Not even in the pages of her fairy books had Abriella seen such riches and extravagance. Thick, vibrant tapestries hung along the brown stonewalls, soft, intricate carpets padded the cold stone floors. The candle sconces were cold, encrusted in every color and type jewel imaginable, and some beyond the imagination. The room where she was escorted, rather quickly, was furnished with dark oak desks and chairs, polished so that you could see your face in them.
There was a man standing behind one of these desks, the biggest and shiniest desk, and he was as rich and extravagant as the castle. A large golden crown sat precariously atop his graying head, and his large caterpillar eyebrows drew together in some negative emotion that Abriella could not foresee. He was a short man, shorter than the Prince, who was as tall as Abriella, who was not the tallest creature ever to have lived. The caterpillars shot upward, and the King's faded, thin lips parted to speak.
"Timothy… who is this?" Abriella was about to introduce herself, when the prince interjected.
"The Princess Abriella. An enchanted princess, forced to live in a tower for fifty years. I rescued her, and now she is pledged to be my bride. Her kingdom has long since fallen to greater armies, vaster empires, and she is friendless, hopeless, without me." Abriella's mouth fell open, her eyes grew huge. She most definitely was not fifty years old! And she had never been a princess. Her father had been a woodsman, her mother a barmaid. The very thought of royal blood running in her veins was laughable. Even if she knew of her heritage, which she didn't, she was sure her ancestors were nothing but woodsmen and barmaids since the beginning of time. And she was about to say so when the old king spoke once more.
"Really. She's quite the looker isn't she? Hair's unusually long." Abriella felt like a horse or cow being examined before being bought. She didn't like the feeling, and she would have said so if she hadn't been interrupted.
"Yes, she has beautiful hair," said the prince. "I've never seen hair that color before."
"Yes, almost blinding. And you're going to marry her?"
"Yes. You have no problems with it I assume. Not that I would care if you did. I shall do as I please, as I always have. Where is mother?" The Prince said all this in a single breath, jumping from point to point, from thought to thought, with an illogical stream that baffled Abriella. But Prince Timothy's father seemed to follow him quite fine.
"No, no problems with it whatsoever. Your mother is still sleeping. Though it is past noon. She has always preferred her bed to actual life." And then for the first time, the king actually addressed Abriella. "When do you get up in the mornings? Glenda doesn't usually rise till one or two hours after noon. Useless." Abriella was about to answer that she was usually an early riser when the prince yelled at his father.
"Do not waste her time with such trite questions. She is exhausted from her journey and whole ordeal and must rest now. I might see you at dinner tonight father." And with that, Prince Timothy pulled Abriella from the room, mouth hanging open, words, unsaid, on the tip of her tongue. She matched her pace to his as he escorted her down a long hallway, where she was finally able to let loose the flow of words that had fallen unspoken on her lips.
"Are you taking me to a room? To sleep?" There was so much that had just happened that she had no idea what to respond to first.
"No, we're going to meet my mother," replied the prince.
"But you said" she was cut off.
"No, I said nothing that implied you were to waste your time sleeping. There are more important things to be done."
"You never asked me to marry you." The Prince stopped his rapid walk, and turned sharply to face his self-proclaimed bride to be.
"What are you saying?" His tone was sharp and dangerous, but it only gave courage to Abriella.
"You introduced me as your fiancé, and you've never said one word to me about it. I've just met you. We don't know one thing about each other, let alone love each other. How can we marry?"
"I am the prince, you are a beautiful maiden, whom I've rescued, what else is supposed to happen?"
"You did not rescue me. Witch let me go."
"Witches don't let people go! Are you insane? You were in desperate danger and I rescued you!"
"Desperate danger!? You are the one who is insane!" Abriella realized that she had said the wrong thing when she felt the hard cold surface of the wall slam against her back. The prince held her throat in a vice like grip, his fingers pressing into the fragile white of her neck.
