Chapter Text
Pale peach roses represent modesty and gratitude. If you want to send a thank you message to a friend or a host, this is the rose to go with. They can also be used for sympathy.
That evening, Duke Byron sent Alec off with a letter for King Azmur and Prince Kurth. “He’s the fastest rider we have,” said the duke. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t get distracted by any girls along the way.”
King Batu took Deirdre up to his late wife’s wardrobe. He implored her to pick out a dress, showing her some of his wife’s old favorites.
“I’m sorry,” said Deirdre. “I can’t take these. They’re too nice for someone like me.”
“Lady Deirdre,” he said, placing the dress into her hands, “You are a princess. You deserve such fine gowns.”
But I didn’t do anything, she left unsaid. Though I suppose most of the princesses in my stories didn’t do anything either.
“Besides, my sons are… not the most charismatic. I don’t know when I’ll have the chance to do this again. Please, take one.”
Deirdre took the least glamorous dress she could find. A mixture of guilt and excitement swirled in her gut. She thought of her grandmother, and cried herself to sleep that night.
The next morning, King Batu saw the party off with a breakfast of balsamic roasted pears and a fiery egg and tomato stew. Deirdre giggled as Sigurd's face turned a bright red. Someone, it seemed, had a low spice tolerance. She would make sure to remedy this if she ever got the chance.
They left while the morning air was still cool. During their first rest, Arden discovered a crate of produce hidden in the supply wagon. Nestled within was a note from King Batu.
For the road home, it read. Fair travels!
The party sheltered under the forest canopy as they snacked on sweet figs.
As the sun set they made it to a tiny hamlet with an equally tiny inn. There were just enough rooms for the party: Arden and Naoise took one, and Lord Byron, Sigurd, and Oifey another.
“Lady Deirdre should have one for herself,” said Lord Byron. “After all, she is a princess.”
Before Deirdre could protest, Sigurd and Arden moved the extra bed out of her room for Oifey to use. The night passed without incident.
The next night did not.
At sunset, the party set up camp in a clearing. Byron thanked his lucky stars that he'd thought of packing an extra tent. Arden roasted King Batu's gift of fresh tomatoes over the fire. Deirdre took Oifey and Sigurd into the woods. She showed them which mushrooms and berries were edible, only having to prevent their untimely demise twice. They gathered up dandelion leaves and fern sprouts to make a nice salad. Everyone sat around the campfire and exchanged stories before it was finally time to go to bed.
Deirdre laid alone in her tent. Thoughts spiraled in her head. As ecstatic as she was to be with Sigurd, she couldn't stop thinking of her grandmother. She had lived on her own for years, yes, but she was much older now. Would she be able to take care of herself? Deirdre muttered silent prayers to the Earth Mother for protection.
Someone groaned.
Deirdre shuddered. She curled her legs to her chest. The knights had warned her of bandits in these woods. Deirdre knew of them, but never had she met one. The magic of the Spirit Forest prevented intruders from reaching the cottage. Here there was no such magic. She knew she was safe with Sigurd and the knights around, but without a tent-mate, she felt vulnerable.
Another groan, followed by a whimper.
Deirdre sat up. She wrapped her blanket snug around her shoulders. That was Sigurd's voice. Should she check on him? If there was danger, there would be an absolute ruckus. Shuffling feet, angry cries, the clash of metal against metal. But all was silent, save for the chirps of crickets. Perhaps Sigurd was having indigestion or a bad dream.
More whimpers. Deirdre crawled to the tent's entrance. She poked her head out. Chill air nipped at her cheeks. Before her was a dying fire, Arden slumped nearby. Nothing out of the ordinary.
She waited for a bit. The whimpers ceased.
Deirdre sighed. Whatever she’d heard, it was not enough to warrant an emergency. Hopefully Sigurd was alright. She laid back down and drifted into a dreamless sleep.
It took five more days to reach the Grannvelian border. Each passing day, Sigurd grew more and more weary. He dozed off in the middle of the day. By the time they reached Genoa, he’d almost slipped off his horse twice. From then on he was relegated to the carriage. Oifey took his place in the caravan.
