Part I

Chapter 1

Isabella Ivonson sat again at her window and watched the knights practice. It was a habit she had begun years past, when her younger brother had first begun his training, and continued once she had grown up and discovered joy in sweaty, muscular men.

Isabella's room did not, in fact, overlook the training yards. In fact, she had had to search for days to find the room whose windows she could see from the ground, and still longer to find a suitable spot. Unfortunately, the rooms were servants' chambers, and many disapproved of Isabella's presence there, although had she asked they would have vigorously denied it. Her parents, however, were not so discreet.

"Isabella!" she would hear her mother's maid, Drucila, call. "Isabella, are you in the servants' quarters again? I tell you, that is no place for a lady such as yourself."

Isabella rarely answered. For a long time she had rested openly in the round hall window, but Drucila found her easily there, and so she had instead retired to a windowed closet shortly down the hall. Drucila had yet to figure her out.

Although the wooden chair beneath her was hard, Isabella didn't mind. She had, a few weeks ago, fallen in love at one of her father's tournaments. A young knight named Gavin had asked to be her champion. One look at his brown curls and shining blue eyes and Isabella had agreed at once. He had proceeded to win the entire tournament, beating the reigning champion of three years. As he proudly lifted his lance in the air, Isabella knew she had found her future husband.

She had not, however, mentioned this to either of her parents. And so when at last Drucila found her, it was for Isabella to meet a new potential suitor.

"Tell my mother I won't see a single suitor!" Isabella cried. "I have already chosen my husband!"

"It doesn't matter who you choose, love, it's who your parents choose that you'll marry," Drucila said wisely. Ever since the maid had found gray in her hair, she had acted like an old wisewoman, and spoke and moved more slowly under the pretense that she was old. She was, in fact, about fifty years old.

"I don't want to marry someone my parents choose for me! I want to choose for myself!" Isabella was dangerously near a tantrum. Her tantrums were famous throughout the castle for being extremely explosive and long-lived.

Drucila turned around and slapped the girl. As an old woman, she had no compunctions about such things. "Now, you behave yourself, missy!" she hissed loudly. "Don't think I don't know what you're up to, hiding up there in the servants' quarters. You're after some knight at practice, and that simply won't do for you! If you were anyone else, a knight would be grand, but granddaughter of a king…you cannot make a fool of yourself over a man in armor! Your parents will make a match for you, and you will be happy with it. Now, stop your sniveling and come with me!"

Isabella followed meekly into her parents' morning sitting room.

Teren tapped his fingers anxiously on the arm of his chair. Normally he would have paced, but in the presence of royalty such behavior wouldn't do. Even his finger-tapping was most repulsive, but he couldn't help himself. He was expected to marry this girl, and he had to make a good impression.

He forced himself to look away from the king, prince, and princess and instead to stare intently at the wall. After what felt like an eternity, he heard footsteps in the hall, and he turned just as his potential bride was pushed into the room.

He rose immediately. "Teren Thundergrad, my lady, at your service," he said, bowing low.

"Teren?" Isabella asked, sounding surprised. Teren wasn't. As children, they had been close friends, until he had gone to sea with his father seven years ago. He saw that Isabella had grown and hoped he had too.

"Isabella, I believe you and Lord Thundergrad have met already?" Isabella's father, Crown Prince Frederich, said. Her grandfather, King Yurick, laughed wheezingly.

"Met? Don't you remember, son? They were thick as thieves as children," he said. He felt no need to lower his voice, as he never had, and with age he had found less reason; indeed, as he had begun to go a bit deaf, he tended to talk louder so he could hear himself.

"I suppose we are done with formalities, then," Frederich said, a note of irritation in his voice, and sat again beside his wife, motioning to Teren and Isabella to do the same. "Isabella," he began as soon as they were comfortable, "Duke Thundergrad and I have spoken together since his return with his son, and we have both agreed that a union between our two families will be ideal, considering you two know each other so well and will not need long to become better acquainted. So we have decided that you will be wed in six months' time."

"Father!" Isabella cried, rising to her feet again. "You can't! I won't marry him!"

"Isabella!" gasped her mother.

Teren stared at his shoes. He had not expected such a reaction from Isabella. Long ago, they had indeed been close, but it had been something more than that, at least for him. He had left with his father with the intention of earning some repute to please Isabella. Perhaps this was only because he was a few years older, or perhaps his feelings were destined to be unrequited, but either way it appeared Isabella had never felt the same way about him that he had about her. He blushed to think that he had ever proposed an arranged marriage with her to his father.

