A Life in Pink
********The young woman sat up in bed, allowing the warm summer sunshine seep in to her eyes through the gap in the curtains. She rolled over and to take a brief glance around her lavishly decorated room- and goodness, what a room it was. The curtains surrounding her four poster bed were made of dusty pale blue damask, and across the cream- carpeted room, there was a gorgeous little wooden desk that had been her mother's. There were paintings of the said woman throughout the house. Despite all this, Guinevere still felt the weight of an impending day crush her, but as quickly as this feeling of boredom and dissatisfaction came, she diminished it and berated herself for letting such selfish thoughts into her mind. She was so lucky; or at least that was Uncle Cador and Auntie Elizabeth kept insisting on, to live in a building such as the yellow bath stone Hartington House.
Deciding not to waste any more time lying in bed letting the day slip past, Guinevere slipped out of bed and padded across the room to ring the maid bell. She stifled a yawn and a sigh, another day is coming, another day will pass with her simply sitting in her drawing room twiddling her thumbs and staring thoughtlessly at another of those fantasy romance novels her dear Auntie never approved of her reading. Oh how she wished to fall in love one day- wouldn't it be the most glorious of feelings? To wake up next to the person you adored more than anything?
Hearing the all too familiar sound of a horse canter past on the gravel outside the window, Guinevere pattered over to the window and made a study of the post-boy bringing messages from the post service. How he might complain, at the meagre salaries he would earn at the moment as a post- boy, how he would complain at the long hours, and how he was certainly unaware that at this moment, he was being spied upon by a Princess who was wishing she was in his shoes. For her life was going to be one mapped out exactly, first by her Mama's brother, then by her husband, and if she was widowed, then by her son. She would never have the chance to be independent like he was, being allowed to earn a living instead of having it given to you. But it seemed to be only she that had this view, for she would hate to burden her relatives with all the complaints of her life.
The door was knocked upon, just like every morning, and her maidservant Anne walked into the chamber, her arms carrying a silver tray that was laden with a newspaper and her breakfast. "Morning Anne," Guinevere sighed. Anne looked at her, with an overwhelming sense of pity, for once being grateful for the freedom that came with being a commoner. "Your Uncle wishes to see you in the study once you have breakfasted," this aroused Guinevere's curiosity. "Did he say what for?" she asked, her face the image of suspicion of the good kind- she had a feeling this was about her sixteenth birthday celebrations. "No milady," Anna replied, "He just requested you be there as soon as possible."
The Duke of Cornwall was a tall, ageing man with a kindly face to match a kindly manner. He had a way with his people, and they were all the fondest of him. Cornwall could not have been a different country to Camelot. For the first, there were no taxes- as there were enough natural resources, such as coal, gold, silver and fine silks to trade to keep the country afloat, without needing to take more money from the people, and for the second, one could not tell who were the rich and who were the poor. But Cornwall was not without fault. For years now, it had been dreadfully out of contact with the other countries in the Lands of Albion, trading instead with the countries outside- such as France.
Once Anne had dressed her, she left for her Uncle's study, heading for the familiar mahogany door at the end of the cream and gold, red carpeted passage. When she got there, she saw the dear man of forty two sitting behind the ornately carved, cherry wood desk. "Morning Uncle," she announced brightly, skipping up to him and planting a kiss on his cheek. "Morning Gwen," her Uncle replied, taking a close analysis of the papers brought in by the post- boy that morning. "I just have to finish reading through this letter from Sanliere, I won't be a moment," Guinevere frowned- Sanliere was her Uncle's legal advisor, and she had a horrid feeling about the message of the document. The fact was, the Duke and Duchess had been unable to have children, and upon her parents' death, had taken her in and cared for her as their own- but she was a woman, and that was going to complicate her right to inherit and rule the Duchy.