“Sigurd,” asked Duke Byron, assisting his son up, “What has gotten into you?”
“Nothing,” Sigurd replied. He slumped down beside his father. “I just haven’t been sleeping well.”
“I heard you whimpering one night,” Deirdre said. She took his hands. “It sounded as if you were having a nightmare. Was everything alright?”
Sigurd laid his head back and cast his gaze aside. “Perhaps I was. But I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
Deirdre gave a little pout. He was not fine, and she would worry about him, thank you very much. Not once in their time together had he been this lethargic. Granted, most of that time he had been asleep…
The carriage jolted to a halt. A small flap behind Duke Byron’s head opened. Naoise’s eyes peeked through.
“We’re about to cross the Jun river,” he said. “After that we’ll be in Grannvale again.”
Duke Byron pat his thighs. “Wonderful! It’s good to be home after so long.”
Sigurd smiled, but did not respond. His eyelids flitted.
“Come on, boy.” Duke Byron shook his son’s shoulder. “We’ve got to get you feeling better.”
An idea popped into Deirdre’s head.
“Tell you what,” she said. “Let’s ride in the back of the supply wagon. The fresh air might help perk you up.”
“Or the bumps,” said Duke Byron. "Can’t fall asleep when you’re being knocked around like a ball during a pickup game.”
Deirdre opened the door to the carriage, prompting Naoise to leap down from the driver’s seat. He took her hand and helped her down. Sigurd sluggishly picked himself up and followed.
“I’ve always wanted to ride in a wagon,” Deirdre said, waving to Arden as she passed. “It looks like fun.”
“As father said, it’s a rather rough ride.” Sigurd unlatched the door on the back of the wagon. “Sometimes Ethlyn and I would ask to ride down to town that way. We’d end up with hay in our hair by the time we got there. But it’s worth it.”
The two hoisted themselves into the wagon and snuggled up among the cargo. A canvas cover protected them from the sun. The shadows of tree branches danced upon the taut fabric. Deirdre took a deep breath in through her nose, relishing the familiar scent of old lumber.
Arden yelled out from the front. “If you two get uncomfortable back there, just holler, okay?”
Deirdre smiled. “Got it!”
The caravan resumed its journey. Wooden wheels crunched against gravel. A slight breeze slipped through the gaps in the wagon’s cover. Deirdre tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She stretched out her legs, grateful for a chance to finally do so.
“So Yngvi is an agricultural duchy, correct?” she asked. “Your father told me we’d pass by lots of farmland. What do the others specialize in?”
Sigurd laid his head down on a stray bedroll. “Well, all the duchies have agriculture, but Yngvi specializes in it,” Sigurd said. “It’s known for its linen. They have some good mills and vineyards as well. Oh, and game meat. Ullr was a hunter, after all. We’ve also got a number of vineyards and breweries in Chalphy. Father and Duke Ling have a bit of a rivalry over who’s alcohol is better.” He chuckled. “I think the other dukes all prefer Agustrian wines.”
Deirdre puckered her lips. She hadn’t had many chances to try alcohol. From the times she did, she remembered a bitter, astringent taste, not too far off from some of her grandmother’s tinctures. Hopefully no one would mind if she declined to sample theirs… politely, of course.
“Velthomer is full of fire mages,” Sigurd continued. “There’s lots of metalwork done there. Some of the finest blades in Jugdral are crafted from Velthomer steel. And then the glasswork… I have no idea how they do it, but there’s artisans who can make sculptures out of glass.” He pinched his fingers together. “Little tiny ones of animals. They come in all sorts of colors. Ethlyn went through a phase as a kid where she wanted all of them in pink.”
To match her hair, Deirdre thought. How fun! It would be a pleasure to meet her. She seemed like quite the character from what Sigurd had told her.
Sigurd folded his hands over his chest. “Friege… they’re scholars, I think. There’s also the mountains to the west and south that are ripe for mining. The northern port is the primary point of trade for Northern Agustria and Silesse, so lots of imported goods come through there. Then on the other side of those mountains is Dozel. It has lots of forests, so there’s a small lumber industry there. Lots of woodcarvers and furniture makers. That’s actually why the Crusader Nal chose it as his territory. The madman used his legendary axe to chop wood for his kitchen table.
