A/N: Hi, everyone! This is actually more of a spitball fanfiction – I'm just throwing it out there. I do confess that I don't know the names of all the Princes of the Southern Isles, nor do I know the names of the king and queen. If there's a wiki about them that I haven't stumbled upon during my research, please let me know. I'd like to get my facts right. But for now, I've given them Danish names. Anyone reading, do enjoy and I hope to hear from you in the reviews. Thank you!
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters except the Mauds and associates.
Prologue
Casmont, a busy, productive, minute kingdom. The forefathers, voyagers of French-Austrian decent, claimed it's early islands sandwiched between Australia and Madagascar.
The east islands of Casmont are known as the Fields, where the soil is has an unearthly and exceptional quality. Farmers toil lightly in exchange for abundant crops and healthy, large livestock. The west side is a feverish fishing farm, commonly called the Shores, where dozens of various fish are raised and reaped and the process continues to repeat. The warm temperate Shores make for a favourable vineyard as well, where wondrous wines are pressed. The Mount, the northern area of Casmont, is gravid with jewels and valuable metals for the taking. Miners manage the bergs without stress and rest knowing they've harvested more than the day before. Then, there is the central island that grows from the east ones. The central island is residential. The large, pristine castle of Casmont is perched on the top of green rolling hills with homes of the other residents sliding down the hills.
"How do you feel, Madolen?" asks Hettie, a woman of her mid-forties tasked with the job of taking care of the young princess. "Excited?"
"Yes," starts the chocolate skinned girl, "but I have my worries."
"Nonsense," Hettie insists, finishing the braided crown on Madolen's head with a flourish. "Don't you look like a pretty portrait?"
Madolen looks into the mirror at the vanity table she sits on. Her ebony hair matches her large, almond shaped, thoughtful eyes. "Isn't this a little much for a simple meeting?" asks she, eyes on her own in the mirror, with brows bundled in concern.
"I was said to doll you up, and I did," says Hettie, her warm brown eyes admiring the princess. "I was expecting a 'thank you!' or something along those lines."
"I'm sorry, Miss Hettie," laughs Madolen. "Thank you. I do like it – very much."
"But of course," beams Hettie. "Besides, I'm sure it's a routine visit, just like with all the other royals."
Madolen has a storm of words on her tongue, but the ones that escape her are the only ones that aren't there. "Yes, Miss Hettie." Before Madolen can say any more, there's a knock at the bedroom door.
"Come in," Hettie chirps.
King Wiatt, Madolen's father, stands behind the open door, a delighted smile on his face. "Look at you, chocolate," the king cheerily remarks.
"Da!" Madolen cheers, rushing to her father. He catches her in his arms and draws her into a great hug that brings her feet off the ground due to her small stature in contrast to his large, sturdy one. The more pertinent contrast is the fair skin her father (and mother) has making it clear to all that blood is not what makes Madolen the king and queen's daughter.
Wiatt sets Madolen back on the ground and palms his hands to his knees in a bid to be eye to eye with his daughter. "The guests are here, chocolate."
"Yes," Madolen wrings her hands together and casts her eyes on the ground. "I suppose I should be there to greet them."
"You'd be robbing them of a great honour if you didn't, my dear," Wiatt tells, cupping Madolen's cheek to redirect her gaze into his own blue eyes. "You worry far too much for a girl of seventeen years." He teases with a wicked, playful smile. "But you're also much too insightful and intuitive for a man or woman of many ages greater than yours."
"So you say."
"And your mother, and Hettie, and every ambassador and merchant that has ever crossed you," informs the king. "I've never been complemented on anyone nor anything else more frequently than you." They share a quiet understanding before Wiatt rises and takes Madolen's hand in his. "Let's not keep our crowd waiting." Hettie joins the pair and the three head down the corridors of the large, lavishly decorated palace, greeted by merry staff as they wind through. After passing through a great many sightly portraits, they arrive at two heavy doors that lead to the Throne Room. Wiatt looks once more at his silent child, "Are you ready, chocolate?"
She commands a smile to her features and nods, "I am."
Wiatt throws the doors open and the pair strut into a spacious and well lit (despite the sun having set hours before) throne room with goliath chandeliers and intricate carpeting and curtaining. Hettie stays against the wall by the door, awaiting any requests. At one end of the room, sit three thrones on a raised platform, one occupied by the ocean eyed, milk skinned Queen Nancy of Casmont.
"I was beginning to wonder if you two would ever show," grins Nancy jokingly from her poised, positon.
Father and child start to the thrones, and once there both offer affectionate gestures to Nancy. A peck on the cheek from a cherishing husband and a needed hug from a needed daughter. They sit at their respective thrones, king in the centre of the family.
"Something on your mind, sweets?" Nancy questions, mothering eyes on Madolen.
"Yes, but nothing I don't have a hold of," assures she. "Perhaps a case of pre-meeting jitters."
"You've joined us at many of these silly things," says Nancy with a relaxed smile. "Your nerves will cower as they always do."
Madolen smiles thankfully and the doors fly open again, and announcer strides in followed by two proud men and a machinelike woman. Madolen's eyes fly over them curiously. The first man is much older than the second, around the age of Wiatt, and he strides with confident purpose. The second man is in his mid-thirties and shares many features of the first - red hair, and freckled fair skin. His eyes, however, match the woman's. The woman is older than the second man. She has soft, brown, washed out eyes that scream of sedative.
"Introducing King Berde, Queen Sorina and Prince Runo Westegaard of the Southern Isles," tells the man with the duty of telling. The Westegaards offer two bows and a curtsy. Wiatt, Nancy and Madolen rise as they've risen many times before as greeting. "And King Wiatt, Queen Nancy and Princess Madolen Maud of Casmont." The Mauds offer a bow and two curtsies before stepping down to converse with their visitors.
