Story Sunday (well, Monday, whatever) #3

Beautiful art by micorl on DeviantArt

Melanie sat in the anteroom and listened to the sounds of desctruction coming from the bedchamber beyond.

The Royal Council of Belgaband had just informed Her Highness, Princess Genevieve, that she would soon be married to King Harford of Maravel, a large and powerful neighbor to the west of the small kingdom of Belgaband. Judging from the crashing and shattering sounds coming from her bedchamber, the Princess was not pleased.

Melanie and the other lady's maids sat on one of the sofas, watching the Royal Council murmur to one another quietly, occasionally flinching as a particularly large object shattered against the wall. King Gerriam, Genevieve's father, was in the bedchamber trying to placate his daughter.

Several long moments later, King Gerriam emerged, shaking his head at the Royal Council. He turned to the lady's maids. "My daughter awaits you now," he said, sighing heavily. "Please attend her and see to the chamber." All five of the princess' handmaidens curtsied deeply and hurried into the bedchamber as the Royal Council filed out.

Inside, they found a weeping Princess Genevieve on the floor, surrounded by a circle of destruction. It looked at though she had been the eye of a tornado that had ravaged the room. Melanie and Jona, the two maids who were the closest friends of the Princess, picked their way through the debris to her side. The other three began the daunting task of cleaning up the mess - scattered glass, broken wood, water from flower vases, perfume spilled from the vanity.

As they hopped through the scattered remains of what had once been a beautiful and lavish bedchamber, Melanie took stock of the damage. As the senior Lady's Maid, it would be her responsibility to inventory and repair all of the damages to the princess' chamber. All of the vases had been smashed, their delicate ceramic pedestals smashed to small bits. Flowers and water littered the carpetted floors next to the piles of plaster. The intricately carved vanity that Genevieve had recieved as a sixteenth name-day gift had been toppled over. Melanie hoped it wasn't too heavily damaged - it was a one-of-a-kind item that could not be replaced. The perfume, cosmetics, and hair baubles that had rested on the table were strewn about as though they had been kicked. The feather pillows were burst, the mattress ripped apart, tapestries torn and stomped on. Melanie winced inwardly, taking in the damage, knowing she would answer to the Royal Treasurer for this.

Jona and Melanie reached Genevieve in the middle of her personal hurricane, both kneeling down to comfort the dramatically sobbing princess.

"It's simply not fair, Jona!" Genevieve wailed. "King Harford is an old, smelly, disgusting man! I cannot marry such a creature!" Melanie thought Genevieve had a bit of a point. King Harford was at least seventy years old, and from the descriptions pages had given of him (Melanie had never seen him herself), he was a pot-bellied, hook-nosed drunkard who spent most of his time drinking, belching, and eating sweets. One of the young pages had said that his nose perpetually dripped, as though he were constantly in need of a handkerchief.

"Don't worry yourself, Your Highness," Jona murmured, patting Genevieve on the back. "I'm sure they'll find a way to break the news to King Harford that you don't want to marry." This fact was blindingly obvious.

"I told him," the princess sobbed. "I told Father, I would sooner throw myself through this window than marry that old -" here followed a string of colourful curses that Melanie was fairly sure the princess hadn't known before Jona had entered her employ. Jona nodded and patted the princess' back sympathetically. Melanie pulled a handkerchief from her bosom and handed it to Genevieve.

"Thank you, Mel," Genevieve said, gazing toward the massive stained glass window that graced the south wall of her bedchamber, casting shards of coloured light onto the remains of the furnishings. "I'll do it, you know," she said, very quiet. "I'll do it, Mel. I'll jump straight out that window."

Melanie had no doubt of the princess' sincerity. Genevieve of Belgaband was not in the habit of saying things she did not mean. Dramatic and selfish she certainly was, but not a liar.

"There, there, Your Highness," Melanie said, her voice low and soft as if comforting a skittish horse. "It can't be all that bad. His Majesty your father will simply tell King Harford no."

"No, you don't understand, Mel," Genevieve cried, flinging a dramatic hand across her brow. "Harford will not take no for an answer. You know of the military prowess of the Kingdom of Maravel. Harford wishes to expand his borders. Belgaband shall be the next addition to his myriad of conquests."

This was entirely possible. Maravel had been on the march for well over a decade, taking the kingdoms around his own either by force or through marriages such as the one proposed between himself and Genevieve. Nearly all of his many children were now married into royal families, the allegiance of those countries now sword to Maravel. They were now not so much countries as they were provinces under the control of Harford.

"Well, if that's what he wanted, offer him Germain then," Jona said practically. "He's still got the one daughter left, ain't he?" Melanie looked at Jona pointedly. "I mean, does he not?"

Germain was Genevieve's eight-year-old brother. He spent his time wandering in the rose gardens, playing the pianoforte, and drinking excessive amounts of tea with his governesses. Harford did indeed have one remaining daughter - a twenty-six year old brute called Jywander, who spent her time jousting and practicing sword play.

"Oh come now, Jona. Jywander would eat Germain for breakfast," Melanie chided, a joking tone in her voice, though she wasn't entirely certain it was a joke.

"Perhaps," Genevieve said, unconvinced. "I do not know. I know only that I will never marry such an abomination of a man."

