9- Just Friends
November faded slowly into December, the days were becoming shorter and the sky darkened. Many a time Daria found herself curled up in the Palace's great library with a good book and the fire crackling merrily before her, casting huge shadows on the walls and stacked shelves. Usually, she could lose herself in a book, become intrigued with its intricate plot, and forget everything that was happening around her. But for the past few weeks, her mind was consumed with thoughts of the few whispered sentences she had heard at the Presentation Ball. What did it mean? Who was Freidman really, and what was it that he was hiding? What was this 'plan'? Could they be in danger? Thoughts like these consumed her mind, it was, she thought, eating her up. She had confided all her worries to Marsha, who brushed off her concerns as paranoia, and to Eleanor through a long-winded letter and now impatiently awaited her reply.
Since Christine's coming-out ball, the debutante had been bombarded with gifts; flowers mostly and invitations to any and every occasion, be it a ball or a garden party. Daria was not surprised by the level of admirers that called for Christine, yet she couldn't help feeling slightly annoyed. Christine, pleasantly surprised by the interest in her, seemed to ignore everyone else and spent an awful amount of time in the company of the Prince and his sister, earning the jealousy and envy of the entire palace. Daria saw nothing to be jealous about, she was rather happy for Christine. It seemed, if things went according to plan, that Christine and the Prince would be engaged by the end of the year. Daria anticipated it yet feared it. Things would be different once they were married. Everything would change.
The creaking of the library doors pulled her from her reverie and Daria looked up but her forehead creased in annoyance as a bookcase blocked her view of the doors and who had entered. She sighed and turned her attention back to her forgotten book.
"Lady Daria, how do you do?" His silky, smooth voice sent a chilling shiver up her spine. Her eyes flew up to his and their gazes locked for an instance before Daria stood and curtsied shortly.
"Lord Freidman," she replied, with a curt nod. Her hands, clasped in front of her, started to sweat but she didn't wipe them, lest he realised she was nervous. Her eyes trailed to the books he carried in his arms.
"I've fulfilled my promise to you, better late than never, as they say," he chuckled, with his deep, chilling voice. He dropped the books on the sturdy table before the fireplace and Daria, who had only now remembered his promise, mumbled a thank you very much, you're too kind. Hands in pockets, Freidman assessed her, his green eyes boring into her.
"Are you sure you are well? You look pale, child," he noted. Daria growled inwardly at being referred to as a 'child', she was nothing of the sort! How could she tell him what was on her mind, when it was he who perplexed her so much?
"Please sit, Lady Daria, it would do you some good, I'm sure," he waved her into a seat and sat close by, the leaping, licking flames of the fire reflected in his stony eyes. It made him look strange.
"How did you know where to find me?" Daria asked, the question rolling off her tongue before she could stop it. She was filled with questions. This man was a puzzle. And she was determined to solve it.
A small smile curved the edges of his pale, white lips and he responded at once,
"Your friend Lady Marsha was kind enough to fill me in with knowledge of your whereabouts."
Silence.
"Oh." Daria brushed some hair back that had fallen from her neat bun.
He smiled at her, before standing and pacing slowly before the fire.
"How does your cousin, Lady Christine, and the Prince fair?"
Perhaps it was an ordinary question, maybe a little too nosy but it was something in the way he had said it that Daria didn't like. She was naturally a very guarded person, but Friedman made her even more so.
"They…my cousin is in good health. As to the Prince's health, I would not know."
"Come now," he said, leaning against the fireplace, and running a short, fat hand through his silvery-grey hair. "You and I both know what I meant." When Daria didn't reply to this but only raised an eyebrow, he gave a deep sigh and continued, "The whole Palace is awaiting their engagement. Kyrria is filled with talk of change, revolution, wondering whether this means if King Silas will be abdicating soon. Wondering whether Prince Jerrold could ever be the King his drunkard of a father never was."
Daria soaked this all in. "And what do you think?" From her seat in an armchair, shadows leapt across the floor, Freidman's huge shadow loomed behind him, terrifying and dark.
He laughed; a deep, cold laugh that she was becoming accustomed to. He walked towards her slowly; a confident saunter and circled behind her chair. Daria's heartbeat quickened. Snaking his head around, he whispered, barely audible in her ear,
"What I think would be treachery." And then he was leaving and Daria stared after him, numb and not sure of what she had heard.