"Why won't you marry him?" Frederich asked furiously.

"I'm in love with someone else, Father!" Isabella declared. "I will marry no one but him!"

"Who is it?" demanded her father.

"His name is Gavin, and he's a knight!"

Hardly had she gotten farther before Yurick interrupted.

"Gavin?" he said, laughing. "That little snippet is no knight! He may have won the tournament, but Isabella, child, he has no courage in him."

"And Teren does?" Isabella asked. "He's never done anything brave! I knew him when we were young, he saw ghosts in every corner. I always saved him. He couldn't slay a dragonfly, let alone a real dragon!"

Teren's blush had deepened. Angry as Isabella's words might be, she was right. He had been a coward as a child. He had hoped she wouldn't remember, and that he could prove himself brave when he told her stories of his travels.

"Isabella! I am ashamed at your behavior. You will apologize at once to Lord Teren and you will stop with this display!" Princess Hélène scolded.

"Child, there haven't been any dragons in a hundred years," Yurick laughed. Much was amusing to him in his old age. "My own grandfather killed the last one. He used its fingerbone as a scepter, that's how big it was. Once he showed me the skull-"

"That's wonderful, Father," Frederich interrupted. "Isabella, go to your chambers and stay there for the remainder of the day. Your behavior today has disgraced your entire family and Lord Teren. Your mother and I expect a formal apology tomorrow. Now go."

Teren watched as a middle-aged servant grabbed Isabella by the arm and dragged her, still protesting, out of the room. When the door clicked shut behind her and her cries died down in the hall, the prince and princess turned to Teren.

"We apologize for our daughter's behavior, Lord Teren," Frederich said formally.

"No need," Teren said. "I withdraw my offer. I had thought that perhaps Isabella felt differently about me, but it appears she does not. Forgive me for wasting your time." He bowed, and would have withdrawn, but the old king called him back.

"You don't withdraw your offer, lad," he said solemnly. "I know love when I see it, and it's a good match besides. I know you're braver than she says, and certainly braver than that Gavin fellow. And besides, it's time my granddaughter learned a lesson about stubbornness."

"You want me to continue courting Isabella, even though she's made it quite clear she is not interested in courting me?"

"No need to worry about her," Yurick wheezed. "She'll marry you, one way or another. Although, if she has it her way, she'll have to come around to you first."

Teren wrinkled his forehead in confusion. What did the king mean by that?

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," he asked, "but what does that mean?"

"You just keep courting her, lad. Don't worry about anything else."

Teren left seconds later, leaving Yurick alone with his son and daughter-in-law.

"Oh, times are changing, lad," Yurick said mournfully. Frederich looked at him strangely.

"What do you mean, Father?"

"When I was your age, no girl would have spoken out so to her father! I'm not blaming you for poor parenting, but that girl doesn't know her place."

"I know, Father. We've tried everything, but she's as headstrong as ever."

"She's like her grandfather that way," Yurick said with a dry chuckle that turned into a cough.

"Are you well, Your Majesty?" Hélène asked worriedly. "Shall I ring for some water?"

Yurick waved off her ministrations. "No need to treat me like an invalid, Hélène. I'm still quite hale and hearty."

Hélène smiled weakly. She still worried about the king.

"Why don't you go talk sense into your daughter, Hélène?" Yurick asked. When she had gone, he sighed. "Now we can really talk, my son."

"What do you need to talk about?"

"You remember, all those years ago, when I went to that council in Idaarolaa?"

"Of course, Father. I went with you."

"Keep the peace, son," Yurick said.

"Always, Father."

"We're all old now, even that Ethelaine, though you wouldn't know it to look at her." Yurick chuckled again.

Frederich smiled too. Ethelaine was close to ten years younger than he; she had assumed the throne at eighteen after her father and brother's untimely deaths.

"Reynold's died five years since, and his son…there's something off about that man. Don't tell me you didn't notice it," Yurick continued.

Frederich had noticed this at Reynold's funeral. The new king, Reynard, had a strange glow in his eyes that looked like the glow of near-madness. Yes, there was something off about him.

"You think I'm only old and blind, but I know," Yurick said. "I can see war on the horizon, and that Reynard's the key. Keep the peace, son."

"I'll help you keep the peace, Father," Frederich promised.