“Edda… not much goes on there. Saint Bragi was a very pious man, so he focused more on that than cultivating an industry. But that drew in lots of musicians. You’ll find lots of handmade instruments there. Aside from that, I know there’s fishing in the south. Some of their boats drift into Chalphy waters. Not that we mind. There’s plenty of fish to go around.
“And Belhalla…” Sigurd sighed. “It has everything. It’s where all the artisans and scholars of Grannvale congregate. There’s the Officer’s Academy, the Opera House, the Alchemy Labs, the Grand Market… not a single dull moment goes by there. Some call it the heart of Jugdral.”
“And that’s where I’ll be,” Deirdre said. She held back a frown. Apart from you.
“Correct.” Sigurd sat up and placed an arm over his knee. “Don’t worry. I visit often. But maybe our dreams will start up again once we’re apart.”
Thump. Thump. The wagon rocked at each jolt, then settled, riding smoother than before. Rough dirt turned into smooth stone behind them. Deirdre poked her head out the back of the wagon, grasping the wagon door as to not fall out.
Her heart leapt out of her chest.
Many moons ago, her grandmother promised to take her to Verdane’s great lake. She spoke of the crystal blue waters that stretched out onto the horizon; the way the light sparkled on the surface like diamonds. The Jun River shone as such. Rolling hills lined its banks; forests and fields coating the landscape.
“Sigurd,” she said, mouth agape in awe, “Come look at this.”
He leaned in behind her, a hand landing on her shoulder. Had she not been so focused, Deirdre might have blushed.
She smiled. “I’ve never seen this much water in one place before.”
Sigurd winked. “Just wait until you see the ocean, then.”
The sun hung low on the horizon when they reached Yngvi Castle. Naoise pulled into the courtyard. Sigurd and Deirdre switched back to the carriage long ago, backs and bottoms sore. They exited alongside Duke Byron.
Standing at the base of the stairs were an older man, a young woman, and a green-haired knight. The older man wore fine robes not unlike Duke Byron’s. His hair was a light gray, long enough in front that it almost reached his big, bushy eyebrows. He held his hands behind his back. Deirdre presumed that this must be Duke Ling.
The young woman towered over the Duke. Golden waves of hair reached down to her waist. Her pale blue cape flowed around her shoulders, framing her white dress. A serene smile graced her face. She clasped her hands down by her hips. Her honey-hued eyes gazed upon her guests.
Duke Ling bowed. “Duke Byron! Lord Sigurd! How wonderful it is to see you once more!”
“And you as well, Duke Ling.” Byron bowed back, Sigurd following suit. “How are you and Lady Edain fairing this fine evening?”
Oh! This was the fabled Lady Edain. Sigurd spoke highly of her whenever she was brought up. Supposedly she had been quite the rascal as a child, getting up to mischief with Sigurd whenever they met. But as she matured, she became more refined, opting to pursue white magic instead of the path of the knight.
“Wonderful, thank you,” said Duke Ling. He turned his glance to Deirdre. “And who is this lovely lady?”
“Oh, uh, how do we explain this to you?” Duke Byron scratched the back of his head. “Perhaps we should have sent you a letter as well.”
“A letter?” Duke Ling asked. “As well? Who did you send one to? Byron, what’s going on?”
“Azmur and Kurth. There was an incident, you see, and, um…” Byron stepped aside and gestured to Deirdre. “Well, meet Deirdre, the Princess of Grannvale.”
Duke Ling and Edain gasped. The knight’s face flushed red. The men dropped to their knees, while Edain lowered herself into a curtsy.
“Your grace,” said Duke Ling. “It is an honor to have you in our presence.”
Deirdre held a hand to her chest. What was she supposed to do? Give her thanks, complement them on their sincerity? She was grateful to have a place to stay for the night.
“Thank you,” she said, stumbling over her words.
Duke Ling raised an eyebrow. “Is everything alright?”
“I apologize. I don’t know the proper etiquette yet,” she said. “I only found out about all this eight days ago.”
