Late afternoon sunlight flowed in through the wide windows of what was referred to as the Prince’s Parlor.  Two large marble fireplaces at either end of the room complemented the ornate furnishings and lush carpets, giving the parlor a relaxed and comfortable atmosphere.  The parlor also had a high ceiling and Eldin liked the resulting acoustics, so he frequently practiced here.  He closed his eyes as he played, his fingers flickering across the nine strings of the small harp resting on his knee.  The tone of the instrument was perfect.  The humming resonance of the thicker strings supported the trilling notes of the thin ones beautifully, producing a rich, deep melody.  He smiled to himself.  This harp was his best one yet.  The hardwoods produced in the warmer, wetter southern climates were definitely more suitable for this type of instrument.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over with!”

Eldin winced at the sound of that hard male voice.  His second-oldest brother prided himself on the authoritative stridency of his voice and Eldin was secretly glad that Morrin would not be taking the throne.  The thought of listening to that grating voice every day during morning audiences made him cringe.

“To rule means to endure both the refreshing and the tiresome,” Laric, his eldest brother, said calmly.  He sank gracefully into a chair.  “I did not see you at the audience with the hostages, Eldin.”

“I was there,” Eldin replied.  He stopped playing.  “I was standing on the left side.”

Morrin poured himself a glass of wine.  “So what did you think of them?  They looked like quite a ragtag bunch to me.”

“They’ve just traveled across country for two or three weeks,” Eldin said.  “I did not expect them to show up in formal dress.”

Morrin snorted.  “I wasn’t talking about their clothes!  It looked like half those brats were in tears!  That’s hardly the way for royalty to behave.”

Eldin stood up with a frown.  “You are a very harsh judge of children who’ve been taken from their parents,” he said.  “Perhaps you would do better to consider the situation from their point of view.”

“They’re point of view hardly matters,” Laric said.  He dusted an invisible spec of something off the arm of his chair.  “They are only here to ensure the cooperation of their parents.  I’m sure we’ll allow them to return home eventually; perhaps when it’s time to place new rulers in charge of our southern provinces.”

Eldin bit his lip and fell silent.  Laric spoke of the newly conquered countries as if they had always been a part of the empire.  He bowed slightly.  “If you’ll excuse me, I have a few adjustments to make to my new harp.”

“Adjustments?” Laric lifted an eyebrow.  “It sounded just fine to me, although honestly, I still can’t fathom why a prince would need to waste his time making musical instruments.”

Eldin stiffened.  “As the youngest of three princes, I would think that it doesn’t matter what I do to occupy my time.”

“Well, that’s true enough!” Morrin barked.  “But you should try a more manly occupation like hunting.”

“I’ve never had your passion for killing things,” Eldin replied flatly.  He tucked his harp under his arm and inclined his head politely.  “Please excuse me.” Outside the parlor, Eldin allowed his irritation to show on his face.  He did not specifically dislike his brothers, but at times he found them extremely difficult to be around.  With two brothers standing between him and the throne, Eldin had never entertained the notion that he needed to know how to rule a country.  So instead, he had devoted himself to music, culminating in his current passion for constructing lap harps.  His first harp had been based on a classic design by a famous harp-maker, but he had begun to introduce variations of his own over the past few years to get a tone more to his liking.  And while his brothers might disparage his occupation, his reputation in the musical world as a skilled musician and budding harp-maker were well-established.

The route back to his own room took him through a public area of the palace.  As he passed by a group of young noblewomen, one of the ladies called out to him.

“Oh, Prince Eldin!  Do you have a moment?”

Eldin stopped, smoothing his expression to one of polite interest.  “Of course, madam.  How may I be of service?”

The young woman he addressed giggled and batted her eyes.  “I heard that there would be a ball to celebrate the end of the war.  Will you be performing?” The other young ladies tittered with excitement.

Eldin suppressed a sigh.  “I had not heard there was to be a celebration, but of course, if I’m asked, I would be happy to play.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” The young woman clapped her hands delightedly.  “You’re such a wonderful musician and singer!” The other women nodded, echoing her words.

