empress of storms (2 page)

She pushed the old pain and frustration away. Governing Hellas was her main duty now, and maintaining the trade treaty with Ypres was vital to her nation’s economy. A collection of islands that spread out from the edge of the continent into the Eastern Sea, Hellas engaged in very profitable trade with the Han Empire and other countries on the far side of that noble body of water. In an irony of geographical placement, the continental mainland just west of Hellas was much more challenging to reach, located as it was behind a very long mountain range called the Arpinnes. The easiest access was through Ypres, which had well-established trade roads and maintained routes through three mountain passes. For the last twenty years Hellas had been given free access to the Ypresian passes and roads as part of the treaty that would wed their countries together in the persons of Danaë and Prince Lukas of Ypres. And now that she was in her twenty-fifth year, it was time for that wedding to take place.

Except that Prince Lukas was nowhere to be found. His absence had laid a tremendous burden on the diplomatic corps of both countries as they tried to answer the question of how to hold a royal wedding when the groom had dropped off the face of the earth.

The answer, of course, was to find a new royal groom in the person of Matthias IV, the widowed Ypresian king. She’d been the target of no small consolation from various advisors and royal retainers, all of them assuming that she had no interest in marrying someone who was, in truth, old enough to be her father.

The irony was that this assumption couldn’t be farther from the truth. A portrait of King Matthias had hung in the palace gallery as long as Danaë could remember. After her courses had begun and she realized that boys were more than just nuisances, she would stop in front of it when no one was watching and study the lines of his face. He wasn’t what the other girls giggled over; his features were rugged with a nose thickened from an old break, his eyes were an unsettling silver blue, and his ears did have an unfortunate tendency to jut out from his skull. But his hair was thick and dark blond, and there was a set to his mouth that appealed to Danaë. As she grew older she began to fantasize about situations where she had no choice but to kiss that mouth. The fantasies and kisses became more sensual, becoming entwined in her exploration of her own body as she grew older. Once in a while she felt some guilt about involving Matthias in such activities. He was to be her father-in-law, not her husband, and he was besotted with his beautiful queen in any case.

But to her pubescent mind he was worthy of desire. The tall, regal man was well-known as a brilliant ruler, ruthless during war and even-handed during peace, and her father considered him to be a friend as well as ally. Their last meeting in person had been over ten years ago, well before Queen Hanne’s death. She could still remember standing with her parents and brother in the palace courtyard to greet the Ypresian royal family. She had smiled at Prince Lukas as expected, giving him her cheek to kiss. He was a handsome youth, tall and strong with his father’s hair and his mother’s hazel brown eyes. 

King Matthias was something else, moving with leonine grace as he leapt from his horse to greet King Cresus and Queen Clarae. And when the Ypresian king took her hands in his own and gave her a chaste kiss, Danaë prayed that the color burning on her cheeks would be taken as regal reserve and not a sudden flush of desire. 

But she had been betrothed to Lukas. And so she had danced with him, and walked with him, and laughed at his amusing chatter, and allowed him to kiss her in one of the palace gardens. There were worse fates than being married to a handsome prince, she had reminded herself. Even if Lukas did strike her as somewhat immature and boisterous, he had more than enough time to mature into a man as impressive as his father. Her girlish dreams about Matthias were just those—dreams.

Until Queen Hanne’s death, and Prince Lukas’s disappearance, and the approach of her twenty-fifth birthday and its treaty-mandated wedding. Then her secret dream was plucked from her head and given political approval. Instead of marrying Lukas and becoming Crown Princess of Ypres, she would marry Matthias and become Queen of Ypres. It was the fulfillment of both her father’s efforts for their country and her deepest fantasy. 

She wished she didn’t feel so apprehensive about it.

****

It was dusk when Matthias trooped down to the courtyard with his guards and a puffing Reniel in tow. He didn’t need anyone to tell him the royal Hellene cortege had wound its way through the city and was about to pass through the palace gates; he could hear it from the roaring cheers that echoed throughout his capital. 

