please him, I think, to see that.

“Lost in thought again, little lamb?” King Leon patted her hand.

Margaret nodded and took another careful bite of her apple. “Father, tell me again about Prince Bajit.”

He returned to his seat and gestured to a servant with a flick of his thick wrist. The boy filled his cup with watered-down ale, which he sipped slowly before speaking. Margaret caught the sour look before her father schooled his expression.

There is nothing wrong. Father’s only worried over the wedding preparations. Despite the thought, the worry creases at the corners of his eyes set her stomach turning. Margaret set the apple on the plate in front of her, unfinished.

“When I first met him, he was nothing more than a young man of sixteen. His Highness smiled and talked and assured all who would notice that he was confident and worth their trouble, but I knew he bore the typical doubts of a second son—unsure of his future, what lands he would hold, and whom he would marry. He knew, of course, of the treaty between our kingdoms. A promise made long ago at the end of the Little War of Three.”

“But he didn’t know of me.”

More tension in the lines of his face, and the apple’s once sweet smell soured. Margaret pushed the plate across the table and nodded for its removal. “He knew he would marry, yes, but not whom. That meeting was when his father and I told him of his future. Of you. The treaty guaranteed the joining of our families through this marriage that would bring peace to an age long feud.”

She’d only been ten. A less mature and less graceful princess, her head full of horses and flowers. Margaret had rushed into the audience chamber to tell Papa how far she’d ridden her pony, only to find two adult faces staring at her: her father, with slight humor, and his guest, with a coldness that still made her shudder. She was set to turn tail and run when she spotted the prince.

She recognized him, even if he didn’t find her familiar.

Prince Gamun Bajit of Shad wiped the scowl from his face and smiled, his grin sending a blush from the roots of her dark hair to her bare toes. When his eyes had stopped on her feet, she’d fled the room with a hasty bow. It had taken her three days to finally tell her father what had been so important.

Listening to her father recall it now, she drummed her fingers on the table until she thought she would burst. “I know how you met, Papa. Tell me more about him.”

“All right, all right.” Her father’s chuckle was hesitant, forced. “Prince Bajit still has black hair and brown eyes. Resembles his father more than his older brother does, though I suspect the elder of being the bastard of another woman—”

When Margaret gasped, her father patted her hand. “My apologies, my lady. I spend too much time among men that I forget myself.” King Leon winked, and Margaret relaxed shoulders held too tight. “The women say he has a good frame. Good for fighting and protecting a kingdom, I suppose. When he visited, he was strong and quick at the hunt. Took out three buck with the bow from several pole lengths…”

While her father rattled on, Margaret forgot the knots in her stomach and allowed her mind to drift. At twenty-six, he was probably more handsome and broader in the shoulder. More refined and intelligent. All her life she’d waited for this. The vision had changed as she had aged, as she had gained maturity, but it never had disappeared. She would marry the perfect prince, and together they would rule. They would lead Alexander in continued peace and happiness.

So maybe the vision was a bit… naïve. Maybe even too perfect.

The alternative gave her nightmares as the wedding approached, so she pushed it from her thoughts as often as possible. Focus on the future, the hope he brings to the kingdom. Margaret glanced up from her trembling hands to find her father had stopped speaking.

“I think I lost you there,” he said, his steady voice calm despite the expression he wore.

“Papa—” She took a drink of the water to cool the flush from her cheeks. “Is it wrong to be… scared?”

“Depends on what you’re scared of, poppet.”

Margaret continued drumming her fingers on the table, a nervous fidget she was forever trying to quit. If for no other reason than to please her tutors. “What if he doesn’t like me? Prince Bajit—” Margaret blushed when his name crossed her lips. “He’s never met me.”

King Leon reached out to pat her hand and stopped when he caught her frown. When the twinkle in his eyes reached his lips, her face grew hot. He was laughing at her.

Margaret tucked a stray hair behind her