“You are too kind to say so,” Eldin murmured.  He bowed briefly before continuing on his way.  He made it back to his room without having to talk to anyone else and once he was inside, he leaned against the closed door with a loud sigh.  “Lord help me,” he groaned.  “I really don’t want to sing at another ball.”

“But you have such a beautiful voice, my lord.” The speaker’s voice rippled with amusement and Eldin turned around to face his valet.

“Do you think that matters, Peter?” he complained.  “Those empty-headed ladies would listen to me if I screeched like a crow, and then they would still applaud.”

“You are a prince, my lord,” Peter chuckled.  “You are an excellent match for a young woman seeking to advance her standing at court.”

“And heaven forbid she might actually care for me.”

“Love has no place in politics,” Peter intoned sagely.  “Would you like to bathe before dinner?”

Eldin made a face.  “I haven’t done anything all day!  I doubt my bath from this morning has worn off.”

“Your brother Laric bathes twice a day, I’m told.”

“My brother Laric visits one mistress in the morning and the other at night,” Eldin replied.  “Mere politeness would dictate that a gentleman wash off the sweat of one woman before he coats himself with the fluids of another.”

Peter struggled to stifle a laugh.  “As you say, my lord!” He gestured toward the bed.  “I’ve laid out your suit for dinner.  Would you like me to help you dress?”

“No, thank you, Peter, I’ll manage.”

“Very good, my lord.” Peter bowed and departed through the servant’s entrance next to the fireplace, tapping his fingers on Eldin’s empty bathtub as he went by.

Eldin’s bedroom was not a suite, which was why the bathtub was inside his room.  It was a single large room with a fireplace in the left hand wall.  The door from the hallway was close to the right hand wall, allowing the large, canopied bed to occupy the wall between the door and the fireplace.  A large bay window opposite the bed contained a window seat, with two more sets of windows on either side to admit more light.  His armoire stood against the right hand wall and his writing desk was under the window to the right of the bay window.  A pair of chairs with a small table between them sat in front of the fireplace.  The bathtub itself was between the fireplace and the window, with enough room around it to put up a screen, if necessary.  In fact, the entire room was extremely spacious and suited Eldin’s tastes.

The design of the palace placed a hidden aisle between each pair of rooms or suites, accessed via service corridors between the floors with living space, allowing servants to enter and leave rooms without ever being seen, and sparing the palace’s noble residents from the site of servants carrying chamber pots and ash buckets out to the midden heaps.  Although it was not strictly necessary, Eldin’s valet tended to come and go through this service entrance, rather than using the hall door.  Many valets rather snobbishly considered themselves to be only a small step below their noble masters and shunned the back corridors, but Peter had worked his way up through the ranks.  He preferred the convenience and anonymity of using the service corridors.

Eldin preferred it too.  It allowed him to ask favors of Peter that he might not dare to otherwise.  His parents might be willing to overlook his harp-making activities, but not if they knew he spent his nights cutting and sanding pieces of wood in his bedroom.  He kept a cover over the trunk in the corner where he stored his tools and supplies, and amusingly enough, no one in his family ever questioned it.  At the moment, the trunk contained several new samples of hardwoods that he was eager to examine more carefully, but it would have to wait.  His mother insisted that they all be present, properly dressed, for dinner every night.  Grave illness was the only excuse that allowed them to escape this duty, so Eldin obediently changed into the suit Peter had left on his bed and went to the dining room.

The royal family only ate in the presence of others on special occasions.  The rest of the time, they dined alone in a beautifully appointed dining room lit by crystal chandeliers.  The polished mahogany table and chairs gleamed in the soft glow of dozens of candles, and the bone china place settings shimmered between their escorts of glistening silver flatware.

Eldin was not surprised to be the first one there.  He poured himself a glass of red wine and waited by the sideboard for the others to show up.

Morrin was the next to arrive and he headed straight for the wine.  “Beat me to it, eh?” he boomed.  “I suppose Laric’s still finishing up with his current paramour.”

“Don’t be indecent, Morrin,” Queen Idria sniffed as she entered.  “Such topics are not to be discussed in polite company.”

“Your pardon, Mother,” Morrin saluted her with his wine glass.  “Shall I pour wine for you?”