Arriving at the courtyard, he noted with some surprise that the entire party was on horseback, with the luggage carried by donkeys. It was a subtle touch, and one that he had to appreciate. The Hellenes weren’t known for their riding skills, so this nod to Ypresian habits was an unexpected honor.

Hanne had a wonderful seat. Gods, I loved riding with her.
He pushed the thought away. It was unlikely that Danaë would be in the country long enough to develop an affinity for riding. Once the wedding was over, they would spend a few days letting his new queen get to know her people before heading back to Hellas for another wedding there.

Matthias’s lips twitched.
I hope her bottom is up to the trip. Then again, if she’s still as plump as she was when she was a girl, it should provide more than enough cushioning.

Reniel glanced at him. “Be civil,” he warned.

Sometimes he wondered if his Patriarch was a mindreader. “Of course,” he said as they entered the courtyard. The Hellene contingent were busy dismounting, some of them requiring help with the process. A round, feminine figure in a midnight blue cloak was helped to the courtyard cobbles, giving a low groan of relief as she rubbed her bottom.

Matthias headed for her. “Greetings, Queen Danaë, and welcome to Ypres,” he said. “I hope your trip wasn’t too wearing.”

She turned, flipping back her hood and revealing a middle-aged woman, black hair threaded with silver. “I fear my rump will never be the same, but thanks for asking, your majesty,” she said. “As for my lady, she’s over there.”

Frowning, he followed the woman’s nod. Standing next to a bay mare was a tall young woman in masculine riding leathers instead of a proper dress.
No wonder I didn’t spot her—

His irritation disappeared as she pulled off her soft cap, letting a wealth of curly dark hair spill down over her shoulders. True to the Hellene type, it was so dark as to give off blue highlights in the flickering illumination of the torches. She ran a brisk hand through it, sweeping it back from her face.

Matthias’s mouth went dry.
Gods, she’s stunning.
The fat little partridge of his memory had grown into a graceful swan, with a lovely face dominated by midnight blue eyes and a wide, mobile mouth. She looked around the courtyard, locating him after a moment. A blinding smile blinked into existence, disappearing to be replaced by a more demure expression.

She handed the reins to a waiting groom and walked over to Matthias, dipping into a curtsey. “It’s good to see you again, your majesty,” she said, her voice low and pleasant. “Although I’m afraid you have me at an advantage. I had hoped to be in something a bit more presentable when we met.”

Making himself swallow, Matthias studied her riding garb. In soft blue leather, it had been tailored for her, giving her the ability to ride astride instead of side saddle. Even Hanne had never done anything so daring. 

And it did a marvelous job of outlining a slender body that swelled deliciously at breast and hip. To his surprise he felt a flash of desire.

He quashed it. “It looks … practical,” he said. “If unexpected.”

Another Hellene stepped up to join the queen, his startling resemblance to her identifying him as Prince Darius. “It was my idea, your majesty,” the young man said with a smirk. “My sister isn’t used to the ways of horses, and I was afraid that if she rode sidesaddle all the way from Hellas disaster would surely follow. Nobody wants to watch a bride hobble her way down the aisle, after all.”

Danaë raised one frosty eyebrow at him. “That will be enough, your highness.”

Still smirking, he ducked his head and stepped back. Redonning her pleasant expression, Danaë said, “In any case, I’m very happy to be here. I assume that everything is ready for the ceremony tomorrow?”

“It is, but your people are welcome to meet with my chamberlain to confirm details.”

Danaë gave her brother a nod. He was joined by a pair of courtiers Matthias remembered from the final treaty session, and the trio trooped off with the palace chamberlain.

Aware that this still left a large number of people in the courtyard watching them, Matthias introduced Danaë to Reniel and the other officials in his retinue, then offered his arm. “May I escort you to your rooms, your majesty?” he said, feeling awkward.

She slid her arm into his with another one of those flickering smiles. “I would be delighted, your majesty.”

****

“Your intended’s a stuffy sort, mistress,” Danaë’s personal maid Flavia said, unpacking the trunks and bags that had been brought up from the baggage train. She held up a wrinkled gown and squinted at it. “I thought his face was going to crack when I spoke to him.”

