Chapter Two
By the time Adam and his companion reached the Palace stables, he was a little more settled. Not a great deal more, but enough so that riding up to a spacious Palace didn't completely unnerve him; enough so that as he dismounted and handed the reins to the groom, he didn't stare in complete shock as the man addressed him as "Highness." He also managed to catch his companion's name as the groom nodded a greeting to "Lord Hagen."
He listened intently to the words that Hagen said as they made their way into the palace proper, hoping that the man would say something useful that might give him a hint of what was going on. He also tried to walk slowly without seeming to do so while he took in his surroundings.
The corridors they walked along were tiled, and the walls that were not covered with rich tapestries were also tiled with mosaics forming pictures. The mosaics told stories, of kings and queens, knights and lords, and Adam wished that he had time to slow and take it all in. There were windows, some of stained and colored glass, permitting the outside light to filter in and cast rainbow patterns across the floors and walls. Servants, liveried in violet and white, or white and gold, bustled around them, bowing and nodding as he and Hagen strolled casually past. As they passed a group of guards, clothed in rich burgundy and deep violet, with burnished gold breastplates, Adam suddenly felt a bit under dressed in the riding leathers.
They came to a halt before a set of heavy, double doors, where a guard stood on each side. Dressed as splendidly as the other guards Adam and Hagen had passed, with swords sheathed at their sides and a hardness to their eyes that could only have come from years of doing what it was they did. There was no doubt in Adam's mind, he had entered into another world.
"Your Highness," one guard greeted him with a bow, the other a simple nod. "His Majesty has been waiting for you."
Nothing more was said, and Adam belatedly realized that he was supposed to speak. He smiled tightly and said, simply, "I'm here."
The guard smiled, "That you are, milord." Then turning, he opened the doors and a called out in a loud sonorous voice, "His Highness, the High Prince Adam Aldaric and His Lordship, Hagen of Loraig to the audience of His Majesty."
Adam blinked and stepped forward, hoping that those sort of announcements would not be given every time he entered a room. It would give him a complex very quickly, especially when he knew that he was not the High Prince Adam Aldaric.
Hagen followed a step behind him, muttering about etiquette and decorum. They were words that Adam had to agree with — the announcement had been more than a little overdone.
The doors closed loudly behind them, and after flinching at the sound, Adam turned to look around the room they had been ushered into. It was not a great hall or any such chamber; there wasn't a throne in sight. Rather, it appeared to be a study of a sort. Several bookcases lined the walls, and a large, ornate desk decorated the far corner. There were a few arm chairs, and an additional table took up the center of the room.
Behind the desk stood a man, bent in conversation with an older man. He apparently had ignored the announcement, but as the doors echoed soundly shut, his attention moved and he turned to look at Adam.
Adam felt his heart stop and his blood congeal.
This could not be happening.
But it was.
The king was his father. Not in the sense that he had usurped the place of the true prince of this kingdom, but the king — the man wearing rich robes and speaking softly to an older man — was his father. He wore the face of the man Adam had not seen since he was a very small child. He had the dark, hard eyes that Adam knew only from old photographs, and the same nose that Adam saw every day in the mirror. He was more broad of shoulder, with a thick, dark and graying beard, the dark hair of his temples also streaked with gray. Small wrinkles curled near the corners of his eyes, and he was older than the man Adam recalled from photographs, but it was the man — or at least the mirror of the man — from whom Adam had received half of his genetic material.
Harsh, perhaps, but that was the only way that Adam could think of his father. He thought that he had grown accustomed to the painful absence of the man in his life; standing before this exact replica, he realized that he had not.
The man, his father, the king, looked up at their entry. Dark eyes raked over Adam, and he involuntarily flinched as he felt himself being weighed and measured . . . and falling up short. Disapproval flickered in the older man's eyes as he divided his attention between Adam and Hagen. Finally his eyes rested on Adam and he made a loud 'harumph' type sound.
Even the voice bore the familiar chill of memory, tearing open old scars. "I'm going to have to make it an edict, aren't I, Adam?"
At a loss, in more ways than one, Adam blinked and swallowed. He paused a moment, unsure of how to address this man who was his father — or his counterpart's father — but also the king. Did he call him Majesty? Should he have bowed upon entry? Did he call him Father? Dad? Poppa?
Adam finally settled for a low murmured, "Make what an edict?"
"Your appointment with the Master Tailor. Your riding clothes look worse than my rogue nephew's there," the dark eyes darted to Hagen with those words, and the young lord merely smirked as though those words were not only something he heard every day, but something he took pride in. "The Master Tailor, Adam. If you do not send for him on the morrow, then I shall do it myself. A few minutes of measurements and that's all that is required —"
"We'll do it tomorrow, Uncle. I'll take Adam there if I have to roll him in a canvas rug and toss him over my horse." Hagen winked at Adam as he said the words, and something about the young lord's smile made Adam wonder what precisely the joke was, because obviously he had missed it.