“Yes, please.” Idria took her seat, her head held regally high.  The posture did not reduce the number of chins sagging in front of her neck.  She looked Eldin up and down.  “Did you bathe, Eldin?”

“Of course, Mother,” Eldin calmly lied.  “Is it true you’re planning a ball to celebrate the end of the war?”

“Yes.” Idria smoothed her skirts.  “Such an auspicious occasion deserves to be commemorated.  Perhaps I’ll make it a costume ball and we can display the foreign princes and princesses like wild animals.”

Eldin sipped his wine.  “I don’t think that would be very appropriate.” He spoke offhandedly to keep the statement from sounding judgmental.

Idria waved a hand testily.  “Oh, of course I wouldn’t do such a thing!” she snapped.  “Their presence would only cause solemnity in what should be a joyous gathering.” Her brow wrinkled.  “Where are your father and brother?” she complained loudly.  “It is time for dinner.”

Taking that irritated exclamation as his cue, a liveried servant standing by the wall stepped forward and bowed deeply.  “Would your majesty care to try a canape?” he said smoothly.  “The kitchen has prepared a delightful array of appetizers which they believe will please your refined palate.”

Idria sniffed.  “Very well.”

Before the servant had even finished straightening up, another servant appeared at his elbow with a silver tray of canapes in hand.  The first servant took it and offered the tray to the queen.  Idria took one of the morsels between her fingers and the second servant handed her a napkin from several he had draped over his arm.

Idria put the morsel between her lips and chewed slowly, a contemplative expression on her face.  She swallowed and allowed herself a faint smile.  “That is quite delicious,” she declared.  She took another morsel and waved the tray away.  The servant presented the tray to Morrin and Eldin, and they each took a canape.

The three of them had almost finished the tray when Ladrel and Laric finally entered the dining room.

“I’m sorry we’re late, my dear,” Ladrel said breezily, kissing his wife’s cheek.  “Affairs of state.” He took his seat and his sons followed suit.

Eldin made sure he was the last to sit down.  The soup was served immediately and the normal dinner table conversation ensued.  As usual, Eldin did not participate.  Tonight’s discussion centered on the qualifications of the woman Laric was going to marry.  The engagement had not yet been formally announced, but it was a foregone conclusion that the haughty daughter of Duke Shanfors would be the next queen.  Eldin did not like Lady Niella at all.  She had all of her father’s bad qualities and no good ones of her own, other than an attractive face and figure.  But Duke Shanfors was too powerful a nobleman to not keep closely tied to the royal family.

“…we can always marry her to Eldin,” his mother said, and Eldin started at the sound of his own name.  He looked up to find everyone staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” Eldin said, “whom do you wish me to marry?”

“Eldin!” Idria exclaimed with a loud sigh.  “Must you always let your mind wander?  We were discussing Countess Mina Awatin.  The death of her husband has left her in possession of undeveloped territory on the Istavar border that the surveyors say may contain some of the richest opal deposits ever found.”

Eldin blinked.  “Countess Awatin is twenty years my senior.”

“So?” Idria shrugged his objection away as meaningless.  “Take a mistress.  It’s the land we want.”

“Why don’t you just buy it from her?”

Idria laughed aloud.  “Why buy it when we can acquire it through marriage?  Besides, you can always divorce her later for being barren.”

“Just don’t drink anything she offers you,” Morrin added with a harsh laugh.  “Rumor has it her husband didn’t exactly die of natural causes.” He leaned forward and winked at Eldin.  “Anyway, you may find her a satisfactory companion.  I understand she has a taste for young boys.”

“I’m twenty-two,” Eldin said stiffly.

“I’m sure she’d find you delectable enough,” Laric chuckled.  “Especially your lack of experience.  I daresay she’d enjoy training you.”

Eldin flushed and looked down at his plate.  He noted that his mother did not say anything about the indecency of this conversation.  “Of course I will obediently serve my king as he commands,” he said quietly.

“Well spoken,” Ladrel said.  “You two could lean from your brother’s obedient example.”

“I always do as I’m told!” Morrin responded loudly.  He glared at Eldin.

