The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(67)
“Find out. But send a royal message to King Gideon at once to inform him of Simon’s death. I am sure Simon’s people have already done that, but I want one sent with my extreme condolences as well. I wish he were here. I feel certain the attack is coming soon.”
Richard nodded in agreement. “I feel it as well. Like clouds in the distance threatening a storm.”
“This is unlike any storm we have dealt with before,” Maia said. Then she rose from the window seat. “I will speak with Prince Oderick immediately. Much better for me to rebuff him quickly and firmly. I do not wish to be alone with him. Richard, can you arrange a visit in the solar? I would like Captain Carew and you to be present. Also the chancellor of Hautland. This is to be done in the open. If things become . . . awkward . . . I will end the conversation quickly.”
“We will make the preparations right away,” came his answer. His approving smile gave her some vastly needed comfort.
Maia was restless by the time the meeting had finally assembled. How she longed for this embarrassing meeting to be behind both of them. She was careful to select a plain gown—one that was no more formal than what her ladies-in-waiting wore. It had taken several hours to communicate the breadth of the situation to the Hautlanders and they, of course, had tried to bargain and wheedle for more time with her instead of a curt interview.
Instead of the solar, it was agreed that the prince and Maia would walk together in the royal garden, accompanied by their chancellors and full retinue. It was all quite exasperating, even down to the points of who would arrive first and how the greeting would take place. Ceremony was important to Hautlanders, it turned out, and the notion of an informal event made them uncomfortable. Among other demands, they had insisted trumpets play a fanfare before the meeting took place.
The day was warm and pleasant, and several pavilions for shade had been strewn around the lawns, between the fountains and manicured hedges. There were short tables laden with fruits, various cheeses, and other fare the cooks had devised to appeal to their guests. Maia was more nervous than hungry, and felt she would be ready for a feast when this ruse was over and she could finally relax again.
As she and Richard left the palace and approached the meeting point together, arm in arm, to the accompaniment of the trumpets, she caught sight of the Hautland delegation, dressed in opulent finery that made her own humble costume seem like a pauper’s rags. The prince was a little shorter than her, with a wide black felt hat with several plumed feathers. He had a restless, eager look, as if he could hardly bear to wait for her to make her approach. He broke decorum by pointing her out to the white-haired man beside him, whom she assumed was the chancellor. The prince was wearing a ribbed green vest, a shirt with puffy sleeves, and a cape that glittered with small gems. A jeweled sword was belted at his waist, and his collar was thick with insignia and necklaces. He was well groomed, well proportioned, and had a confident if not slightly arrogant stance.
He also made no pretense of hiding his adoration for her. His smile seemed to quiver with pent-up emotion as she and Richard came nearer. His hands trembled, and he began to fidget excitedly. Even though he was at least a decade older than her, he actually looked like a young man in the throes of love for the first time.
“Why am I doing this?” Maia muttered with despair, quiet enough for only Richard to hear. He just squeezed her arm and kept leading her forward.
“Chancellor Vorstad,” Richard said with a polite nod once they stood in front of the Hautland delegation.
“Chancellor Syon,” the white-haired man said, his speech heavily accented but properly enunciated. “Your Majesty, let me introduce you to Prince Oderick, heir to the throne of Hautland! He is most gratified to meet you.”
Oderick’s eyes were wild with enthusiasm as he came forward and took her hand and then bowed deeply, bending at the waist. His touch was surprisingly light. She had worried that in his enthusiasm he would crush her hand in his.
“Thank you for coming,” Maia said.
“Your Majesty, it vis my graat priwilege,” Oderick said in a heavily accented tongue that was not as precise as his chancellor’s. He straightened, bowed again, and straightened once more. He offered her his arm and gestured that they should take a walk in the garden, as had been arranged.
Maia sighed and took his arm, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. She wished again, hopelessly, that Collier were there to rescue her from this situation.
“I hef attempted, dear lady, to conform my tongue to your langwage,” he said with an attempt at gallantry. “I hef failt miserably. But I am persistent. Qvite persistent. You speak my tongue werry vell.”
“I do not speak your tongue at all,” Maia said. It was necessary for her to end this farce.
He looked at her oddly. “Ah, yes. Vell . . . I have hurt you.”
“You have hurt me?” Maia asked, confused.
“Hurt? Oh, my pardon. Heard. Speaking your langwage . . . I have only started to learn it since ve met. You remember? When we met?”
Maia stopped and put her other hand on his arm. “I do, Prince Oderick. But I must confess something to you. You are mistaken about me.”
He frowned slightly as he met her eyes. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I . . .” he swallowed nervously, “I . . . believe . . . I truly believe you verr a . . . a hetaera. Not so now.” He looked at her seriously, with a look of affection and great earnestness. “Hmmm? You have no kystrel?”