"I would not say such things if I were you." There was a lethal note to his voice that chilled her very soul. Closing her eyes, she pushed back the fearful cries that pressed to escape, and slightly, with as much movement as he would allow, motioned with a slight head nod that she understood him. Abruptly losing his grip and stepping back, he brushed his clothes off, as if cleaning dust off himself, and turned to face the dark expanse of hallway. "Now," he said, "let us go visit mother. She'll be delighted to meet my lovely bride."
Evan and Christopher had managed to enter the castle without running into either Evan's father or his older brother Geoff, both of whom were likely to waste their time with boring lectures on propriety and official royal business. Neither young man wished to be forced into such encounters when there was a new intrigue about; namely the longhaired beauty whom Timothy had brought home. After inquiring over the prince's whereabouts with a castle guard, they headed off towards the King's office chambers, intent on being a part of whatever action was unfolding there.
But their luck ran out.
"Excuse me," a chambermaid, one of the queen's in fact, rushed at them from some hidden hallway. "Lord Evan! The Queen has heard of your return to the castle and has expressed a desire for your company."
"Well what if I have no desire for her company?" Evan raised an inquiring eyebrow, but then dismissed his rebellious thoughts when he saw the look of horror that passed over the poor girl's face. She would probably be screamed at, beaten, or worse, if she did not deliver what she had been set out to bring back. He could not do that to the girl. Even if it meant sacrificing himself. With a great heave of a sigh, he resigned himself to his wretched fate, and followed the chambermaid into the lavishly decorated Queen's Rooms.
The Queen lay in bed, as usual, drowning in gauzy fabrics and scented perfumes. She was a large woman, whose only daily activity was when she got up to go to the privy. But she had once been a beauty. That was still obvious, though years of pampering and laziness had robbed her of her slim figure. Her hair was long and blonde, her eyes a pale, ghostly blue.
"Good afternoon Aunt Glenda," said Evan, stepping into the room and taking a seat that was a comfortable and far distance from the bed on which the Queen lay. Christopher, having no royal blood whatsoever, stayed standing at the door, as was proper. As Evan's squire, he was to go where Evan went, but because he came from common descent, he had to keep his distance from royalty whenever the situation arose.
"Evan," sang the Queen, "You have been away for so long. Surely you will come closer so that your Queen may see how you've grown into a big strong man." She was looking at Evan in the way that Evan had never particularly liked, the way she had looked at him, ever since the work he did with sword and horse had begun to show in his appearance. Two things had become increasingly important to the Queen. One, that she and Evan were not blood related, and two, that he not call her aunt. And so he did, of course, call her aunt every single time he addressed her. To remind her that such titles mattered very much to him, and that such distinctions as blood aunt or not did not matter at all. An aunt was an aunt, no matter what.
"I am comfortable here Aunt Glenda, and I have not changed a bit since I was eighteen years old."
"Come now Evan, we must forget such formal titles as 'aunt'. Really, you'll make a young woman feel old."
"But you've been my aunt since I was born I'm afraid, so I have no option but to address you as such, unless you find Queen Glenda more appropriate." He smothered a cocky smile and stifled his temptation to tease her and bate her as he had when he was young and just beginning to realize that she wasn't perhaps the smartest person in the world.
The Queen did not like the direction this conversation was going. It was not as she had planned. So she changed her tactics. She had bated many a man to her bed by trickery and was not above it now. Signaling a servant, she had a plate of pastries put in front of her young, handsome nephew. "You must be exhausted and starving after your journey. Why not have a bite to eat."
Exhausted? Starving! Evan had been back in town for two weeks now. He almost laughed out loud at the queen's preposterous presumption that he had come to see her as soon as he had returned. "No thank you my aunt, but I am as always, grateful for your overwhelming hospitality." Evan was starting to feel anxious. The queen was leering at him in a very uncomfortable fashion and Christopher was holding back snickering over by the door.