Eldin continued to eat without making eye contact, but he had lost all appetite for the food.  The prospect of being wed to an older woman he barely knew dismayed him.  Since reaching puberty, he had never developed his brothers’ hungry passion for the favors of women.  Music had always occupied his interest so completely he never thought about the lack of close relationships in his life.  But now, thinking about having to share his body with a woman, a sick feeling settled into the pit of his stomach.  But he refused to let his brothers see how much the idea distressed him.  He continued to eat his food and drink his wine without further comment.  After dinner, he returned quickly to his room and sank into the chair in front of his fire.

“Married,” he whispered.  “That’s the last thing I want.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Soren stood at the window of the room he had chosen, looking up at the mountains.  He had never seen mountains so tall, their sharp peaks still covered in snow even at the height of summer.  He knew the mountains weren’t close, but it still felt like they were right on top of him, leaning over to crush him with their unthinkable weight.  Like Bocchar itself, those mountains oppressed him.  He dropped his eyes, looking at the manicured garden below.  Raked gravel walkways curved between flowering shrubs and greenery artfully sculpted into the shapes of animals.  Nobles walked along those paths, talking and laughing, their voices floating up to his third floor room.  Irritated, he turned his back and sat down on the cushioned window seat.  The room was larger than his room in Hoshran, but the furnishings, in his opinion, were no finer.  But perhaps that was just another sign of their disrespect that they had chosen not to waste their best on him.

He started when the servant’s entrance by the fireplace swung open and a young man stepped in.  The palace in Gurial did not have hidden service corridors and he was still getting used to the sudden, unexpected appearance of servants through that door.

The servant bowed politely.  He had a suit of clothes draped over his arm.  “Excuse me, my lord, but I have brought you a suit to wear to the ball.”

Soren frowned.  “What ball?”

“Her majesty is hosting a celebratory ball to commemorate the end of fighting in the southern provinces.”

Soren could not stop himself.  He surged to his feet with his fists clenched.  “The end of fighting?!” he growled.  “You mean the conquest of innocent people and the theft of their land!”

The servant dropped his eyes and bowed again.  “King Ladrel has mandated that all citizens refer to the newly acquired regions of the empire as the southern provinces,” he said carefully.  “The fighting was to suppress rebellion against the rightful Boccharan rulers.”

Soren ground his teeth together.  It was not this man’s fault.  It would be wrong for Soren to fling the force of his anger at him.  With an effort, he controlled the fury inside him.  “Of course,” he said in a strangled voice.  “Please forgive my outburst.”

“I heard nothing, my lord,” the servant said as he straightened up.  There was understanding in his eyes.

“When is this ball?” Soren asked.

“Tomorrow night.  Her majesty would like you and Princess Silvia to attend as the representatives of all our royal guests.”

Soren smirked.  “You mean she doesn’t want to see the younger hostages,” he interpreted.

The servant just blinked.

Soren sat back down.  “What is your name?”

“Setus, my lord.”

“Well, Setus, I suppose I don’t have the option of refusing this invitation.”

“I would not advise it, my lord.  The queen does not take well to even a perceived slight.”

“Very well.” Soren ran his fingers through his hair.  “What kind of affair will this be?”

Setus draped Soren’s suit carefully over the back of a chair.  “This ball will be an affair of especial magnificence,” he said.  “The ladies will all wear new dresses and the gentlemen will wear suits to complement the ladies they escort.”

Soren nodded at the clothes.  “Does that mean my suit will match Silvia’s dress?”

Setus smiled.  “Yes, my lord, we have taken care of that.”

Soren smiled back.  “Thank you.  I don’t want to give them any more reason to slight us.”

“I’m sure they don’t intend to slight you, my lord,” Setus said quickly.

“Oh, I’m sure they do,” Soren shot back.  “If they really wanted to show us respect, they would not have left us to rot in this unused wing of the palace for the past week.”

“This wing was conveniently unoccupied when you arrived, my lord, not unused,” Setus replied.  He kept his face smooth, but Soren suspected he was insulted by the implication that the servants were somehow lax in their duties maintaining this part of the palace.

“I’m sorry, Setus,” Soren said.  “There’s nothing wrong with our accommodations or the service we receive.  Maybe I would feel less like a prisoner if we were allowed out more often.”