"Your Highness, forgive me, but what if it is the only way to prevent a war with Maravel? You said yourself their military prowess is unmatched. Many thousands would die should Maravel attack." Belgaband was a small, wealthy country, but it had no standing army. Maravel, on the other hand, had five thousand professional soldiers and a mandatory draft of men ages eighteen to twenty-three. Even some of their women fought, which explained Jywander's favourite passtimes. Such things would not be tolerated in Belgaband, Melanie knew.

"I don't care," the princess said. "Let him come. The castle can withstand the siege."

Jona and Melanie shared a look. This was Genevieve's one massive flaw - a complete inability to understand the feelings of others, especially if those people were low-born peasants. She simply didn't think of them as real humans with feelings, hopes, dreams.

"Well, if indeed you must marry him to prevent a war, look at it this way," Jona piped up. "That man can't last longer than a year. Marry him, deal with his disgusting, insufferable self for a year, and then become queen of Maravel as well as Belgaband. Why not?"

Genevieve just sobbed harder. Melanie looked sharply at Jona. "Jona, you cannot joke about such things," she hissed. Genevieve flapped a hand though, silencing her lady's maid. "No, it was funny. I like your jokes, Jona," the princess said, quieting somewhat.

A knock echoed through the chamber. Gladys, the young maid closest to the door, answered it. The Baron of Miran, the King's right hand man, stepped into the room, politely ignoring the small disaster area before him. "Lady Melanie, His Royal Majesty King Gerriam requests your presence in the council chamber," he announced.

Melanie was not entirely surprised, though this summons came sooner than she had hoped. She would, after all, have to report the losses to the treasurer, and Melanie assumed King Gerriam would want some kind of report as to the status of his daughter. She stood, curtsying to Genevieve as she left. She followed the Baron up several flights of stairs, pausing to catch her breath - Melanie was not exactly what one would call slim, and she was unused to such physical activities. Her own chambers were one the same level as those of the Princess she served, and lower-ranking maids did all of the running to the kitchens and laundry.

The Baron, with exquisite manners, waiting for Melanie to catch her breath outside the council chamber door, which rested at the top of the highest tower of the palace where eavesdropping would be nearly impossible. After a few breathless moments, Melanie nodded, and the Baron led her into the room.

At the head of the table sat King Gerriam, his bearded face solemn. His councillors sat to either side of him. Melanie looked to the treasurer, but to her surprise, his gaze was fixed on his clasped hands. She expected him to be furious about the destruction of the princess' chamber.

"Lady Melanie, I assume you are aware of the imminent betrothal of my daughter to the King of Maravel," the king stated.

"Her Highness informed me of as much, Your Majesty," Melanie said, dropping into a curtsy. "She is - ah, reluctant to go through with the match, as I think you have observed."

"Oh, I've observed," the king muttered, his councillors supressing laughs at the expression on his face. "Now, girl, allow me to explain why we have brought you here."

Melanie opened her mouth to say that she had not yet tallied the damage to the Princess' rooms and she would present a report as soon as possible, but the king raised a hand to silence her. "No, Lady Melanie, we are not concerned with the expenditures necessary to refurnish my daughter's chambers at this time," he said. "Let her live with bare walls and cheap perfume for a while. No, we have brought you here for something far more delicate."

Melanie held her breath. "Now, as I'm sure you know, the king of Maravel has been attempting to expand his kingdom for ten long years. Four other kingdoms have fallen under his control, either through marriage bonds or conquest or a combination of the two. Now that all of his eligible children are married, he seeks a young bride for himself. Belgaband would be the crowning jewel of his achievements." Melanie nodded. She knew all this. "If Genevieve does not marry him, he will invade. He has said as much in our correspondence. He will accept nothing less than Genevieve's hand in marriage and our full surrender."

Melanie had suspected this as well, though she had no idea what it had to do with her.

"My daughter has a strong personality and I cannot force her into this. Do you believe she can be convinced to do this, for the good of the realm?"

"No, my lord," she said at once. She had grown up with Genevieve and knew her intimately. "She is distraught and determined. She will fling herself from the window before agreeing."

"Yes, so she said," the king agreed sadly. "Well then, that leaves us no choice. I cannot lose my daughter, but I must protect my kingdom. Genevieve has never been seen in Maravel, save by a few pages and messengers. Descriptions of her physical appearance may have been exaggerated or misremembered. You look similar enough to her, and you will fit her gowns with little adjustment. You will be sent to marry the King of Harford in Genevieve's place."

Melanie wanted to laugh. The idea was completely absurd - and yet, it made sense. Melanie and Genevieve were but two years apart. They had the same hair, long and dark and wavy, and olive skin. They were both full-bodied ladies with generous hips, so yes, the dresses would fit. Genevieve could go into hiding for the rest of the time that King Harford is alive, which, as Jona had observed, probably wouldn't be very long. The aftermath could be dealth with when the time came - perhaps they could even swap Melanie out with Genevieve after the King's death without many people noticing. She could return home for a time to "grieve" and come back...changed.

Melanie did not want to marry a fat old lecher with a snotty nose, but she also did not want Maravel's notoriously merciless soldiers to invade her home. The Maravellians would sweep through the country like black death, leaving a swath of fire and ash behind them, no man, woman, or child exempt from their cruelty. She knew what she must do.

Croaking past a lump in her throat, Melanie asked, "When do I leave?"

Author's Note: Hey all! I'm actually kind of pleased with how this one turned out. I didn't exactly write it in one sitting because I wrote the whole thing and IT DIDN'T SAVE so I had to write it twice. Did you like this one? Do you think I should expand on it? Let me know in the comments :)