Page 113 of Keeper of the Word

’Twas a hard realization.

The pomp and circumstance of the entrance of the prince’s betrothed died down. Chancellor Griffith unrolled a scroll and began to read the history of the millennia-long tradition of the twin kingdoms being wed together. Elanna quickly lost interest.

At first, Wenonah’s sideways glances were discreet, but soon, she was openly sweeping her eyes around the Great Hall. For the prince. Why had they begun the ceremony without him?

Elanna gave a backward glance at the enormous, closed doors behind them. Why, indeed?

Griffith wound down his historical speech and paused for a moment to take a second scroll in his hand.

“Your Majesty.” The words that interrupted the beginning of Griffith’s new speech—this one intended to be centered on Dashiell and Wenonah’s betrothal—were Tara’s.

Small babbles from around the hall gave her interruption emphasis.

“Where is the prince, Your Majesty?” Tara stepped forward. “He should be here to meet his bride if this betrothal is your wish.”

Elanna’s eyes widened. The sovereign seethed. She turned her gaze to Queen Ferika, who was not glowering, as she assumed she would be, but observing Tara with her lip half turned up.

“Where, indeed?” Queen Ferika said.

The murmurs grew louder.

“Prince Dashiell is within. This betrothal ceremony shall take place by proxy,” King Rian said, unsmiling.

For the first time, the queen lowered her eyes. Even still, Elanna sensed her rage. Next to the queen, Wenonah’s eyes welled with confused tears.

Griffith resumed, “By the decree and will of His Majesty, King Rian the Sixth, of the House of Sidra and by?—”

“Why, Your Majesty?” Elanna hardly believed the voice to be her own. “Why is this betrothal by proxy? Should not Prince Dashiell be here himself to show the realm of his consent?”

She did not retreat from King Rian’s glare.

Stars, what was she doing? The sovereign scowling at one of his StarSeers? The two roles were e’er in harmony. There was no future for anyone if they were at odds.

And now you understand why the stars showed you thus.

A few of the council members mumbled in the sovereign’s ear while along the hall’s perimeter, whispers turned into chatter. King Rian’s hands curled into fists; his expression tightened.

The queen spoke to her queensguard. “Bring my son.”

King Rian stood. “Ferika,” he called down to his queen. “Let us take leave in my solar.”

The queen raised her chin. Two of her guard exited the GreatHall. The crowds swayed in an attempt to gain a better view. Phrases like, “What is happening?” and “Is the queen defying the sovereign?” escaped the otherwise garbled din of the hall. Elanna’s palms began to sweat.

“Mayhap you should, my queen?” Tara quietly spoke.

“Nay.”

The chatter escalated. Elanna met Joss’s eye. The dame was the very essence of worry. Her expression pleaded with Elanna. Keep the peace. Find a way out of this. She gave a slight shake of her head to Joss, no inkling of what to do.

Beside her, Tara shouted over the crowd, “Your Majesty, I implore you to empty this hall. Your Majesty!”

The steward dashed through the open double doors. His hurried rush quieted the masses as he made his way up the dais stairs. Griffith stepped aside with obvious annoyance as the steward bowed to speak to King Rian.

“Oh stars,” Elanna whispered.

Mayhap it was the amber color of his livery or the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the stained-glass window, catching the crimson and tinting the sovereign’s face with red. In that moment, the recesses of Elanna’s mind released a vision she’d Seen but knew not when.

The fortune of the prince. Dashiell at a crossroad.