The door opened, and stately and noisily, Prince Timothy entered the room. He was closely followed by the golden haired beauty. Evan forgot his discomfort, though it should have been increased at being found at a personal interlude with the Queen, and focused completely on the mysterious girl. She looked frightened. Why did she look frightened? He had never seen a scared princess before. They were so entirely self-assured and overwhelmingly confidant that they never feared anything. Or else they were too stupid to be scared.
"Mother!" exclaimed the prince, "how are you?"
"Just having a little conversation with your cousin, newly returned from some grand adventure or another." Prince Timothy acknowledged his cousin's presence for the first time.
"Hello Evan. I didn't know you had been sent anywhere."
"I wasn't. I went of my own accord." Evan spoke absentmindedly, noticing that the girl stood silently behind the prince, head bowed, gaze on the floor. "But cousin, I believe you're forgetting something of some importance."
"Oh? Really? What would that be?"
Evan motioned to the rigid form standing behind the prince, with the pool of dazzling hair that flowed behind her. "Would you like to introduce us to your new friend? Or are we to guess her name and how she came to be here with you today?"
The Prince laughed. "This is the Princess Abriella. I rescued her from a witch, and now she has agreed to be my bride." Everyone in the room looked anew at the quiet girl standing behind the prince. The queen looked suspiciously, she never trusted any woman with her son; she knew what it was that women wanted and that they, as she had, would do anything to get it. Power, money, fame, all could be obtained by a pretty face. And this girl was very pretty. All the more reason not to trust her.
Evan looked more closely at her, trying to see signs of abuse from some magic villain, trying to see some maidenly blush at the announcement of her engagement, trying to see some sort of happiness or excitement, anything except for this outer show of fear and uncertainty.
Christopher gaped openly. He knew that the prince's bride would be beautiful, but he had no idea that Prince Timothy, King of all Jerks, would end up marrying the most beautiful woman in the world. It was insane. In the end, Christopher decided that she must be just as horrible as the prince, and was satisfied with his judgment.
Abriella squirmed. She had never been scrutinized by so many people before. It was decidedly uncomfortable.
The queen spoke first, breaking the contemplative silence that had fell upon the inhabitants of the royal chambers. "Step closer girl. And lift your chin. Someone might think that you are some timid chamber maid the way you hang you head. Where's your pride? You are a princess!" The queen scrutinized the this new threat. She was undeniably beautiful. Her face was soft and seemed to be untouched; by time, by talking, by human contact, by the world. There was a slight glaze of tears over her crystal blue eyes, and the queen knew that she had probably already been properly introduced to her son's habits. No, the girl was not the most beautiful the queen had ever seen. Though her hair, her hair pushed her beauty over the edge. Where she would merely have been considered a pretty girl, verging on beautiful, her hair made her devastatingly gorgeous. And Queen Glenda was not comfortable with this at all.
But something nagged at her. There was something about the princess, not just her beauty, that bothered the Queen. What was it? If only she could pinpoint it, she would be able to relax. But it, whatever it was eluded her. She grew tired of the distractions. Even though she loved her son, and knew she should keep an eye on the new golden haired power seeker, there was something she wanted far more at the moment. And he, she saw from the corner of her eye, was walking toward the door. While she had been deep in thought, staring at Princess Abriella who was now obediently staring at some point on the ceiling, her nephew and her son, who had never liked each other really, had gotten into an argument. She wasn't sure of the details, just that their voices had risen to spectacular heights before nephew Evan had started to stomp toward the door.
"Evan! Wait dear boy, where are you going? We've barely begun renewing our acquaintance!" He didn't hear her. Or he didn't care. He was a stupid boy really, but just so deliciously handsome with all that dark hair and those unusual green eyes.
The queen didn't notice when everyone else filed out after Evan's stormy departure. She was hardly even aware that the world still went on, that life still insisted on being lived. Nothing in the world existed except for a pair of deep green eyes.