In these circumstances, the Duchy would usually be passed to the nearest male relative of the Duke- but there were none. He did have a third cousin named Lamorak, who had two daughters of his own-named Mary and Catherine, but Lamorak was dead, and had been so for twenty years. She was shaken from her thoughts by the final rustling of her uncle's papers, as he finally put them down. "You realise my dear that your sixteenth birthday is approaching?" Guinevere nodded, still slightly alarmed by the name of Sanliere being brought up. Unaware of his niece's uneasiness, the Duke continued, "I know that you are now approaching a marriageable age, and that there are many suitors vying for your hand," Once again, Guinevere nodded, "I also know that you were in the past, engaged to the Prince of Camelot," She stiffened at the mention of his name. Her mother, Lady Sybelle had died horrifically at the hands of his father- Uther. She would know. She had seen it. "Be easy my dear, but I am afraid that it looks as though you engagement may be re-arranged, but I must tell you the news of the inheritance. My dear, as you are a woman, and Cornwall has never had a female ruling by herself before, I have come to the conclusion that Cornwall must be inherited by your husband," Guinevere stopped short in horror. Her husband? What if her husband turned out to be… Prince Arthur? "Why, why can't I rule on my own, why do I need a man to do it for me?"
The Duke could sense that she was beginning to get angry at the prospect and leant over to pat the back of her hand. She snapped it away in an irritated fashion, "What makes you think that a woman will make such as bad ruler; would you rather see the Duchy passed to a man who has no right to it, as opposed to a woman who does?" He stared at her in silence, waiting until her angry tirade had stopped.
"Because, even though it sounds as absurd to me as it does to you, the Cornish people would feel fairly uneasy with a female ruler ruling in a land dominated by men, and so back to my original point, there will be a ball held here in Hartington House, so that you may choose a husband. Invitations will be sent out shortly" And with that, the Duke dismissed his quieted niece- as his tone had quite told her that the conversation was at an end, and was left to contemplate his own decision in silence.
Guinevere stormed back to her room, only to find the dark haired beauty that was Freya, lounging around in her reception room. Freya was a young sorceress, the same age as her- fifteen- who was adopted by her mother when she was eight. Lady Sybelle had been a gentle and caring woman who had delighted in teaching other young sorceresses, like Freya, to use their magic in the healing arts. She had magic, yet Gwen didn't, and that had made her feel as though she was letting her mother down in a sense. Despite this, the Duke had loved and cared for Freya as he had Gwen.
Freya observed her dear sister quietly for a moment, before speaking "Cheer up, sister, not all men are bad,", "No" replied Gwen, "But this one is, I am sure of it," She spoke with such definitiveness in her voice that Freya recoiled slightly. "Do you know him? Have you ever met him?" This halted Guinevere for a moment, "No, but I know what his father did to our mother, I know what the rumours say- that he assaults his servants with various weapons, and I know that he seems to be incapable of keeping his pen in his ink pot, so to speak, when it comes to the ladies of his court. Freya burst out laughing at her uncharacteristic use of innuendo, and sighed. "What about the other sides to his character, such as his bravery, his skills with a sword?" Guinevere scoffed "It's his skills with a sword that gets him so much attention from the Ladies," Freya looked at her disapprovingly, but knew that her sister was in no mood to being reckoned with.
********"Arthur, are you listening?" demanded the King. He was growing increasingly fed up with his son's lifestyle. Granted, Arthur was a noble, and he felt it was the nobles' right to have mistresses; but not when the woman in question was a known gossiper, and had a habit of spreading rumours about the Prince. Lady Arabella, the daughter of one of Camelot's first knights, Sir Bors, had been the object of the Prince's affections for the last few months. She was beautiful, with bright green eyes, long blonde hair and a face that would make any man stare. No doubt it was her face that had attracted him; and certainly not her personality.
"Yeah, yeah… What?" Arthur sat up in his seat and tore his gaze from his flirtatious mistress, to his Father's irritable expression. "I said that we have been invited to Hartington House, to attend a small dinner in the honour of the Lady Guinevere. You know that relations between Camelot and Cornwall have been tense since… that happened." The King, the Prince, the Lady Morgana, Sir Bors and his daughter were dining in the large, grey stone dining room of the Castle of Camelot.