Setus frowned.  “The doors are not guarded, my lord.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Setus bowed and left without saying anything else.  Soren remained where he was, but he studied the suit resting on the chair.  It was black brocade with dark green trim, but the shirt and cravat were stark white silk.  With his dark hair and eyes, the effect would be striking.

A gentle rap on his door was followed by Silvia’s soft voice.  “Soren, are you busy?”

“When am I ever busy?” Soren answered with a laugh.  He stood up as Silvia entered.  “Did they bring you a dress?”

“Yes!” She sounded both excited and unhappy.  “It’s pretty but I’m not sure I want to wear it.”

“You don’t want to attend the ball?” Soren gestured for her to sit beside in him the window seat.

“No.” Silvia sat down and clasped her hands together in her lap.  “They’ll just make fun of us.”

“Perhaps.” Soren resumed his seat and put his hand on top of hers.  “But we’ll go anyway and show them how true royalty behaves.  Remember, you were born to be queen.  No other woman in this empire of theirs can say that.”

Silvia looked up and met his eyes.  “That’s what Mother said to me before we were taken away.”

“So you know I’m right.” Soren patted her hands.  “My servant told me my suit matches your dress.” He pointed at the chair.

Silvia looked and nodded.  “Oh, yes!  My dress is dark green silk.  It’s simple, but I prefer that.  Mother says a dress should complement a woman’s natural beauty, not overwhelm it.”

“Your mother is right.”

“I worry about leaving my sisters and the Oville children alone,” she said after a moment.  “Jemis still cries himself to sleep every night.”

“The servants will look after them,” Soren assured her.  “They’ve treated us well so far and I don’t expect that to change.  I don’t think we can afford to shun this ball.  If we earn the enmity of the queen, our lives could become more difficult.”

“I know.” Silvia looked out the window.  “I miss my home.”

“I do, too.”

She let out a long sigh.  “Do you think we will ever be able to go home again?”

“I know we will,” Soren replied firmly.  “Never doubt that, Silvia.  We will not end our lives in this place.”

Silvia managed a faint smile.  “I’m very glad you’re here with us, Soren.  I don’t know how I’d manage if it was just me and my sisters and the Oville children.”

“You are stronger than you know,” Soren said.  “You inherited more than just royal blood from your mother.  She is a strong woman.”

Silvia’s faint smile became a frown.  “Thank you for saying so.  That Boccharan duke who brought us north said that a woman does not know how to run a country.”

Soren snorted.  “I bet he wouldn’t dare say that in front of Queen Idria!  From what I’ve heard of her, she would probably castrate him and serve him his own testicles for dinner!”

“Soren!” Silvia exclaimed.  She covered her mouth to hide the giggles she knew she shouldn’t be having after such an outrageous statement.

“There!” Soren grinned.  “I got you to laugh.” He put his arm around her shoulders.  “We have to keep our spirits up as much as we can.  We are still the children of kings and queens, no matter what these Boccharans might say.”

“That’s right!” Silvia nodded once, firmly.  “I’m going to keep that in mind every minute.” She stood up.  “Thank you.  I feel better now.”

“Good.” Soren followed her to the door.  “You wouldn’t happen to know what they’re serving us for dinner tonight, would you?”

“Fish, I think.”

“Again?”

“The Oville children like it.  Their castle is on that big lake, remember.”

“Oh, right.” Soren nodded.  “At least the meals are tasty.  Prisoners usually just get bread and water.” He grinned as he spoke.

“Oh, Soren!” Silvia admonished him.  “No one serves their prisoners that!” She wrinkled her nose at him and stepped out into the hall.

Soren watched her walk away, chewing on the inside of his cheek.  Silvia was on that cusp between girlhood and womanhood.  Were she still in Toomar, every eligible gentleman in the kingdom would be courting her, doing his best to present himself as a suitable consort for the future queen.  He was determined to protect her dignity at any cost.  Toomar was the only kingdom he knew of where the throne passed from mother to daughter rather than from father to son.  Yet the peace and prosperity in Toomar up until the Boccharan invasion made it clear that the sex of the ruler mattered less than his or her nature.

He closed the door, but remained standing next to the panel.  “Tomorrow night,” he promised softly, “these Boccharans will find out what true royalty means.”