Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (44 page)

Bronwen thought herself fortunate to have had her father’s guidance. While she remained ever astute to the talks which took place between he, his advisors, and the Senate of Annwyd, she was nowhere near as versed in the subject of war as he. She was too young to have witnessed the early wars that nearly tore the land to pieces. Her father, however, had experienced them in full. As queen, she would rely heavily on his guidance in order to run the kingdom.

She stood and took a deep breath, filled with both fear and girlish excitement as she watched Rhodri step out of his carriage. For but a brief moment, she wished the Lady Ceridwen was there to give her a charm or to weave a bewitching spell. The Meïnir women were versed in the ways of seduction. Ceridwen would be able to teach her how to please Rhodri, as she so desperately wanted. When she bedded Alric, it had been different. He was all too pleased to lie with a girl of her beauty, and he did not require her to do much to bring him to climax. He would then roll off her and fall soundly to sleep. A thankfully brief affair.

But she sent the blasphemous thoughts from her mind. Were she to accept Ceridwen’s help, she would surely damn herself and fall from The Maker’s grace. The mere thought of receiving pleasure from an act meant only for procreation was sinful, but Bronwen could not ignore the fire burning in her loins as she gazed upon Rhodri; a fire whose flames could only be satiated by their union.

And why should she receive no pleasure? Surely if The Maker did not approve of such, he would not have made the act feel so delightful.

She could feel the heat in her face and knew she blushed. This was the first time she had ever questioned The Maker. She waited to be struck down by His wrathful hand as she had been told would happen, and yet nothing came.

“My Lady?” Mara approached her from behind. “The Lord Rhodri has arrived. You must make ready.”

“Yes, Mara. I witnessed his arrival from the window.”

“Is that why your face is reddened?” Mara teased.

“Oh, be silent.” Bronwen waved the back of her hand toward Mara. “Fetch my gown. No, not that one, the dark purple one.”

“It is far too cold to wear the purple gown. This one would be better suited for the weather.”

“I care not. I must look my best, and no other gown will do.”

“Very well.” Mara retrieved the gown and helped Bronwen into it. “But I will not have you catching your death in this weather. You must wear a chemise beneath the gown.”

“That is fine,” the disappointment in her voice on plain display. “You can show the pertness of your breasts just as well with the chemise as you can without,” Mara said, reading her mind.

Bronwen held her arms out as Mara anointed her with thick perfumes scented with flowery aromas from the south. She wore her finest jewelry, but neglected to wear the necklace Alric had gifted her.

“And lastly,” Mara said as she placed the veil over Bronwen’s head.

“Damnable tradition.” She shifted the veil. “I can barely see with this thing upon my head.”

“You must at least appear to be in mourning for the king’s death.”

“Mara…” Bronwen snatched her hand in a shaky grasp. “Do you think me wicked?”

“Certainly not,” Mara’s tone changed as she comforted her.

“It is just that…‌I feel sorrow for the king’s death, but I also welcomed it because I knew it meant I could have Rhodri. I worry that I should feel true sorrow for Alric for he did love me dearly.”

“My dear child.” Mara sighed and stroked her cheek with a warm hand. “You were thrust into marriage with the High King of Cærwyn by your father. You had no choice in the matter. You should not feel guilt over your lack of sorrow. You did not love him. How could you? You knew the king for such a short time, it is to be expected that you are numb to his departure from this world.”

“But I take such pleasure from knowing Rhodri could be my betrothed this very night.”

“You must not compare the two circumstances. You must allow yourself to feel happiness at your impending marriage to Duke Helygen.”

“But were it not for me, Lady Siana would still be alive.”

“Hush, child! Do you want the entire castle gossiping about your involvement? Ever since you were a babe in my arms, I have thought of you as my own daughter. You know this.”

Bronwen nodded as she struggled to smile.

“I want only for your happiness. If marriage to Duke Helygen makes you happy, you deserve it. I simply ushered in the circumstances which would allow it. Now come, pull the veil over your eyes and I shall lead you downstairs to greet him.”

Bronwen took a deep breath and lowered her veil before reaching out for the comfort of Mara’s waiting hand. As she descended the staircase, she saw Rhodri and his large party standing in the entryway of the castle.