The king lifted his eyebrows, staring at Hagen. He appeared to be on the verge of saying something, then shook his head dismissively and returned his attention to Adam, "If you do not go on the morrow, I will send word to Stewart and see that your are escorted there by an armed guard if necessary.
"You are getting married in two months, Adam. Not only is your riding garb unfit to be worn for chasing squirrels, let's not speak of what is required for the royal hunt, I've heard tale that you still have not been properly fitted for your wedding clothes?"
Adam needed to take a step back. He needed to think, he needed to breathe, and if at all possible, he very much needed to wake up. He needed time to adjust, time to sort through odds and ends and bits and pieces, he needed to make sense of the madness. Right now, he was a fish out of water, and he didn't like the confusion. In less than an hour, he'd somehow become a prince and discovered that he was getting married. Well, his counterpart was getting married; hopefully in two months time, he would be home again.
He realized the king was waiting for a response. He considered his words again, taking his cue from Hagen who showed no fear or dislike of the man before them. The man whom even in this world, Adam couldn't seem to please, but perhaps in this world, he was simply more accustomed to it.
"I'm sorry, Father. I forgot. Two months still seems pretty far away."
The king's response was the last thing Adam expected. His eyes flashed, and quite suddenly a bright smile broke out across his steely features. The smile even danced in his eyes as he laughed, deeply and loudly, reaching out and clapping Adam roughly on the shoulder. "I sometimes forget how frivolously youth spends time. Pretty far away, eh? Tell that to your mother. Tell that to the Damia Reina."
Still smiling, the king took a rolled scroll from the older man with whom he had been speaking when Adam and Hagen entered. Adam was startled to realize the man was still there, as he stepped away and managed to fade nearly completely into the shadows. He unrolled the scroll, presenting both edges to Adam. "If this treaty were not so important, I would think say that this woman oversteps her bounds. As it is, in private counsel, I shall still say it, simply do not let your mother know those words even passed my lips.
"The requests of the Damia Reina of Albarasque."
More confused than ever before, namely because he knew that the title was supposed to mean something to him and it meant absolutely nothing, Adam took the scroll. He glanced down at it hesitantly, for the first time wondering about the mechanics of language. Just because he seemed to be speaking English, didn't mean that he would be able to read whatever these people considered written language.
Adam glanced down at the scroll, and noted with some dismay that his assertion had been correct. He couldn't read the scroll at all. He couldn't even decipher . . . Adam paused in thought and peered at the scroll again. It was written in . . . French. And Spanish. And Italian. Actually, it seemed to be some combination of French, Spanish and Italian, but leaned heavily towards a bizarre mixture of French and Spanish. And he could read French, and a little bit of Spanish, although he would have a terrible time speaking either language.
"Master Ilarms has translated it for me, but I thought that you would like to read it for yourself," his father continued. "I am giving you charge and responsibility for seeing to the Damia Reina's 'requests.' Your first act of state is to accommodate your new bride and royal in-laws."
Adam looked from the scroll, to the king, and back again. He was supposed to be able to read this thing? With no outside help?
"So, what does it say, cousin?" Hagen prompted, peering over his shoulder. "Or have you been wasting Master Ilarms time only pretending to learn Albarasque?"
The old man, who had been blending into the shadows, coughed and snorted. "I'll say he's been wasting my time. Still can barely speak a word of it, but I suppose that he can always write notes to his bride."
Adam sighed and realized that he was not going to find anyway out of this. He just hoped that his knowledge of French and Spanish would be enough to get him through. "His royal majesty . . . High King Martine . . ." Adam stumbled over the name because even it was a derivative of his father's name, " . . . of the Lion Throne of Stiborn. Bearer of the Lion Staff and —"
"Oh, skip all that," his father interjected. "It's a lot of flowery language simply meant to soften the blow for what comes later. We have spent months preparing a private section of the castle of the Damia and her daughter and their entourage, and what does she ask for? A private estate! She does not want to risk the possibility of the Damiar being 'polluted' before the wedding ceremony. What do you say to that? To the thought of us polluting the Damiar?"
"It's a different culture," Adam stumbled over the words, hoping that his assessment was accurate, but basing it solely on the only differences he saw so far — the odd titles and the different language. "They have different . . . rules for this type of thing."
Again, the king smiled and nodded. "Good. You've learned more than Master Ilarms or I thought you had."
Hagen smirked again and Adam groaned inwardly as he realized the question had been a test of some sort. He really needed to get out of here before he said or did something that gave him away as an imposter.
"It's of vital importance to the Damia that the purity of her daughter be maintained until the wedding night," the old man, Master Ilarms stepped forward again. "The child has spent nearly her entire life in a cloister, and has had little contact with even the men of her country. I have been told that she is quite well schooled in the ways of our people, but the Albarasque consider the protection of the princess — yes, well, we've been over this before haven't we?"