"Return the books whenever you wish," he threw carelessly over his shoulder before the doors shut firmly behind him. And Daria, filled with more questions than ever, gathered the books and left the library; in search of Christine.
-
"Would you like to accompany Jerrold and I on a picnic?" Christine asked shyly, her cheeks flushed red. She twisted a golden curl around her finger.
"Oh," Daria murmured, caught off guard. Instantly excuses popped up to the forefront of her brain. "You seem to be spending rather a lot of time with him lately," Daria said absently. Christine opened her mouth to retort, her crystal blue eyes wide.
"All I'm saying," said Daria, raising a hand "Is for you to be careful. I don't want to see you hurt. Becoming the wife of a Prince is a serious business."
Christine rolled her eyes. "Oh now you're just being silly! How many times must I tell you that Jerrold and I are just friends? Rather good friends, I admit, but still." Christine rose from her seat and walked away with a spring in her step and an almost secretive smile on her face.
It didn't fool Daria. She wasn't clueless. "We're leaving right this minute, I suppose. We wouldn't want to keep dear Jerrold waiting, now would we?" She added, "And, my dear cousin, you can't just be friends with someone of the opposite gender." Daria's words stopped Christine in her tracks. She turned around slowly with a quizzical expression on her pale face.
"You mean you are coming?" she asked, ignoring the latter statement.
She was only going for Christine's safety, nothing else. If she got into trouble, it would be on Daria's head.
"I'm glad to see you're so happy about it," Daria replied sarcastically, getting up from her seat by the window and casting her eyes around the room for her bonnet. "Why? Are you disappointed you won't have some time alone with Jerrold?" Daria teased, though her face was serious.
Christine scoffed, flicking her golden hair back and smoothing down her pink gown. "Of course not! It'll be fantastic that you're coming along. Come now, we don't want to be late."
Christine held the door open and Daria groaned mentally. What had she let herself in for?
-
It was not that she hated Jerrold. No, maybe that was too strong a word for what she felt. It was more that she disliked him…very much. Maybe it was the way that he was so full of himself that got on her nerves. Or that loathsome smirk on his face that did it, but Daria knew, as she sat across from her cousin and the Prince as they fed each other strawberries, that she would never like him (curse the day when and if they were related), she could barely manage being courteous to him. The glare on her face said that much.
"Don't you like my brother?"
Daria flinched.
Helena sat beside her on the soft, silken blanket and looked at her through innocent blue eyes, her strawberry blonde hair framing her soft, elegant features. Daria smiled politely at the younger girl, colouring slightly, embarrassed of the first time they had met-well, seen each other.
She said, "Of course I do!" So it was a lie, but who didn't lie once or twice to save their head, in Daria's case it would've been in the literal sense if she'd told the truth.
"Oh good, I couldn't bear it if you didn't like him. Jerrold is my…hero," she explained in her soft, quiet voice. Daria frowned slightly before glancing at Christine and him. Why would he be her hero? Maybe hero was an exaggeration. Maybe she was only saying that for talk.
"I am awfully looking forward to the Winter Ball." Christine cut into her thoughts with an excited sigh. Daria snorted loudly, Helena smiled slightly at Daria's rude action and Jerrold chuckled-not at Daria but Christine.
"We have weeks to go yet," he said, taking a huge bite of apple pie.
"I assume then that you have decided on what you're going to wear?" Daria asked sarcastically, looking at him in distaste. He assessed her profile briefly; Daria had never felt more peeved in her life. "I'll always look better in my choice of clothing than you ever will." Daria glowered. Who did he think he was? Yes, the Prince, but apart from that? He had no right insulting her like that. She looked to Christine for help, but she was lost in a mindless discussion with Helena about the coming Ball. It irritated her to no end- ball after miserable ball. Jerrold smirked when he didn't receive a retort, showing off those annoying pearly whites. He picked up a few pears and an orange and started juggling them, already bored with the topic that his sister and Christine were discussing. Daria sat, back stiff and straight, as he showed off. She narrowed her eyes at him from behind her glasses and looked away. She turned her attentions to her surroundings, tightening her thick shawl around her shoulders. They were outside, picnicking beside a shallow lake; the Palace just in view. They had hoped to catch the last rays of warmth autumn offered before the cold and dead season of winter set in. Whose idea had it been? It'd been a bad one. Daria's teeth chattered in the cold. Helena's exuberant cheers at Jerrold's antics brought Daria back to her senses. Helena's gentle clapping with her gloved hands amused Daria; it was obvious that she'd been taught how to clap 'correctly'. Jerrold was counting his number of juggles under his breath and he reached forty-eight before he failed to catch a pear. And they were getting excited over that?