“Ah, right.” Duke Ling got back on his feet. “I remember now. Your grandmother raised a polite young woman nonetheless. I’m sure they’ll fill you in when you get to Belhalla.”
Deirdre blinked. He knew of her exile? Duke Byron had as well. What had happened all those years ago, and why had no one told her since?
“Enough chatter,” said Duke Ling. “We should get you all settled in for the night. I’ll send a messenger to Belhalla with word of your location. I apologize if things aren’t up to your liking. We didn’t anticipate you to come back this early, much less with the princess.”
The dukes headed into the castle, followed by the green-haired knight. Edain turned to follow, but Sigurd gently pulled her aside.
“Edain,” he said, “I am so pleased to finally introduce you to Deirdre. She’s a wonderful lady. I’m sure you two will be friends fast.”
She curtsied once more. “It is an honor to meet you, Princess Deirdre.”
Deirdre curtsied back. “Nice to meet you as well.”
“We do not have a room set up for you, but I know one that will work,” Edain said. “Please. Accompany me to my chambers. There is a spare bedroom you can use for the night.”
Sigurd’s stomach growled. “By any chance, did we miss dinner?”
“You and your appetite.” Edain prodded him in his gut. “We ate dinner an hour ago, but I’m sure the chefs will whip up some snacks for you.”
Good, Deirdre thought. Those poor chefs. I didn’t want to be a burden on them.
“Come now,” Edain said, turning toward the entrance. “It’s getting late. Sigurd, you go find Oifey and meet up with your father. I’ll send for some tea cakes for Deirdre and I to share.”
“Shall do,” said Sigurd. He rushed off in the same direction Naoise and Arden had gone.
Edain started up the castle steps, and Deirdre followed, eyes tracking Sigurd as he disappeared from sight.
Deirdre's jaw dropped when she entered Edain's chamber. The room had to be at least twice as big as the cottage back in Verdane. Everything from the delicate wallpaper to the blankets and drapes came in shades of light blue and white, with an artistry that amazed Deirdre in even the smallest touches. Golden hues of sunset gleamed through a grand glass door. A white cat laid upon a four-poster bed, a mountain of pillows piled behind. Across from the bed sat a chaise lounge, two chairs, and a small table already set for tea.
“I apologize for any mess. I was not expecting visitors.” Edain pulled out one of the plush chairs and sat down. She poured herself a cup of tea from a fine porcelain pot. “It’s a good thing I always have a spare serving on hand.”
Deirdre blinked, her mouth still hung open. What mess? There wasn’t a speck of dirt or grime, not anything like the cottage in the woods. Of course, living in a two-room cabin surrounded by nature was different than living in a castle.
“Come, have a seat,” said Edain, tapping the spare chair beside her.
While Deirdre was no expert on noble etiquette, she figured it would be rude to decline. And that aside, it may help get her head back down to earth.
She sat down upon the firm cushioned chair. Her bottom sank into it with just the right amount of give. Not even the chapel could afford a luxury like this.
“So,” Edain said, pouring into the other cup, “How did you and Sigurd meet?”
Deirdre paused. Would Edain believe her story about the shared dreams? Sigurd said most of his friends took it as a joke. In all fairness, no human had enough power to cast such a spell. Only a dragon could pull off magic that strong. Crusader lineage would be nowhere near enough to cause such a phenomenon.
“I’m afraid you will not take what I am about to say as the truth,” she explained. “It was such a mysterious occurrence.”
“Life can be mysterious.” Edain took a sip of tea. She held the handle by the tips of her fingers. “You will find many truths to be stranger than lies.”
“Well, yes, but…” Deirdre looked down into her cup. Her worried reflection stared back at her. “This is beyond what life is capable of. It was almost… divine.”
Deep into a drink, Edain opened one eye and gingerly put the cup down. “Ah, a fated meeting?”
“I assume so. There’s no other reasonable explanation.” Deirdre picked up her teacup, mimicking the dainty way Edain held hers. The tea weighed it down, yet she felt that if she grasped the cup too hard, it would break apart in her fingers. She took a sip.
Edain smiled. “No wonder he was so happy to introduce me to you.”