“Ypresians are a bit more reserved than we are,” Danaë said, digging through her own saddlebag and pulling out the jewelry box she had secreted at the bottom. The carved sandalwood was smooth from decades of handling, first by her grandmother and then her mother. Danaë had inherited the box and its contents upon Queen Clarae’s death, a link to her mother that was very welcome right now. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

Flavia harrumphed, laying aside the gown and extracting another one from the trunk. This gown had been wrapped in velvet with an outer layer of oilskin, and glimmered in the candlelight as she unwrapped it and held it up for examination.

“Ah, that’s fine,” she said in satisfaction. “Not a stain on it.”

Danaë studied her wedding gown with a critical eye. It was a simple sheath with long sleeves and a band of golden embroidery that ran across the neckline of the bodice. The pale blue silk would look stunning with her sun-kissed skin and black hair, the palace seamstress had assured her.

She hoped so. Because so far King Matthias didn’t seem all that impressed with her. He’d been polite, of course, showing her to her sumptuous quarters and summoning the maids who would form Flavia’s work force during their stay. But there hadn’t been any real sense of welcome in his manner.

She wondered how much of it had to do with her riding garb.
Damn it, how was I supposed to know he’d be waiting for us in the courtyard?
She’d thought to have the chance to wash her face, brush her impossible hair, and change into something appropriately regal for her official presentation to her betrothed. But his unexpected arrival had put paid to that little plan.
He must think he’s about to marry the stable girl.

Her attention came back to Flavia, who had been speaking. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Her maid gave her a good-natured eye roll. “I said, if you get out of those leathers you can give yourself a wash, then I’ll brush your hair and put it up for dinner, mistress. Do you still want to wear the garnet gown tonight?”

The one she’d spent so much time debating over. So much for making a good first impression. “Yes, please.”

Flavia extracted the gown from the half-unpacked trunk and went to the door, summoning a maid and handing the gown off for pressing. “And if there’s a scorch mark on it anywhere you’ll answer to me, my girl,” she warned. 

The Ypresian maid bobbed a nervous curtsey and scurried off with her burden.

“Don’t be so hard on them,” Danaë chided once the door was closed. “I’m sure they’re exhausted from the wedding preparations.”

“They’re young and strong, mistress,” Flavia said, heading to the washstand and pouring the contents of a steaming pewter jug into a bowl. “They’ll survive the rough side of my tongue. Now, come over here and give yourself a wash while I dig out your brushes and combs. Why you thought you could keep all your hair in that tiny cap I’ll never know.”

Comforted by the familiar scolding, Danaë stripped down to a loose pair of cotton knickers. She gave one armpit a tentative sniff and winced. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she said as she went to the washstand, dunking a sponge into the hot water and running it over her face. “Hopefully I can work on making a better impression at dinner.”

Flavia resumed rooting through the trunk. With a snort of triumph she held up a toiletries case. “He’s the one who should be working on his attitude. He’s lucky to have a fresh young beauty like yourself.”

Danaë blushed as she rinsed herself off. “Oh, hush. He’s still in mourning for Queen Hanne.”

“That may be, mistress, but I think you give the man too much credit,” Flavia said, shooing her to the dressing table. “You could do better, you know. Prince Marcus is only a few years older than you and a much more appropriate match.”

Danaë pursed her lips as Flavia began brushing her hair. The prince in question was fourth in line to the throne of Illium, the kingdom to the south of both Ypres and Hellas. Marcus had no chance of becoming king unless something dreadful happened to his father, two older brothers, and nephew. From reports she’d had of the wily prince, “something dreadful” was well within his purview. “Prince Marcus is far too clever for his own good, and I have no intention of having someone taste my food every meal to make sure it’s not poisoned. Besides, the council already rejected him.”

“The Earl of Balnacra, then.”

Danaë shuddered. “Well-educated, but his personal hygiene leaves something to be desired.”

“Archduke Robles?”

“Overly pious and makes Matthias look like a drunken sailor.” She caught Flavia’s gaze in the mirror. “Believe me, I’m not upset by this marriage. I think his majesty and I can find enough common ground for friendship, if nothing else.”