"It's an honour to meet you all at last," says Berde.
"Likewise, King Berde," Wiatt tells. "We've anticipated your arrival. You're well aware of our situation."
"Yes," says Sorina. "We were sorry to see the predictions."
"We hope that's all they are, predictions," tells Nancy. "A famine that drastic could be detrimental for Casmont. Although we flourish now, we can't be sure of the years to come."
"Nor can we be certain that if damage is done, that it's reversible," says Wiatt.
As the kings and queens converse a chat of a cultured kind, Madolen listens intently, sapping up all the knowledge there is to sap. Out of the corner of her eye, she spies a set of eyes on her – those of the prince. She hesitantly dares to meet his eyes, and finds him grinning at her. She looks away directly, a feeling of uneasiness heavy on her shoulders.
"I think that we could make a lot of money if we collaborate," King Berde's voice draws Madolen out of her mind. "I've sent you documents of the plans in mind."
"I've received them, and thought on them," Wiatt informs.
"But an answer will have to be waited on," Nancy chimes in with a structural tone, "as we have a dinner prepared in your honour."
"How kind of you," says King Berde politely, but fragments of annoyance at a delay land on Madolen's ears. "We are quite hungry after such a voyage."
"Then let's not leave the food to get cold in the Dining Hall," smiles Wiatt. "This way."
As the adults begin to file out of the hall, Madolen meets Hettie's gaze. Hettie offers her a reassuring smile, one full of confidence.
"Ahem," comes a deep voice, calling for Madolen's attention. Runo is beside Madolen, gesturing at the door. "After you, my lady."
"Oh, okay," she says, putting on a smile. "Thank you."
"Of course," Runo ushers Madolen out with a strong hand on her back. As they start down the hall after their parents, Runo's hand remains on Madolen. She tenses ever so slightly, waiting with a held breath for him to return it to himself. "You have a beautiful home," he says instead.
"It is," Madolen beams, looking up at him. "Full of art and history and effort. I appreciate your words."
"Has this always been your home?"
"Yes," says Madolen. "I was raised here as a child. I don't remember any other home."
"Strange. You and your parents are-"
"Very different," Madolen says. "Yes. My mother couldn't have any children of her own, and one day a woman came into the palace offering me to her when I was a baby. The woman was sick and had no family, so my parents took me in… or so I'm told."
"You have kind parents."
"Among the kindest people I know," Madolen looks up again at Runo.
"It's a pity that such misfortune should happen to you."
Madolen smiles a polite smile. "Yes, it is. The predicted weather is a scary thought. I hope we're strong enough to face it."
...
"The crops are a less than we reasoned they'd be but the amount is still staggering," says Nancy as dinner comes to a close. "It wouldn't make sense to have all this food and not make something grand for our guests that have come so far, now would it?"
"If any kingdom can poison someone it'd be Casmont as the food is irresistible," jokes Runo, eyes pinched, a glass of glass of wine in hand.
Laughter bounces off of the walls and as it simmers, a content attitude fills the atmosphere.
"I must thank you for all your hospitality," starts Berde, "but we should be on our way again." He looks to Runo beside him.
"A king's work is never done," grins Wiatt.
Nancy interjects, "Nor a queen's."
"I'd like to leave knowing that this meeting was a total success," says Berde.
"Oh, right! The business agreement, of course," Wiatt sits up straight. "Casmont would be happy to have the Southern Isles as a trade partner."
"Excellent," Berde grins.
"And regarding the second part of our meeting, we're quite honoured that you came to us," begins Nancy, "but Madolen is a bit young for Runo."
"Nonsense," Berde says. "Age is such a little thing to be worried about."
Madolen looks between the respective families, an 'aha!' moment taking place in her head. 'I knew something was going on!' she thinks to herself.
"We'd still be willing to consider an engagement, but to a Westegaard of relative age," says Wiatt.
"And only if he's a Westegaard of relative age," Nancy firmly adds beside her husband, Madolen on the other side of Wiatt. Although the condition if Casmont deteriorates, the stubbornness of its queen does not. Come a flood or drought, a blizzard or tornado, Nancy's priorities will always be her family's happiness.
King Berde rubs his chin, thoughtful.
Queen Sorina, speaks up, "We do have a son of a more reasonable age. He's twenty-five this year. It's only an eight year gap."
"No, not him," says Runo. "How can we be sure-"
Runo is silenced by the raised hand of his father's. "Sorina is right. We have a son of relative age. He's a learned man, healthy, strong. He would make a good husband for Princess Madolen."
Madolen looks directly at Berde at the mention of her name. Then her eyes fix on her parents who are thoughtful.
"We don't want to put our daughter in a hard place," says Nancy.
"It's alright, Ma," says Madolen. "I know that what's at risk is bigger than what I think. Many souls worked hard to bring Casmont to its glory, and I'll do my part but only if my part means something."
"Oh it does," says Berde. "Unity between the Southern Isles and Casmont would not only double, no, triple the amount of produce and money, but it'll be the foundation of many more unions in a grand scheme. If the predictions of Casmont's weather are true, allied with us you'd show mother nature who's boss."
"I see," says Madolen. "I want that, to make a real difference, to defend Casmont the best I can. If this partnership and consequent marriage will be the start of it, I'll do it."
"Are you sure, Madolen?" asks Wiatt at his daughter's side.
"I'll do anything for Casmont," smiles Madolen genuinely. "Anything includes marriage."
"...Well, then… we are open to meeting with this new Westegaard," says Nancy, speaking with her hands. "We can't say it's a definitive yes to marriage, but the courting period is in tow."
"Good," says Berde. "You'll be pleased to meet Hans."
Thank you for reading thus far. I hope to see you next time and do leave a review.