Cathedral bells pealed as the opulent carriage rolled through the cobblestone streets. Curious faces peered through windows as the white vehicle passed, speculation and questions exchanged by onlookers in its wake. Inside, Penelope, countess of Peacham, tugged anxiously at the lace trim of her gloves.

"You simply must sit still," chided her new bridegroom from the cushioned bench across from her. "Everything will be fine. Your father will love me."

"But what if he doesn't?" It was easy for the dashing older gentleman to keep calm. Prince Outis carried about him an air of sophistication that Penelope feared made him almost too good to be her husband. He was tall, handsome, and possessed a brooding, mysterious aura. The countess knew he would be the talk of the kingdom if he wasn't already. "What if father won't acknowledge the union?"

Outis leaned forward and brushed a stray blonde curl from the timid woman's face. "Did I marry your father or you?"

Penelope lowered her head and blushed, smiling despite her uncertainty. "Me."

"You weren't shy about pursuing me," Outis continued. "You couldn't wait to tie the knot. And when it came to the honeymoon--" The countess, bright red, pressed a hand over her companion's mouth before he could continue. From behind her palm, Outis let out a muted chuckle.

"You can't talk like that around my father, around anyone."

The prince leaned back to excuse himself from the gloved censor. "I wouldn't dream of it, my dear. My teasing is reserved only for you."

The carriage slowed as it approached high stone walls. The stone was gray and showed generations of weathered age. Outis drew back a curtain and examined the architecture as the driver exchanged greetings with the outer guards. "This is the Great Manor of Peacham?"

"I'm sure it's nothing compared to the palace at Valheita," said Penelope.

"It's quaint," smirked Outis. He winked at his bride. "But there's nothing wrong with quaint."

The carriage traveled on. Both husband and wife kept their gaze upon the sprawling lawns and intricate gardens. In her mind, Penelope made a list of the various locations she would take the prince once he had settled in. Together, they must be seen to go to the Swan Baths, the hedge maze, the apple grove, and the cabbage fields. First and foremost, she had to ensure outfits were designed and crafted to coordinate with one another. It wouldn't do to have him dressed in one manner and she in another when she was keen to emphasis the legitimacy of their marriage. Above all else, it had to be clear that he was hers and she was his. A quick word to Bennington, perhaps, and the tailors could be set into motion...

"Who is that?" Outis asked, gesturing to a woman dressed in servant's garments on the grass as the carriage went past.

"Who?" Penelope craned her neck to look. She was too late. Her eyes failed to catch the retreating figure. "Oh, I don't know. We have a great many servants."

"Of course," purred Outis. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

"I hope you're not too underwhelmed," Penelope pouted, biting onto her lip. "We'll only be here for a short time then we can go and live at your palace. My father would be inconsolable if I were to just leave without ever coming back." She lowered her head. "He's been that way since my brother disappeared."

"Yes, you've said." The prince settled beside the countess and put an arm around her shoulder.

"You needn't go into that again. This is meant to be a happy occasion. Let's keep our talk light and sunny."

"What if he thinks you're taking me away?" Penelope quivered.

"I am," said Outis without a shred of hesitation. The woman gasped and he grinned. "I suppose I can bring you back on occasion."

Penolope balled her fists and punched playfully. "You can't say that to anyone else!"

"You've married a prince, my dear." Outis poked the smaller woman upon the nose. "It can easily be surmised that you'll be leaving with me. Where else would you live?"

"To be married in Reading is not the same as to be married in Peacham," murmured Penelope.

"That's why we're here, isn't it? To make it official in your kingdom as well?"

"To see my father," clarified Penelope.

"You will see your father, my sweet. We shall have a lavish wedding-- second wedding-- and then we will return to the palace in Valheita and live out our days in marital bliss."

Penelope leaned into the hefty arm that snaked her back. Yes, that was an ideal outcome. Penelope, countess of Peacham, princess and future queen of Valheita. To spend every night in the embrace of a strong, handsome, royal man like Outis. How many other women could say they had such an opportunity?

The carriage stopped. Penelope sat up abruptly and sputtered, "We're here."

"Finally," muttered Outis almost imperceptibly. The countess frowned at him and he elaborated, "Travel and I have never been great friends."

Garishly attired footmen assisted the pair in their disembarkment. Penelope smoothed her long satin skirt as Outis brushed his hair back with his hand. As the young bride was about to comment, the front door of the manor burst open. A male in his early thirties with a well maintained ponytail and the garments of a high servant approached with two maids in tow. The front guard watched on. "Countess."

Penelope brightened. "Bennington! It feels like forever since I last saw you!" Then, "Where is father?"

Bennington stopped beside Outis and tipped his head back to inspect the behemoth of a newcomer. The prince was handsome, perhaps, but he was also something of a beast in comparison to others. The servant's eyes lingered on the unkempt black beard that dominated the other man's features. "Are you sure it's wise to go before him with your husband the moment you've returned?"

Tittering nervously, Penelope put a hand to her mouth. "Oh! Sorry! Yes, this is my husband, Prince Outis of Valheita."