"Oh," Christine said at his failure. "You're very good at it."
"A very good score indeed Jerrold. No one could beat you," Helena said, smiling proudly at her brother.
Daria, sick of all the flattery and bright smiles, scowled and snatched the fruit from his hands. Jerrold frowned, probably remembering the last time he, Daria and a piece of fruit had come into contact with each other. Daria smiled knowingly.
"If I beat his Highness's score, then…" Then what? She didn't want anything. She would be content in the knowledge that someone could beat perfect, precious Jerrold. That was all she needed.
So with her cousin and royalty's eyes on her, she started.
It was easy; nothing to it really. The fruit soared through the air, landing nimbly back into her grasping hands. Her eyes were round, wide and alert. She would not fail. It sounded silly. They were competing over juggling. But Daria was determined to outshine his Royal-Pain-In-The-Neck. She, unlike Jerrold, was not being cheered on. Helena sat, daintily eating a scone. Christine was nattering away, though she watched Daria's progress avidly.
Jerrold remained stony-faced as Daria juggled and snatched the fruit out of the air when she'd reached forty-nine.
"Bravo!" Helena yelled.
Smiling smugly, Daria turned to her, ignoring Jerrold's sour face. "Do you want a go, Your Highness?"
"I couldn't possibly," Helena said. "I don't know how." She sounded embarrassed.
"Oh, give it here," Jerrold pulled the fruit from Daria's hands roughly and with a glare from Daria, he started, and the whole sorry process began again much to Christine's annoyance and Daria's vexation. Helena clapped and Daria groaned, glaring at her rival.
-
Rubbing her gloved hands together, Daria took a brief pause before turning the page of the book she was reading. It was most interesting; about dragons, fiends and fairies. Daria, though she was more than two and twenty years old could never, and hoped would never lose the excitement she developed once picking up a book. Books, she thought, were what the stars had been to her father; the love of her life. She was reading aloud to the Princess, her voice shaking slightly at the emotional scene unfolding before her, '…And Jadien looked on in despair as Soas took off, his deep black wings melting into the air that caressed Jadien's raven locks…' when out of nowhere, a hand snatched her near-finished book and flicked through it.
"What is this rubbish you're reading to my sister?" Jerrold yelled, his stony grey eyes narrowed as he scanned the contents of the book.
Daria stood up, though it barely made a difference as Jerrold towered over her. She tried to snatch the book out of his hands but he'd been expecting it and moved the book away, just out of her reach. She growled and made another attempt to snatch it from him, to no avail. Jerrold laughed. Daria stopped, angry but realising she wouldn't win this one and stood with her arms crossed and eyes flashing.
"Brother, please don't be a tease," Helena said diplomatically, "We've nearly finished."
"I don't want her filling your head with nonsense," Jerrold said firmly.
Helena stood. "As if it isn't already!" Jerrold looked surprised and Helena elaborated, it was only then that Daria noticed Christine, Marsha and Lord Morgan Levin trailing towards them, deep in their own conversations. Lord Levin, much like Prince Jerrold was donned in a white shirt and breeches, but for some unanswered reason Daria's heart sped up and she was quite sure she was colouring. What was wrong with her? Was she coming down with something? Lord Levin looked up suddenly and caught her staring; their gazes locked before Daria heard her name mentioned, jumped and turned back to the problem in hand.
"…Daria doesn't even knit, paint or learn how to sit, I don't see why I-"
"Then Daria is worse off." He glared at her here. "And you are the Princess of Kyrria and are expected to know; your husband expects-"
Someone coughed and Jerrold stopped, seeming to remember that they weren't alone. He ran a hand through his dark hair.
"Lord Levin…" Helena said in surprise, blushing prettily.