"Very well, then," the king nodded and took over the conversation and Adam swore to himself. He was actually getting the first bit of information that made any sense and explained something to him, and it had been snatched away because it was assumed that he already knew it. All right then, he would have to make a mental note to talk to Master Ilarms later. "I thought that Elspera Keep would do nicely."
Hagen choked and again, Adam was left dangling.
"Elspera Keep?" Adam repeated.
"I know that it sounds like a poor choice, but the Elspera Province is one of the closest to the capital. The keep is only a full day's travel, so it makes for ease of ferrying messages and other such. Lord Bial and Lady Margot should return soon from the Northern Reaches, with Lord Marmion and Lady Jadina, and I should think that this would be a fine opportunity for that ne'er do well cousin of yours to show that he has some worthiness of his title and his due.
"Besides which, your mother has a soft spot for Lady Jadina and apparently she has become a Lady to be reckoned with. I think that Lady Margot and Lady Jadina shall do well to appease and meet the needs of the Damia Reina and her entourage."
"And I'm supposed to . . ." Too late Adam realized that perhaps he had not used an appropriate tone with the king, that he might have committed a terrible faux pas.
That did not seem to be the case as the king continued to smile. "You will greet the Rueles at the Keep upon their return and inform them that they will have the honor of hosting your new bride. I'm certain that you will be able to handle whatever words fall from young Marmion's lips.
"I, in the meantime, shall have to explain to Lord Patric why this honor has fallen to the Third House of the kingdom and not the Second." The king straightened and motioned to the scroll, "I still have need of that, my son. Master Ilarms and I must compose a response to the Damia Reina. I will see that you are able to read it later. So that you may heed her words to the letter of the law."
Adam returned the scroll to the king, his head still going in circles. Hagen had already bowed politely and was heading for the door, so it was clear that they had been dismissed. With clouded thoughts, Adam said his goodbye and joined the young lord, the king's nephew, and his cousin in the corridor outside.
"Well, cousin, what say you to a visit to the Master Tailor?"
"Not now," Adam shook off the playful arm that had been slung around his shoulder. "I need to go to the library." Assuming there was one. There was always a library, right?
"Library?" Hagen stared at him. "Adam, what has gotten into you these past few weeks? I think that you know everything you need to know about Albarasque culture. Not that it matters anyway. Once the Damiar Princess is married to you, she's Stibornian. She should be worried about our culture. Which is a far cry better, if you ask me; our women aren't so ugly that we must hide them behind veils."
Adam could only stare blankly at the man before him. Could he really be that ignorant of other cultures? Yes, Adam realized, he could. This wasn't earth, which had the ability to bridge language and knowledge gaps and still bigots ran free; this was a medieval — or at least early renaissance world — where one's own culture and belief would be the right one, and all others would be wrong.
But if that was the case, why would the prince of this culture being marrying the princess of another?
"I can never know too much," Adam said after a pause. "Wouldn't want to start a war on my wedding day, would I?"
"I think you're simply afraid of the Master Tailor's daughters. But, you know, it is as I have been telling you, you should sow your wild oats now, Adam, before you are shackled and chained to a priestess mage from another land."
Priestess mage? Something clicked inside Adam's head. The word, damiar, it must be some sort of honorific referring to priestly status.
"The Damiar Princess," he whispered the words softly.
"Who will probably turn you into a toad if you displease her, and my experience says that women are easily displeased," Hagen teased and then turned serious. "Does it bother you?"
Adam tried to find a source of the non-sequitor and failed. "Does what bother me?"
"That she's stronger than you. Better than you with magic . . . that's if the rumors are to believed. That her whole line is bred from the magus past? Do you believe that part?"
"I never really thought about it," Adam said, and the words weren't a lie. *He*, Adam Newman, had never really thought about it. He didn't know if his counterpart had done so or not. "But that's why I'm marrying her isn't it? Because we're both mages?" He tried to couch the question as rhetorical and hoped that Hagen would rise to the bait.
"Yeah, with you being the first of the royal house in a long time to actually be considered a true mage, it's no wonder your father wants this union to go off without a hitch. By the gods, Adam, do you realize that if she really is as strong as they say, your heirs will — there won't be a kingdom this side of the Eternal Ocean that will want to stand against Stiborn or Albarasque."
"Politics," Adam muttered more to himself than to Hagen.
The other still picked up on it. "Of course, cousin, that's what we're born to. We're not children, we're pawns for property and title." Hagen slapped him on the shoulder, "Some of us more than others."
"I really need to go to the library, Hagen."
"I'm not surprised. I didn't think that I would talk you out of it. Fare you well then, I shall see you when we break for supper."
Adam watched him go and then turned and headed in the other direction. He got only a few steps when he realized that perhaps letting Hagen out of his company hadn't been a good idea.
Because he realized that he had no idea where the library was.
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