"Ah… that," In all honesty, the Prince didn't know what "that" was exactly, although he did know that it had something to do with the Lady Guinevere's Mother, Lady Sybelle, whom his father had told him, was an evil and vicious sorceress, who basked in the pain of others. Arthur didn't quite understand how this had managed to cause trouble between the Kingdoms, and it wasn't something he was prepared to talk about with his Father. Instead he contented himself with winking at Lady Arabella, and nodding toward the door; a promise that he would be making up for lost time later.
This small gesture wasn't missed by the King, however, who quickly felt his ire growing once more. "And no, before you ask, under no circumstances must you allow the Lady Arabella to accompany you," Arthur scowled by way of reply, and tilted his head at his mistress apologetically. Sir Bors frowned slightly at the outburst. "Surely it would do no harm if Arabella were to accompany the Prince?" He looked at the King imploringly, knowing that the more time Arabella would be able to hold the Prince's attention, the longer their family would stay in the Royal favour- and that favour was something he wasn't going to compromise easily, certainly not for the sake of some foreign Lady. "I'm sorry Bors," replied Uther, "but the Prince was once engaged to the Lady Guinevere, a and may be engaged to her again in the future, and I cannot allow any implication that he is slighting her by bringing another woman," Bors' spoon came down with a clatter, and he stared at the King, unable to form a coherent thought or sentence.
"My…My Lord?" this statement certainly rattled Bors- if this girl was to marry Arthur, then what of the Royal favour that was currently bestowed upon his family? What of the sexual relationship that had always served to satisfy both Arabella and the Prince? And what would happen to Arabella? Mistresses were not always looked upon fondly by society- she would find it hard to secure herself a husband. At any rate, she was already being financially supported by the Prince, and if that support ended- she would fall and be labelled with shame and bound by poverty.
"I'm tired and wish to retire," the Prince excused himself suddenly, and left the dining room- Arabella tottering behind him. He was certainly not surprised by the news. He had known about the Lady Guinevere, but didn't like the idea of having to be without Arabella- or Arabella's body for the few days he would undoubtedly spend at Hartington House. To tell the truth, they were both good looking- him with blonde hair and blue eyes to match with hers, but he had always been more interested in her body- the pert, full breasts, slim thighs and tiny waist than the personality under the flesh- as most eighteen year olds were.
"Arthur," Arabella called, using her lowest and most seductive voice, "we have much time to amuse ourselves before you must go." He turned to look at her, feeling the familiar sense of desire brought about by her voice. He smirked at her, and opened the door to his chambers for her to walk through. She did, and by two minutes later they were satisfying each other, with all the accompanying grunts and groans that went with it.
Morgana, in the meantime- who had been surprisingly quiet during the meal headed back to her chambers, and sat before her mirror, gazing at her reflection. In all honesty, she was beginning to tire of Arabella. In her opinion, she was after money and power from Arthur- surely his personality didn't come into her desperate- but not entirely fruitless- pursuit of him. She was looking forward to having a female friend- and hoped that this Lady Guinevere would be different to the simpering, two-faced ladies of Camelot like Arabella. But Morgana also worried, as she didn't know how well the Cornish Princess would take to being compared with the likes of the Prince's mistress, as she inevitably would be if she was to be officially announced as his future bride.
Two days later, the horses and carriages were prepared for the six hour journey to Hartington House, and King Uther, Prince Arthur, Lady Morgana and their entourage of Knights were ready to depart for Cornwall.
When they had finally arrived Morgana took the chance to admire Hartington House. It was a very different palace to Camelot. Whereas Camelot was more of a military barrack, with white towers and turrets that reached up to the sun and the stars, and the moat that stretched right round it, Hartington was more of a country mansion- lavishly decorated and boasting of wealth and authority. It was by no means the official seat of the Duke of Cornwall- that was the Tintagel Palace in the North, but Lady Sybelle had chosen to raise her children there.
