Page 1 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)

One

"Fix your face, Aelia."

I pulled my attention to the side to see my cousin's handsome face giving me a meaningful look.

I sat up a little straighter in the saddle, schooling my expression back into indifference. It would not be appropriate to have the Princess of Windemere looking sullen and difficult as she greeted yet another noble marching across the plains in pursuit of her hand.

"I hate this, Arkadian," I told him, reaching up to scratch beneath my crown. It was itchy, with real stalks of godsgrass woven in among the golden ones that ringed my white hair.

"Which part? The fact that you’re being forced to choose one of these men, or the fact that you don't know whether that Castering lord from yesterday is here for you or the trade summit?"

He laughed at my dark look.

"He is not here for trade," I said, clenching my jaw. "Markus brought me his offer this morning."

"Well, he's the one to beat so far," Arkadian said, angling his head to catch my reaction.

"Hardly. The terms were atrocious. I would need to agree to allow him to set me aside if I didn't provide him with two strong sons in five years."

Arkadian's brows shot up in surprise, but I wasn't sure what else he might have expected from Castering, where they prized manly brutality above all.

"That is not even the worst of it," I added. "If he set me aside, he would retain the crown of Windemere for himself."

"Dear gods! Was he really so stupid as to bring that offer to the council?"

I rolled my eyes. "Apparently."

It really was too bad. The Castering lord was the best-looking of all the nobles who’d passed through the gates so far.

He was tall and solidly built, with soft brown eyes and an exceptionally strong jaw line.

It had been a bitter disappointment to find that he would not even lower himself to meet my gaze.

I squinted my eyes against the sun angling over the hills ahead. The retinue of riders coming up the Godsway was growing nearer. I was beginning to be able to make out their general shape and number.

Ancient custom dictated that we ride out into the godsgrass to meet noble guests as they arrived to the city.

It generally wasn't done as often in those days, but the King's Day celebration was a special occasion.

Most of these men were coming to make a play for my hand and the throne it would soon sit upon.

My mare danced a few steps under me with barely restrained excitement. She was a spirited horse and longed to gallop any time she got the slightest suggestion to do so. The quick-moving horses heading our way were just such a suggestion, and she was dying to ride out and meet them.

I tightened my hold on the reins, patting her neck soothingly as she huffed and fidgeted.

The regent gave me an angry glare from his position in front of me.

I glared back, showing him my hands on the reins. I am trying to manage her, you bastard prick.

Markus Smeck, my uncle and the ever-present thorn in my side, ruled for me as Regent of Windemere. Though I had reached my majority three years earlier, I remained unmarried and ineligible for the crown.

"To answer your question," I said, darting my eyes back to my cousin. "I hate this." I waved to acknowledge the group heading down the road, growing ever larger as they crossed the rolling hills.

I spoke low enough so that only Arkadian could hear. "I hate that I am on the cusp of power, and I am forced to share it with someone else simply because they have a cock and I do not."

"Trust me, Aelia. I understand. It’s more than unfair. But these are the laws of the land, and until someone changes them—" he gave me a meaningful look, "—they will do things the way they have always done things. Make a good match, and you can finally begin to fix that."

"How can I make a good match when I am forced to choose between these horrible men?" I gestured again to the group of darkly dressed riders, now nearly upon us.

Minototians; vile, disgusting creatures.

The riders trotted in front of us, fanning out with their horses to make an arrow shape. The point of the arrow was a tall, thickly muscled man in dark gray robes with his cowl pulled up over his shaved head.

The Windemere herald rode out on his bay mare and shouted, "The Regent of Windemere, Lord Markus Divestra Smeck, Protector of the Godsgrass Kingdom, and Guardian of the Realms of Men, welcomes the Lords of Minototia to Windemere."

I waited, staring straight at the tall man in the middle of the line. Of course, he would not meet my eyes.

The Castering lord had been unwilling to look me in the eye because he believed himself superior to me. I was just an unimportant detail in his quest for the throne. After all, it was not my permission he would need to gain to take the crown.

The Minototian, however, would not dare look at me lest the evils of my wicked womb infect him and his righteous honor. To the Minototians, women were the temptresses who led good men astray from their paths of virtue.