"Naturally," quipped Bennington. "Who else would it be?" He turned his attention to Penelope. "Have you forgotten everything you were taught? Where are your manners? Where is your tact?"

"What are you talking about?" Penelope blinked.

"Hey, now," said Outis, raising a hand. "This is your mistress. You can't talk to her like--"

Penelope wrapped her arms around her husband's bicep and pulled the limb between their bodies. "It's fine, darling. Bennington's family has been with us for generations. It's his way."

"Your father," scoffed Bennington, ignoring the display of affection, "is appalled by your behavior."

Penelope flinched. "Really?"

"He was beginning to recover," scowled the servant. "That letter you sent has driven him back into the arms of illness. I daresay he's worse than before." On cue, Bennington withdrew the missive in question. He read aloud, "'Dear Father, please don't be angry but I've gotten married.'...Married! You were only gone for six weeks!"

"A lot happened in Reading," was the best Penelope could manage.

"I can see that."

"Hey," interjected Outis.

"He sent you away to protect you," Bennington continued. "You are a lady, not a wanton whore. You know he has no tolerance for promiscuity after the sinful deeds of your mother."

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Having no other course of action, Penelope burst into tears. It had a profound effect on her husband.

"He can't talk to you like that!" Outis insisted. "You're in charge. Order him to know his place!" The countess sniffled and buried her face into the hefty torso. Outis wrapped her in a loose embrace before glowering at Bennington. "If she won't say it, then I will. You're out of line. I have a good mind to have you sacked."

"I don't serve you, your majesty," replied Bennington dryly.

"Then I'll see that her father sacks you!"

"Good luck with that," dismissed Bennington. After a moment, he adopted a professional mien, smiling politely at the pair and clapping his hands together. "Is this preferable, your majesty? Aping congeniality?"

Outis did not respond.

Keeping with the show, Bennington motioned to the maids. "Girls, if you would be so kind as to take their things to their chambers, I'm sure the happy couple is tired from their long journey."

Penelope lifted her head and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry, Darling. I'll be fine."

"Your father wants to speak with you," said Bennington curtly.

Penelope slipped from Outis and nodded solemnly. "Then I will speak with him."

"I'll go with you," said the prince. Bennington held up a hand and returned to his faux amicable disposition.

"My deepest apologies, your majesty, but this is a matter between Countess Penelope and Count Weiland. I'll have someone show you to your room."

Again, Outis did not respond.

-+-+-+-

"Countess Penelope is back," announced Cairn as Leda approached the manor door. He pushed the visor on his metal helmet back to regard her thoroughly.

The servant woman stopped beside the guard and let out a sigh. "And the husband? What is he like?"

Cairn considered. "Big. Hairy. Not what I was expecting from a prince."

"Did you learn anything about him?"

"He doesn't like your brother," said Cairn. Leda nodded. "Then again, he didn't pull any punches. Your brother, I mean."

"He's very upset," said Leda. "As you know."

"Well," conceded Cairn, "I don't think he thought Countess Penelope would come back from Reading with a royal husband."

Leda leaned against the doorframe and let her eyes wander. "Did they just go in?"

"Five minutes ago or so."

"Then I will stay out here with you for another five minutes or so."

Cairn laughed.

"I saw him," admitted Leda. "Prince whatever. Our eyes met as they rode in."

"Really?"

"Yes." Leda rubbed her chin. "Not that that clears anything up."

"I'm sure we'll get a chance to learn all about him." Cairn cracked his neck. "If I were to guess, over time you and I will be intimately involved with the affairs of the newlyweds."

"A prince," mused Leda. She twirled a strand of hair around finger. She was the epitome of a Bennington brunette, a trait shared with her elder brother, as were her icy blue eyes. They had been the subject of more than one poem from a hopeful suitor. "How fortunate for Countess Penelope! I wish a prince would come and marry me!"

"You may want someone less brutish." Cairn was hardly of slight build though even he had to admit Prince Outis loomed over him. At least, Cairn thought proudly, he was less hirsute than the visiting monarch. He kept his blonde hair short and his body hair even shorter. Perhaps it wasn't the practice of every man in the kingdom; Cairn was unashamed in his peculiarities.

"A brute prince would not do," reflected Leda. "My prince would be a storybook prince. He would ride up on a white horse and spirit me away to a magical kingdom somewhere far away."

"That fate," said Cairn, "is reserved for the nobility."

"Then how fortunate for me!" grinned Leda. "The Benningtons were once a noble line!"

"Were," echoed Cairn. He had heard a great deal about their fall and eventual lineage of indentured servitude. Ad nauseum.

"We still live amongst nobility," said Leda. "We learn what they learn. We walk where they walk. We live where they live. Nobility is still every bit a part of our life. Of your life too."

"If only it were something that could be learned."

"I think you're very noble, Cairn Taylor," Leda beamed.

"What about our new mysterious prince?" poised Cairn.

"I don't know what I think of him yet," admitted Leda. "But as you said, I'm sure our paths will be intimately entwined."