********Guinevere woke up early the next morning to the sound of Freya bursting into her room and jumping on her bed excitedly shouting "Dress choosing time, Vivienne will be along in a minute!" Guinevere groaned and looked at her sister who faltered "Are…aren't you excited?" asked Freya, confused by her sister's uninterested reaction. "No Freya, I would be, but it's just… I'm going to have to pick a dress that it's supposed to attract and impress… impress… my future husband," At this, both were silent, the full effect of her words digging into them like needles. "Well, at least don't let it put you off visiting that colossal wardrobe of yours to pick out some gorgeous silk gown to attract the gentlemen who will be present," Guinevere smirked at her sister, and limbed out of bed to her walk in wardrobe- that happened to be hid behind a wall that was covered with a painting of their beloved mother, and awaited the arrival of Vivienne, Guinevere's friend since childhood. She was beautiful, but flirtatious- which had gotten her into trouble with the Duke, over her wonton behaviour. The girls then proceeded to rifle through Guinevere's entire wardrobe, taking out all of her evening gowns and discarding them, one by one.
"Oh no Freya, that's too hideous," Freya held the pink ball of silk out above her body before discarding it with a sigh atop all the other balls of silk in pastel colours. She certainly liked the larger skirts. "Well, we still have to choose a dress for you," sighed Freya, picking up a slim, silk navy blue gown, complete with a train. Still, her sister gave not much reaction to the dress, "Oh come on Gwen, the ball takes place tomorrow", but sat on the chaise lounge, a discontented look upon her face, when the sound of bugles announced the arrival of the party from Camelot. Freya switched her gaze from the window, which was where the sound had been coming from to Guinevere, who looked up from beneath her hair and miserably looked down at her fingers. He was here.
*********Curiously, Lady Guinevere had come down with a mysterious illness, and so was unable to greet the party from Camelot- at which the Lady Morgana felt extremely put out, but the Lady Freya made up for her absence by talking animatedly with the King and Prince Arthur, who, missing the consolation of Lady Arabella's body, flirted with Vivienne. Freya scowled at her, annoyed that Vivienne would flirt so ostentatiously with the man her friend was one day destined to marry! How that woman could provoke her ire without realising it (or was she deliberately flirting with Pendragon to get back at Gwen for stealing the heart of Gawain- the man whom Vivienne had professed herself so in love with, before he had confessed his adoration for Gwen?) .The Duke also seemed exceptionally displeased with her wide and wonton behaviour.
The Duchess stepped away from the party, after greeting the party, to see that the normally magnificent ballroom had been transformed into ice palace that she requested. The ceilings had been draped in pale blue silk coverings there were several white- clothed tables topped with glistening, clear ice sculptures of angels, all before the top table, which was the designated table for the Duke, Duchess, Lady Freya, the party from Camelot, and- provided that she recovered from this mysterious- and probably feigned illness.
Lady Guinevere didn't recover from her sudden illness, and unfortunately didn't make it to the feast- much to the Duke's suspicion and displeasure, but the dinner and the entertainment went on throughout the night. Arthur and Vivienne continued their grating flirting, this time provoking the ire of not only Freya, but the entire hall. Uther and the Duke sat next to each other in an awkward silence, having run out of conversation ideas, and the Duchess spent her time engaging in amusing conversation with Morgana. The ballet dancers slipped and slid through the hall gracefully, and the orchestra and opera singers warbled on for the entire evening. It was, all in all, a success.
Gwen, in the meantime, sat alone in her chambers, a glass of wine in her hand, and the prince if Camelot in her thoughts. He was handsome, she conceded, but everything about him and his behaviour was totally unacceptable to her. He drank occasionally- but then so did everyone. He was a flirt and a womaniser, and she doubted that he would possess the ability to remain faithful to her if she ever was to marry him.
Guinevere was jogged from her thoughts when a frankly hideous sound escaped through her open window. A very human noise. She sauntered cautiously over, and peeked out the window, to her disgust, seeing the Prince leaning over… Vivienne, and… well… taking her against a wall. Guinevere felt the bile rise up from her throat. Overpowered by a feeling of disgust, she picked up the near pitcher of wine and dumped it over the lovers, angrily shouting "Grow up!" out of the window. She numbly walked over and sat on the bed, feeling the betrayal keenly. Why…why. I thought Viv was my friend. HE was my future husband. She… he… I thought… I was wrong. One thing was made up in her mind that night. She would never, on any account, ever, marry Prince Arthur of Camelot.