"Not help. It won't be long now before you're king, Frederich. I know you're ready. I always knew you'd be the best king, of all my sons. If your brothers had lived I would have named you my heir, you know. The people like you, and you're a strong ruler. Have confidence. Keep the peace."

"Father, don't talk like that. You'll be alive to speak at my funeral, you know that."

"Of course I will, son. But, just in case I'm not, be ready to keep the peace."

Isabella stopped sobbing at the knock on her door. "Who's there?" she asked stuffily.

"It's your mother, Isabella. May I come in?"

The question was a formality, for no sooner had Hélène finished speaking than the door opened and she swept in.

"What do you want?" Isabella asked irritably.

"I want you to talk to me. Tell me about this Gavin fellow," Hélène said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"He's very handsome, Mother. He has curly brown hair and bright blue eyes and white teeth in his smile. He asked to be my champion at the tournament, and then he won the whole thing! He's a great knight."

"How long have you felt this way?"

"Just since the tournament. But I've watched him, and he's good at practice too, and very kind. He helps up the people he beats."

"That's noble of him. Is that why you've spent so much time in the servants' quarters?"

"They overlook the training fields. I'm a lady, so I can't go out there myself."

"No, you can't. So instead you hide away and watch. Have you talked to Gavin about this yet?"

Isabella frowned. "No. I'm afraid he doesn't feel the same way."

"He asked to be your champion, didn't he?"

"But what if he just felt bad for me, since Eduoard is always my champion?"

Hélène chuckled. "Poor Eduoard had to be my champion this year," she said. "He was quite embarrassed."

"And even if he did love me," Isabella continued as though her mother hadn't spoken, "Grandfather would never let us marry. He'd make me marry Teren."

"Now, you know your grandfather won't 'make' you marry anyone. He doesn't have the heart for it. He'll just make sure you want to marry him first."

"But I won't ever want to marry Teren! Not while Gavin's out there, waiting for me!"

"Shh, Isabella. Everything will come out well, I promise. But you must stop acting like a child and behave like an adult. How will it look to the people if the king's granddaughter throws a tantrum when she is asked to marry someone she knows well?"

"I don't care. I don't love Teren, and I won't marry a man I don't love."

Hélène sighed. There was no reasoning with this child. "Very well, love. Get up and wash your face. I'll send Drucila in to make you up for dinner, all right? Wear the green lawn, please, dear. Teren and his father will be dining with us."

Isabella groaned and buried her head in her pillow.

The small family dinner went nearly exactly as Isabella dreaded it might. She and Teren were forced to sit next to each other, and they hardly spoke. His stony silence made her almost regret her harsh words of before. They had been such good friends as children; she had always thought that ease would come back when Teren returned. Now there was only this silence, this anger. Could she not wed him? Would it hurt so much?

Then Gavin's face appeared before her, and she realized that it would hurt. She loved Gavin, whatever she felt for Teren. She could wed no one but her knight.

"Isabella, dear," Hélène said, trying to break the awkwardness, "why don't you tell Teren about your music?"

Isabella sighed inwardly. What interest could Teren possibly have in such a subject? "Well, Teren," she said pleasantly, "since you've left I've taken up the harp. It is quite difficult to play, as it is so large, and it is dreadfully hard to strike only the necessary strings."

Teren smiled, but she noticed the falsity in his smile that matched her tone. "I, too, have taken up a new instrument in my time away," he said stiffly. "I can now play the hornpipe. It's a traditional sailor's instrument, and I daresay it's far easier to play than your harp."

"Perhaps the two of you would grant us a concert after dinner," Frederich said, upon prompting from his wife.

Yurick snorted. "Son, I'm deaf and I know harp and hornpipe should never be played in the same room. They're not meant to be together in the same building, much less in concert."

Frederich frowned at his father's rudeness, and Isabella let out a sigh.

Not meant to be in the same building, much less in concert, she thought morosely. Much like Teren and I.

All right. Now I'm leaving you a real author's note.

I know this seems really soon after Glass, but I've been working on this sporadically for a while now. In fact, I often worked on it when I should have been working on Glass. It's meant to be a conglomeration of fairy tales, although for now you can't really tell. I would like to apologize again for the exceeding boringness of the prologue, but I do rather like it the way it is, and I did post this far more interesting chapter to make up for it.

Anyway, as always, questions, comments, and concerns may be expressed via reviews, to which I shall most likely reply. So. Go for it!

!--Mazzie--!