NOW YOU WILL BE QUEEN
Marissa Harringgold's shocked scream rattled Dor Lomion's windows; her chamber's door did little to muffle it. Luckily, her father, the Duke, had foreseen her reaction and directed the servants and guards to keep their distance. Marissa balled up her fists and her whole head shook. The Duke actually stepped back from her, for fear of attack.
“Are you mad?” she shouted. “He's a monster. He's out of his mind.”
“He's the prince,” said the Duke as he took a seat in the plush armchair in the bedchamber’s sitting area. ““The heir to the granite throne.” Harringgold needed a brandy for that conversation. He didn’t have one. He couldn’t carry a tumbler down from the drawing room without Marissa suspecting that something was awry and without the servants’ beginning to gossip. He couldn’t have that, since he wanted to tell her in his own time and he hated gossip.
He wanted to talk to her where she felt most comfortable — where she felt strong and safe. Her chambers were that place. The furniture, linens, draperies, all to her taste — light, airy, and sophisticated, let playful. Her perfume in the air. All her little things carefully arrayed in their proper places, just as she liked them. When she came of age, she’d thrown out most of the décor from when she was a child. She needed to make the rooms, her space. But he was happy that she had kept nearly all the exotic toys and artwork that he’d bought her over the years from parts foreign. So he did without the brandy. That made a very hard conversation even harder for him, but that was how it had to be.
“He's a disgusting beast,” said Marissa. “The way he carries on—”
“I'm sorry,” said the Duke shaking his head. His hand fidgeted; he didn’t even have his pipe; he’’d left it at his desk. He couldn’t look into his little girl’s eyes. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to hold back tears, for the pain and guilt of hurting her. He couldn’t let her see that. He couldn’t bear to do anything that hurt her. And yet, here they were.
“Besides, I'm to marry Jude Eotrus, if he's not…so the whole idea is quite impossible. It can't even be considered. How could you?” she said, tears in her eyes.
“If you marry Cartegian, you would be queen, someday. Much more comes along with that than being the wife of the brother of a Marcher Lord.”
“I…would like to be queen, I suppose, but not if I have to marry him. I'd rather be dead than marry that beast. He’s revolting.””
“I'm sorry my love; I know that it's hard for you to hear this, but more than likely, Jude is not coming back.”
“He's not dead,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I would know if he were. I don't want to be queen. I want Jude.””
“Before, you wanted Claradon.”
“He's a fool,” she spat. “He could have married me. We could have had a life together. We should have. Instead, he became a monk. A monk! I am the Archduke’’s daughter and he tossed me aside to become a monk.”
“A Caradonian Knight, not a monk,” said the Duke, his voice soft to try to calm her.
“They are monks by another name, father,” said Marissa, “as you well know, for they cannot marry, so they are monks all the same. And it was his choice to join up with them. Nobody made him; nobody pressured him. Most everyone tried to talk him out of it, even Sir Gabriel, but he wouldn't listen, he didn’t care. I tried to talk to him, but he didn't even pay attention to me. My opinion didn’t matter, not at all. He didn’t care what his choice meant for me.”
“And it was his choice, and his choice alone. The idiot! I don't even want to think about him; I don't want to see his face; I don't even want to hear his name. Not ever! We could have had a life together, children, but he gave it up, for what? For nothing, the fool. Aargh! I hate him!”
“Is it Jude that you truly love, or is it still Claradon?”
She looked like she'd been struck; her mouth hung open. “I love him; Jude; I do. I don’t know; I think I do. It's not the same as it was with Claradon. It's not the same at all.”
“If Jude doesn't return, then what will you do? Is there another young man that you would consider?”
“I don’t know. How can I even think of that now?”
“I know it's hard, but you must. We must at least discuss it. These things must be planned.”
“There are other young men of station,” said Marissa. “I heard that Lord Baldin’s son is very handsome.”
“He is, but alas, he does not fancy women — or so they say.”
“Oh, I see,” she said raising her eyebrows. “I had no idea. There is Lord Mardot’s eldest son, the one who did so well in the tourney last season. He is—”
“Engaged to Dalria Karenteen of Dyvers.”
“No? That witch! He'll be sorry for that match, I'm certain. She's vile and devious and always has been, even as a child. What about Lord Portfrey's sons? I don’t know them well, but—”
“One is to wed one of the Kandars next spring. The other is more than five years younger than you and dumb as a rock.”
Marissa stared down at her hands. She looked defeated. “There is Ector Eotrus.”
“A fine young man he is, but he's the third in line to his Dor. That makes him not a suitable match for the Archduke’s daughter.”
She nodded. “There must be others of appropriate age and station. There must be. Are there not? What other options do I have, father?” she said, her voice quaking.
“You could be queen.”
She shook her head. More tears rolled down her cheeks. “Why? Why would you do this to me? Why make me be with that thing? He’ll kill me. Father, he’ll kill me.”
“The king says that he is gentle, despite his afflictions. He has assured me of that.”
“The king is a drunk. You can’t trust what he says.”
“He knows his son. He says that Cartegian will treat you well.”
“I see that it’s all arranged,” she said bitterly. “All planned; probably for years, if I know you. You probably have the guest list completed, and the invitations prepared and ready to go out. I can’t even do that — not even that! And if he doesn't treat me well? If he harms me? Beats me?””
“If he harms you, I will put a stop to it.”
“That gives me little comfort, father,” she said. “There will be little that you can do once I am his wife. I'll have to endure whatever he does to me and you know it. Whatever perversions, whatever horrors that beast can dream up. Unless he near kills me, but falls short of it, then maybe you'll be able to act, if even then.”
The Duke's eyes betrayed his sadness, his guilt. “The realm needs a queen. A woman of virtue and values; a woman of strength and smarts. Alas, there are few that could be trusted to fill that role with the fate of the realm at risk. The strength and stability that you would bring to Cartegian, to the throne, could save us all. You could save Lomion. You could save the Republic. It’’s a weighty burden for anyone, but one that I believe you have the strength to bear.”
“All I wanted was a handsome knight,” she said, her voice now slower, calmer, resolved. A man respected and kind, that could share the wonders of the City with me, and the quiet of the country. A man that would give me many children and that would be a good father and a loyal husband. That's all I wanted. Why was that too much to ask? Even for the Archduke's daughter? Why was it too much? Why was it so impossible? Why can't I have what I want?”
“Now, you will have the realm. Now you will be queen.”