A hot blush crept up Deirdre’s face. She almost choked on her tea. Happy to talk about her? They’d known each other for years and only just met in person. Somehow, despite that, it made her nerves stand on end. Did he really like her that much? Oh, how blind she was!
A knock at the door snapped Deirdre out of her thoughts. Edain called out to give the visitor permission to enter, and a maid stepped through the door, walked over to the table, and placed down a silver platter of confections. Pastel glaze coated each bite sized cake. Three shapes dotted the plate: stars, hearts, and roses.
“Here you go, your grace,” said the maid. “Lemon tea cakes, just like you asked for.”
“Thank you,” said Edain, giving a slight nod. The maid bowed before leaving the room.
Deirdre popped a cake into her mouth. Her teeth cracked through the sweet sugar shell to reveal dense sponge cake beneath. Little pangs of tartness tickled her tongue. Once the first cake was down, she plucked another one off the plate.
Edain giggled. “Aren’t they just delicious? Verdanian lemons are of the utmost quality.”
Deirdre paused mid-chew, suddenly aware of herself. Oh dear. She’d made herself look like a pig, hadn’t she? But the cakes were so good, and she was so hungry from the journey…
Edain clinked her teacup back down on her saucer, seemingly unphased. “So, your fateful meeting. How did it go down?”
Deirdre swallowed her current cake. “It was a dream.”
“Ah, how nice! I’m sure he enjoyed it too.”
“No, it…” Deirdre paused. She glanced down to her side. “We met in a dream.”
Edain’s mouth opened in a silent gasp. “You shared a dream?”
“Yes. I must have just turned twelve when it happened.” She explained the first night they met in great detail. To this day, she remembered the bright blue sky, the sweet aroma of flowers in the air, the gentle breeze upon her back. She remembered how Sigurd– just shy of fifteen at the time– held his hand out to her and introduced himself with a smile. They’d chased each other through the gardens and found a swing in one of the trees.
Edain listened close to Deirdre’s recollection. She marveled at all the vivid descriptions of the dream world. When the story was over, her face lit up with a bright smile. “So, you found yourself sharing dreams with him often?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still dream with him today?”
“Not since we met in person, no.” She looked back down to the table. “But two nights after we left, I heard him grunting and gasping in his sleep. I think he had some nightmares, but won’t admit it.”
“Well, that’s a silly thing to keep from you,” said Edain. She frowned and took a sip of tea. “It may be that he’s not used to having normal dreams anymore. I’ve had some odd nights myself.”
“I don’t think normal dreams cause fatigue,” Deirdre said. “This morning he struggled to stay awake.”
“Ah, well. The troubles of the road, perhaps. Don’t mind it. Let’s see how he feels tomorrow.” Edain set down her teacup yet again. “That reminds me. Let me show you to the spare bedroom.” She stood and pushed in her chair. The wooden legs scraped the floor with a dreadful screech. Edain apologized, then trotted out the door, Deirdre closed it behind them.
The spare bedroom was identical to Edain’s room, but in faded orange tones. Thick, heavy curtains blocked out the sunset. Clumps of dust tickled Deirdre’s nostrils.
Edain held out her arm, gesturing Deirdre in. “This room is my twin sister’s.”
Deirdre blinked. “You have a twin sister?”
Edain lowered her head. Her voice went quiet. “She’s… out of the house at the moment.”
“Are you sure I should sleep here? Would she be fine with that?”
“Yes. She would be alright with that.” Edain brushed the dust off her dress. “There’s a washroom to the right if you want to clean up before dinner. It’s connected to my room as well. I can get you a spare change of clothes, though I think they’ll be a bit big.”
Deirdre smiled. It didn’t matter to her if they were too big. She’d worn hand-me-downs her entire life.
“Well then,” Edain said. “Are you ready to retire for the night? I know it’s been a long week for you.”
“Yes,” Deirdre said. “That would be lovely.”
The next morning, Deirdre awoke just in time for breakfast. She sneezed when she riled up dust from the old pillows around her. Edain’s choice of outfit was draped over the chair: a simple gown the green of a lily. It shriveled down her side when she put it on, making her wonder just how tall Edain’s twin was.