“My Lady Bronwen.” Rhodri bowed to her, and his men followed suit.

“Please.” She raised her hand. “Do not bow to me, my Lord.”

“You remain queen dowager upon my uncle’s death, my Lady. You deserve our respect.”

“I thank you, Duke Helygen.”

“Come,” he said with noted weariness. “Nightfall will soon be upon us and there is much to discuss.”

She went with him into the main hall where Father Andras waited. “You have my most deepest sympathies,” he said, stepping forward. “The entire kingdom will mourn the loss of such a great man as your uncle.”

“I thank you for such kind words, Reverent Father. Please, let us all be seated.”

Bronwen sat near the head of the table while Rhodri took the seat of the king next to her. Andras and the Helygen nobles who made the journey sat down as well.

“My uncle, Declan Morehl, sends his regards to the Queen Dowager of Cærwyn, my Lady.”

“I receive his words gratefully and hope ties between Cærwyn and Helygen remain strengthened despite recent matters.”

“As do I.” Rhodri cleared his throat. “We have matters to discuss regarding my coronation.”

“Yes,” Andras spoke. “I believe it would be most wise to perform the coronation as soon as possible. While the majority of our people will remain loyal to a blood heir of Alric, Maker watch over him, the longer we delay, the more likely an insurgency comes and a disgruntled noble may try to overthrow the house of Gwlachgwyn.”

“You speak wisely, Reverent Father.” Bronwen kept her head lowered, protocols of the circumstances at the forefront of her mind.

“My Lady,” Rhodri turned to her, “you have no need to lower your eyes in my presence. My uncle saw it fit to marry you, and I believe he chose well.”

“My Lord?”

“In these turbulent times, we must show the people we remain consistently strong against all outside forces which could threaten us. Having spoken with my advisors, and with your permission, I believe it would be most felicitous were you and I to wed.”

“I think that is a most wonderful proposition.” Reverant Father Andras looked in her direction. “What say you, my Lady?”

Bronwen took but a brief moment to gather her wits about her. This was not how she expected the meeting to take place. She thought she would have to struggle to convince Rhodri that the idea of marriage would be prosperous. And yet, it was he who proposed marriage as if it were nothing.

“If it pleases you, I would gladly agree.” Bronwen bowed her head slightly again. “Our people must see that we present a united collaboration between Cærwyn and Annwyd, for I am and will always remain a daughter of Annwyd, no matter the length of time which has passed. I have already given myself to the service of the people of Cærwyn, and I would like to continue to do so.”

“Splendidly spoken, my Queen.” Andras clasped his hands together, nodding.

“Then the matter is settled,” Rhodri announced, “We shall wed immediately following my coronation.”

Bronwen of Annwyd wed the newly crowned, and newly named, High King Rhodri Gwalchgwyn in the early hours of the morning the day after his arrival in Cærwyn. The coronation ceremony began just as dawn broke over the horizon and did not end until midmorning. The wedding ceremony and the festival which followed lasted long after night had fallen. The people needed this happy day, a day of drinking, feasting and other revelry. Dark days lied ahead.

As was customary, the new high king sat with his bride upon a raised platform in the town square for the festivities, flanked by numerous guards. Bronwen was surprised at how quickly the feast was served as the cooks had been given such short notice. They must have started preparations the night before. Her previous wedding to Alric had been a quiet affair, so she was stunned by the amount of revelers who attended, both nobles and common folk alike. This was a celebration not only for her wedding, but for the coronation of the new High King of Cærwyn.

She was slightly frightened by the crowd. They gorged themselves on spit-roasted mutton and horse meat coated in honey and spices, while they drank themselves into a frenzy with mead and the last of the summer wine. She was comforted that the guards practically surrounded Rhodri and her. It was not just that she was frightened of the crowd, but she did not wish to be approached by any of them. She found most of them off-putting.

Food was presented first to the High King and then to her. Steaming platters of meat and blood sausages were first, followed by a second meat which Bronwen did not recognize. Later, fruit, both fresh and dried, was served with sweetgrass soup to cleanse the palate. Lastly, sweet pasties were served with a second course of fruit, this time baked apples.