I prayed that the Minototians had only come for trade.

Even if the Windemerian Council of Eldermen would never consider an alliance with Minototia, a poor kingdom with very few resources aside from their fanatic warrior priests, I didn't even want to hold a conversation with them.

There was nothing to be gained from losing my temper in front of the entire court when I couldn't manage to keep my mouth shut.

The Minototian herald finally rode out. He carried a flag at the end of a long pole depicting their angry red bull god. "Prelate Kellan Vijohn, blessed of the Undenary, High Wilshman of Minototia, and Servant of the Brotherhood of the Minotaur!"

The Prelate looked smug as his title was shouted. He leaned back in his saddle and puffed out his chest.

It made me nauseous to see the man. He would have been marginally handsome, if not for the fact that he most likely had several more brides locked up at home. Most of them would have been no more than fourteen years old when the disgusting creature took them to wife.

I made no attempt to school my features. I glared at the Prelate as I followed the signal from Markus to dismount.

Arkadian and the few other nobles who accompanied us followed until we all stood in the middle of the godsgrass, facing the Minototians.

"Well-met, My Lords," the regent said, clasping arms with Prelate Vijohn.

The prelate smiled with his mouth full of straight, white shark's teeth. "Well-met, Regent." he said, flexing his arms.

Thick muscles strained against the sleeves of his robes.

The shape of his wide chest made him look as though his arms were somehow too short.

I was struck with the absolute certainty that the man would not have been able to wipe his own backside, and I had to stifle a laugh as the prelate's gaze slid to me.

He still did not meet my eyes. Instead, they went straight to the bodice of my white and gold brocade gown. They lingered on my chest, and then slid slowly down my stomach before his gaze landed on the fullness of my hips, evident even in loose flowing skirts.

Revulsion rolled through me at that look, twin to the ones I had been receiving since I first developed breasts.

I tried to force more disdain into my expression as the prelate's gaze moved up to my face, lingering on my lips first, of course, before he finally met my gaze with an approving nod.

It was more than I received from the Castering lord, but I would take the cold indifference of being ignored any day over what the arrogant cleric had just done to me with his eyes.

My face heated with embarrassment as Markus formally introduced me.

Despite myself, I felt shame for the way he had looked at me. I fought the urge to step off into the godsgrass, to let it hide the shape of me from any further scrutiny under the Minototian's predatory gaze.

Thankfully, the meeting was short. We headed back to the city in only a few minutes. My uncle led the column on his tall, steel gray charger, flanked by the regent's personal guard in their gold and white embroidered cloaks.

Arkadian and I followed him, riding side-by-side.

As Duke of Lithaway, my cousin was the most influential nobleman in Windemere. He was always afforded a position at my side, something I never failed to be grateful for since it meant I was rarely alone when he was in the city.

His duties in Lithaway took him away from Albiyn much more often than I would have liked, though. I tried not to blame him for that. I understood duty better than most.

As we passed through the city gates and my mare broke into a spirited canter, I was thankful for the courtiers and nobles grouped behind us. They blocked the prelate's gaze from my backside in the saddle.

I had a feeling it would not be the last time during the King's Day celebrations that I would resent the fact that my figure attracted the unwanted attention of the men assembled to meet me.

"Fix your face, Aelia," I heard my cousin's voice, this time from the left where he sat beside me on the dais.

The feast before us was the official start of the month-long King's Day celebration. The annual Alterran trade summit would coincide with my betrothal to one of the lords or princes...or gods help me, maybe even kings and tudemonds, who showed up to make their play for the throne of Windemere.

I fixed my face and attempted a smile as I again surveyed the crowd.

It was a sea of finely dressed nobles and courtiers.

Women in colorful silks and satins, many with golden halos of godsgrass across their brows, mingled and danced with a great many unfamiliar men.

lords and knights, either vying for my precious, gods-blessed royal hand or some part of the lucrative commerce of the Godsgrass Kingdom that would be decided during the trade summit.

"Thank you, sweetling," I belatedly whispered to Arkadian in response to his reminder about my stony expression. I had the satisfaction of seeing his brows meet in annoyance.