Chapter 1: Princess Jarolyn

“He’s a pig, not a Prince!” the furious girl exploded as she burst through the heavy oak door of her outer chambers, wherein she burst into tears.

Bringing up the rear, I quietly closed the door so that others couldn’t eavesdrop on her distress.

“Come, Your Highness, sit by the fire and calm down,” I urged, a gentle hand between the girl’s delicate shoulder blades, firmly guiding her to her favourite chair in front of the roaring fire at the end of the chamber that I’d lit earlier.

She moved as directed and took seat. Her long, delicate, sleeveless silk dress was stylish and perfect for active social dancing. However, spending the whole of a tedious morning standing and formally entertaining visiting provincial princes and their large and mainly uncivilised entourage in our draughty halls of court, wasn’t very comforting for an adolescent princess.

I draped a warm woollen robe over her shoulders. She smiled through tears for just a moment in thanks before her anger bubbled over again.

“You were there, Tomas, discrete as usual but near enough to hear what he told me, that, that ... pile of ... dragon poop!”

A small smile momentarily creased my otherwise neutral but edging towards concerned countenance.

“I was, my lady, but Prince Qinocci hales from one of the Six Minor Kingdoms of Exonibia. They are coarser than we subjects of the more enlightened society in the Queendom of Shanija. Remember your political lessons, Princess Jarolyn, that the Minor Kingdoms are traditionally friendly buffer states between us and the mighty mountain-based Republic of Zenobia. The Republic’s income, from mines and minerals, gives them wealth and power and we know they regard our fertile plains and forests teeming with game with covetous eyes. Indeed, they have tested our border security for years seeking weaknesses to exploit. The Minor Kingdoms are states we need strong relationships with and, where greed and power exists, the bond of family is a stronger glue than simple friendship.”

“I know Momma wants this alliance, I do understand, Tomas. Her grandfather was a second cousin to Qinocci’s grandmother, and closer ties with younger royals could be valuable alliances, but tomorrow is my 17th birthday and I won’t consent to marry that conceited oaf a year on from tomorrow.”

“Her Majesty is unmoved by your protests,” I gently reminded her, handing her a cloth peeled from several folded together, drawn from my belt pouch. “Her hands are tied, my lady. Being the eldest of four princesses and, as your commoner father’s daughter and Queen Sharma’s step-daughter, by our laws of succession you cannot be queen. The queendom needs alliances to survive. We have no Prince and, since your father died last year and the Queen’s age precludes it, there will be no crown princes from Shanija until your young half-sisters, marry and produce heirs. That happy day will not be for at least ten and twelve years respectively, when Crown Princess Lakole and Princess Sheryne come of age.”

“I know, I know,” she agreed in sighing despair, dabbing her wet cheeks with the soft linen cloth, “my sister Marija’s only 15 and I suppose I did agree to meet this prince weeks ago and ... well, I hoped he would be the prince of fairy tales ... but that pig ... it is sooo unfair that I cannot marry for love!”

“It is indeed, my lady,” I did agree, “Qinocci is an arrogant loose-mouthed fool and completely unworthy of the sweet-natured and sophisticated Princess —”

“—but you heard—”

“I did, he called you a ‘desperate non-royal princess’ and unnecessarily boasted that he would maintain his harem and only ‘bother’ you sufficiently to birth around six princes. He even showed you how greedy he is. Telling you that his father, Minor King Hymor, handsomely pays from his treasury a golden bounty for every Prince grandchild his seven sons produce was crass. To add that his father spares not a copper farthing for any of his princesses, be they daughters or granddaughters, is enough to show how uncouth his society is. Very undiplomatic and stupid of the prince to say what he said, when he is but his father’s youngest of seven sons. Qinocci will never be king. I’ve heard he neglected his school lessons in favour of archery and debauchery, so I fear he’ll ne’er amount to anything. However, he is the only eligible Minor Kingdom prince unclaimed by any bride. Even his eldest sister and advisor, the Duchess Philoma, overheard and was much embarrassed by the pup Prince’s silly speech.”

“What am I to do, Tomas? I’ve known you forever, you’re my teacher, my protector, my advisor, my friend.”

“I am sorry, Your Highness, you have little choice. I’ve dreaded today since your dear father, Queen’s Consort Morkyn died. He may have been born a humble cobbler but, by killing the Dragon that almost destroyed the Queen and all the royal party, including me, 13 years ago, he fulfilled a prophecy that indeed led as foretold, to your father and Queen Sharma being the most loving and happily married couple I’ve ever known. But, without a royal male-child we’re back to where we were 13 years ago when the Queen ruled alone with no heir apparent.”

“Yes, my father and Queen Sharma, who I’m proud has become my constant and loving mother, were so happy, we were all happy,” the Princess agreed, “and there’s no new prophecy when one is needed to save the day!”