As the hours lingered on and the many nobles had come to pay tribute, Bronwen grew weary. Despite the cool weather, the sun beating down upon her caused her to feel drowsy.

Finally, the sun lingered low in the sky and the celebration came to a close.

Rhodri stood from his seat offering her his hand.

“And now,” his voice boomed, “who here offers bride gifts for their new queen?”

Bronwen was surprised by the announcement. In Annwyd, it was customary to give a noble husband gifts in addition to his bride’s dowry, but the bride was not to expect anything in return.

“Aye, my King.” A man stepped forward with three others, carrying a large oaken chest. “I come with a gift from your uncle, Duke Declan Helygen. We set travel shortly after you informed the duke of your plans to wed the queen.”

“You may approach.” Rhodri motioned them forward.

The men carried the chest forward and sat it at the foot of the platform. The chest itself was a kingly gift, finely carved wood with gold gilt trim. They opened the chest, and Bronwen stepped forward to peer at the contents. Inside were the finest silks and jewels she had ever seen, as well as fine furs and gold.

“Does my queen approve?” the man asked modestly.

“I do.” Bronwen lowered her chin slightly to bow approval to the messenger from Helygen. “You may tell your duke that he has done himself a great service in this court and we thank him for such a lavish tribute.”

“Yes, m’Lady.”

Smaller noble houses also gave gifts. Bronwen found herself surrounded by piles of things she had no need for, such as the herd of cattle from Ealdorman Barciau. But she accepted them as graciously as she could.

The last light of the sun soon sank below the horizon, and Bronwen found herself thankful the day’s festivities were over; her exhaustion set in some time ago.

“I believe it is time for my lady wife and I to retire to our quarters,” Rhodri announced, and quickly received raucous hoots and hollers from the crowd.

He gently took her hand and led her inside the castle. An unexpected fear crept over her. Though she wanted to be with Rhodri more than anything, she could not help but feel like a child once more. She was fourteen and all alone in the world. Not even her father had attended her wedding. Was this to be how her life would unfold? Forgotten by Annwyd, to be abandoned into the wilds of Cærwyn?

In the king’s bedchambers, the one she had shared with Alric, she and her new husband came together in the light of the fire. Rhodri looked so strong, so protective. She felt herself trembling as he brushed his hands over the silk of her wedding dress. In that moment, feeling as fragile as glass, as if she might shatter into a million pieces, she began to cry.

“Do I not please you?” He stepped back.

“It is not that, my King.” Bronwen wiped the tears from her face. “I am overcome with emotion. These are but tears of joy.”

Perhaps he did not fully understand why she would cry out of happiness, but she did not care. She was thankful that he did not take offense to her tears.

He stroked her flaxen hair, gently letting the locks fall between his fingers.

She blushed when he caressed her shoulders and slipped a hand beneath the draped silk. As he lifted the fold and removed it, her dress slid down to the floor. Standing naked before her new husband, self-conscious in the chilled air, she felt gooseflesh all over her body.

“Come.” He led her to the marital bed. “You are cold.”

She scrambled under the covers when his back was turned and pulled the furs up to her neck. Then she watched him undress. He was unsteady on his feet, and she hoped he was not too drunk to perform his duties.

He moved dizzily toward her, naked, and she shielded her eyes as she saw the erect life surging between his legs. He pulled back the covers and knelt next to her. As she looked up at him, his face graced by the illumination of the fire’s light, she could see he was even more beautiful than she remembered. All thought of sin and damnation fled from her mind.

For a moment, he drank in her naked form. He then lightly touched her cheek, tracing the gentle slope of her jaw and lips with his thumb.

She leaned back onto the pillows and drew him down with her, feeling the hot weight of his body. He stroked the soft skin of her breast, and then took the stiff nipple between his fingers. She moaned as her entire body tingled under his attentive touch. She parted her legs and led him inside her. With eyes closed, she clung to his muscular shoulders, savoring the gentle boldness behind his thrust.

She moaned louder when his pace quickened, his fingers exploring her body, his tongue exploring the nape of her neck. Were this sin, she would gladly suffer a thousand lives of damnation for this one night.