-+-+-+-

Outis paced the bedchamber and examined its décor. It was every bit ornate as he had imagined. The mattress was large enough to accommodate a family of four and the pillows were the size of hunting dogs. Green dominated the room in both blankets and tapestry. One particularly large tapestry hung on the wall opposite the windows facing outwards. Olive thread on beige backing, it showed a battle with a large dragon wherein the dragon emerged triumphant. Given the lack of personal belongings, Outis strongly suspected Penelope kept her own space elsewhere.

It was not unexpected to be put in a guest room.

The impression he had received from the maids was that he and his wife were to share the space. That was also not unexpected. A married couple stayed together. Their marriage was a bond, a unity, an expression of joining. Why, then, was he on his own as his wife went to speak to her father? Wasn't he to impress the count and alleviate concerns over their hasty wedding? He had practiced his speech in his head over and over. Now that the time was right, why was he sequestered away and his seemingly timid wife appealing on his behalf?

Well, mostly due to the fact he had been locked in.

It had to be the doing of Bennington. Did he think Prince Outis of Valheita would behave unbecomingly? Was his goal to show Outis in a less favorable light? He had made his contempt for his new master (and current mistress) clear. No, Outis wouldn't show anything but restraint. A prince was debonair, dashing, and suave. Outis could play the part without lifting a finger.

Or perhaps he had already been placed on house arrest for defiling the beloved countess of Peacham?

Not likely, he decided. They were legally wed in Reading. Whether or not it was honored in Peacham was inconsequential. Outis could even make the case that his position in Valheita outweighed any laws a count might enforce and invalidate the charge at the start. Unless that wasn't the true cause of his incarceration.

The lock turned. Outis pushed his thoughts aside. The muted sound of a woman's voice seeped through the thick wooden barrier. "Darling," he called out sweetly. "Is that you?"

Instead of his bride, a rotund man with a thick gray beard met his eyes. A maid, the same one who had sealed him in before, held a key ring and bowed. Outis pushed his hair down and smiled. "Count Weiland, I presume?"

"Knock off the slick act," the count blustered, pointing a meaty accusatory finger. "'Prince', my ass. You're no prince."

Outis's smile fell.

"You wait there," the count continued, gesturing to the maid to shut the door. "I'm going to have a word with 'loverboy' here." With the click of the latch, Weiland returned to his son-in-law with vitriol. "'Prince Outis of Valheita'... 'his royal highness'... give me a break."

"Aren't you meant to be sick or something?" Outis blurted out. "Penelope said you were bedridden."

"Shut up." Weiland waved his finger anew. "I don't know who you think you're fooling but it's not anyone here."

Outis folded his arms and said nothing.

"You think you can swindle my daughter into marriage with some bullshit about foreign royalty?"

"..."

"Where is 'Valheita' meant to be located, 'Prince' Outis?" The count situated himself upon the bedspread. "Across the ocean? No, we have diplomats who have traveled across the ocean. Beyond the mountains? Our diplomats have been to those lands too. Beyond our known lands? How curious you speak fluently without a hint of accent."

"..."

"Well? I'm talking to you."

Outis sighed and chose his words carefully. "Count Weiland, I understand you have been ill. Is it not possible that your illness has affected your mind some?"

"I wasn't ill, I was poisoned," snapped the count. "The reason I sent Penelope to Reading in the first place was to get her away from danger. Instead, she comes back with the first charlatan to sweet talk his way into her undergarments!"

"That's not what she believes." Outis did not comment upon the latter remark. "She tells me you have been bedridden with a mysterious plague and to prevent contamination, you sent her to Reading."

"Penelope is a delicate flower, my last remaining child. I won't have her worried as she worries me."

"She was going to talk to you," said Outis. "Have you already spoken?"

"Bennington takes her to speak with the doctor instead," said Weiland. "He will inform her that I am on death's door and that the only cure is you being cut from her life. It doesn't matter what act of heroics she insists you performed on her behalf. I have half a mind that you orchestrated the whole thing in the first place. Whatever the truth, my daughter has spoken to you for the last time."

Outis's smile returned thin. "Penelope is my wife."

"No," said the count. "She will be made to see reason. She will annul whatever it is you think you accomplished in Reading. Your marriage is invalid in Peacham. You're lucky I don't slit your throat and dump your body down a well."

Outis's smile turned toothy. "Do you think you could, Count Weiland?"

Momentarily unnerved, the count cleared his throat. "There is a small carriage waiting by the kitchen. You will leave immediately."

Outis pawed at his beard. "What will you tell Penelope?"

"Whatever I see fit." Then, "Perhaps you were called back on urgent business and met your untimely demise on the battlefield with another imaginary nation. My daughter will find a husband in someone with legitimate prestige and not an impostor."

"It seems to me," said Outis, "that your daughter has her own agenda."

Weiland scoffed. "Penelope's whims are second to those of Peacham."

"To yours, you mean."

"Our family has governed Peacham for generations," said the count. "I'm not about to have you ruin everything. Penelope will have a suitable... well, suitor."

Outis considered. "Your people don't know about our marriage?"

"Of course not. A marriage in Reading isn't a marriage in Peacham."

"Then," chuckled Outis, "I'd say you're on an incredibly tight timetable to find your beloved daughter a new beau."

Weiland drew back. "What are you saying?"

"Your daughter," said Outis. "is pregnant."