"How do you do your highness?" he asked courteously, the dashing smile on his face making Daria's heart miss a beat. She watched as they exchanged greetings, Jerrold watching the pair closely, before Lord Levin turned towards Daria.
"I don't believe we've met. Lord Morgan Levin," he said, bowing his head slightly.
Before Daria could speak, Jerrold cut in, "This is Lady Daria Antranig."
A secret; hidden look passed between the Prince and Lord Levin before Lord Levin smiled mischievously.
"Ah! The lady I've heard so much about," he said and Daria frowned inwardly.
"All good things I hope," she said, her eyes flickering towards Jerrold.
"We'll not go into th-"
"Morgan and I were going to have our game of jousting now, anyone want to come and cheer me on?" Jerrold interrupted.
"As if you need it," Lord Levin rolled his eyes, extending his arm to Christine who took it with a smile. Daria thought she saw Helena frown but couldn't be too sure as Jerrold was pulling her away.
Marsha smiled as she entwined Daria's arm with hers and started following after the others at a distance.
"Jousting?" Daria asked quizzically. "I thought only knights did that."
"I've heard that the Prince won't stop until he learns everything that he can possibly learn," Marsha said admiringly.
"Well, he has responsibilities you know, he always seems to be with Christine or playing, when does he ever get anything done?"
"I honestly don't know Daria," Marsha sighed. "Maybe you should ask him." Daria scoffed.
"Yes, maybe the next time we have a civilised conversation; in other words, never."
There was a comfortable silence as the two followed after the others onto one of the level fields far from the view of the Palace. Some benches had been placed there and Christine and Helena were already sitting down, giggling quietly when Lord Levin smiled at them. Daria and Marsha exchanged looks. Two squires were already there, talking amiably as they untethered two large, muscular horses. Jerrold stroked the muzzle of his sable coloured horse, whispering into its ears. The two men turned to their squires who fitted their plate armoury onto them. As Daria and Marsha sat on the bench, Marsha coughed.
"That Friedman was looking for you earlier…"
Daria sighed heavily.
"Did you really have to tell him where I was?" When Marsha looked apologetic, Daria continued. "There's something about him, I can't really place it, but he's strange. Dangerous too you know."
Jerrold and Lord Levin were inspecting their lances, assessing the weight of them in their gauntlets.
"Dangerous?" Marsha's eyebrows were raised. "Strange word to use."
"It's…nothing. Sometimes he says the strangest things," Daria didn't feel like elaborating so was pleased when Jerrold and Lord Levin started towards the four girls.
"We'll talk about this later," Marsha said finally, almost worriedly.
Helena stood, pulling out something from one of her sleeves. The others stood also, lest they were rude.
Helena looked between the two men unsurely and then tied her silk handkerchief onto Lord Levin's lance. A tense moment passed in which Jerrold's eyebrows rose, Helena coloured and Lord Levin pierced Helena with an intent look. Christine giggled.
"Don't worry Jerrold, I support you," she said, placing her small handkerchief on his lance.
Jerrold smirked, "I knew I could trust you." Christine beamed like a little girl who had just received a present.
Marsha, who was next, hesitated but eventually tied her bright red handkerchief onto Jerrold's lance, who grinned arrogantly.
Daria realised it would be totally unfair to allow Jerrold to have more support than Lord Levin; it had nothing to do with the fact that she disliked Jerrold and had unanswered feelings towards Lord Levin. No, nothing to do with it at all.
Tying her crumpled but thankfully not used handkerchief to the end of Lord Levin's lance who she received a heart-melting smile from; Daria took her seat, before noting the bitter look on Jerrold's face. Smiling slightly at his sour expression she ignored Marsha's questions about Freidman and watched the men walk away towards their horses, deciding to enjoy what came of the match.
A/N: Odd chapter, odd ending? Hmm, well, what can I say? -sorry- It's been more than -title of this story- since I updated last. Anyway, I want to say a huge thanks to anyone who's sticking around!
Thanks to these wonderful reviewers: (You're great:)
LondonLi, Starry-Eyed Jester, flammingirl, Lady Emma, Justwriter2, lazy, joy, what fun, katie, enchanted-korean, caethilia mordon, breathless74, Eve, Leah Kesri, hphgrw, Sarah AND lemurperson!
You're all sosweet!
If you've read this please review because feedback would be appreciated:-)