Breakfast was a quiet affair. Duke Ling sat at the head of the table. With only six places, it felt intimate, more akin to a family meal than dining with a duke. Sigurd once mentioned that Yngvi was the poorest of Grannvale’s six duchies. The scale of the dining room proved that so. Yet nonetheless, Deirdre still found herself enchanted by crystal goblets and porcelain plates.
Everything was lovely until the double doors burst open. Through them came a well-dressed young man, his arms splayed out as if to give a hug. He smirked. “Father, sister, I have returned! Is it true the princess has arrived?” His eyes darted to Deirdre. “Ah! You must be her grace.”
Deirdre flinched as the man sauntered to her chair. She caught Edain groaning under her breath.
Edain’s brother knelt down. He took Deirdre’s hand. “It is lovely to meet you, your grace.” His lips met her skin, and she quivered, his slimy touch reducing her body to moldy pudding. “I am Prince Andrei of Yngvi. I hope you have enjoyed your stay in our humble duchy.”
Deirdre curled her lip, holding back a grimace. She hoped Andrei didn’t notice. The man seemed to have no concept of personal space. He held his head so close she could see how sloppily his bangs had been cut. It was as if someone put a bowl atop his head and clipped around the edges.
Edain tugged Andrei back by his sleeve. “Mind your manners, brother. Princess Deirdre isn’t used to such formalities.”
Andrei flashed a stone-cold scowl to his sister. “I was merely conducting proper conduct to greet royalty.” He brushed her hand off his shoulder. “Apologies for my intrusion, and for my sister’s interruption.”
“It’s alright,” Deirdre stuttered. She held her palms outwards. “I had a wonderful conversation with your sister last night. It’s just that, um, well…”
Sigurd straightened his posture. “She was raised in seclusion in Verdane. Give her some space, Andrei.”
Andrei scrunched his nose. He turned back to Deirdre, a faux smile plastered on his face. “My apologies once more for my obtuse behavior. I shall know better the next time.”
Duke Ling cleared his throat. “Andrei, why don’t we pull up a chair for you to join us?”
“That will be alright, father,” Andrei said. “I have already eaten this morning, and it seems as if the table is already too–” he glared at Oifey– “crowded.”
Oifey took a drawn-out sip of milk.
“Anyways,” said Andrei, his voice full of disdain, “I will be up in my chambers unpacking my things. If you need me, just call.” He swirled on his heel and left the room.
Once he was out of view, Edain pressed her fingers to her forehead. “My deepest apologies. I don’t know what’s happened to him as of late.”
“It’s alright,” said Oifey. He cast his glance downward. “I’m used to it.”
You shouldn’t be used to it, Deirdre thought. Perhaps that was best discussed later. Andrei had already soured the mood enough.
The table fell silent. Oifey picked at his eggs. Edain dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.
Duke Ling broke the silence. “I received a response from King Azmur this morning. They’ve sent a carriage for Lady Deirdre.”
Deirdre set down her fork. A strange mix of dread and excitement swirled in her gut. She was to finally meet her father, the man she’d longed to know since her youth. Yet the thought of it made her hair stand on end. Being separated from Sigurd did not help. It would be just her navigating such a strange world alone.
Sigurd placed a hand on her shoulder. “It will be alright. King Azmur and Prince Kurth are great men. They’re going to treat you like… well, a princess.”
Deirdre thought back to the fairy tales of her youth. The princesses in them ranged from bratty and spoiled to good-natured and hardworking. She’d always wanted to be like the latter. A pure soul, shining with the light of kindness and inner beauty. For their goodness they were rewarded with fine gowns, delightful delicacies, and true love. But had Deirdre earned such honors? She had not suffered under a cruel stepmother, or been tasked with saving her brothers through a vow of silence. Instead she lived a comfortable life with her grandmother, playing freely in the enchanted woods around their cottage.
What would her new life be like? How long would it take her to get used to? Would she have the same freedoms as before? Something deep inside her told her things were to change for the worse. But Sigurd had spoken so wonderfully about everything. It couldn’t be all bad, could it?
“Deirdre?” Sigurd asked. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” she said, quiet under her breath. “It’s nothing.”
She prayed she wasn’t telling a lie.