As the next two weeks passed, it quickly became apparent to Rhoden that he had made a mistake in accepting his father’s invitation. The excitement that had fueled his decision evaporated in the face of new developments. Though he had spent the majority of his life tending to himself, Rhoden was given a veritable army of servants: footmen and tailors, scribes and pages, a pair of King’s Guards, and even a personal valet. Where his chambers had previously been quiet and secluded, now they were filled with men who either averted their gaze whenever he entered a room, or stared openly at him. They had been assigned to him by his father, but he could tell that some were less than thrilled about the prospect of serving the Shadow Prince himself.
Rhoden tolerated them as best he could, allowing measurements for footwear and clothing with hardly a word. Cael had explained that a whole new wardrobe would be provided for him, one more fitting for a prince of the royal court. He took caution and hid some of his more comfortable clothes from the college—including his favorite pair of walking boots—beneath a loose floorboard in his bedroom. It was good that he did, for the next day, all of the clothing he had left in his wardrobe had disappeared.
His valet, a sour-faced man named Carlton, managed the servants with a pompous and business-like air and managed Rhoden with ill-disguised contempt. This did not come as a surprise, as Carlton was one of Lord Astrall’s younger sons. Rhoden had tried to explain to Cael why this was a bad idea, with Astrall being in Hestran’s inner circle, but Cael had merely said it was in an effort to broker peace between the two families. If Rhoden’s valet was a man from an important family, it helped to secure their standing within the court, and showed that the royal family was willing to allow them a chance at reconciliation. As he endured Carlton’s barely-veiled sarcasm, Rhoden was beginning to feel that court politics were much more trouble than they were worth.
He found every opportunity he could to escape the now excruciating confinements of his chambers, visiting the library or small sitting rooms that were unknown to the other guests of the palace. But, to his dismay, there were always pages lingering in the corners of rooms, and Carlton had an uncanny habit of knowing exactly where he would go. Without fail, his pair of guards would find him, like two burs stuck mercilessly to the hide of a fox.
Rhoden spent the majority of his days with Cael. Now that it was certain Rhoden would remain in the palace, Cael had made it his duty to teach Rhoden about the palace and the court, giving him unofficial lessons in culture and history.
“We’ve got to make up for everything you’ve missed!” Cael chortled. “There’s no use being a prince if you’ve no idea the difference between an Alerian waltz and a Carstanian polonaise!”
Rhoden endured the dancing lessons, partially to escape his own servants, and partially because it gave him an opportunity to come to know Mira better. She was often at Cael’s side, sometimes with her mother, other times with her sisters. Rhoden tried to smile and reassure them that he meant them no harm, but the young girls all crowded behind their mother and stared at him with wide eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Mira said, as she led him through the steps of a gigue. “They’ll come around. They just don’t know quite what to think.”
“Unfortunately, I’m well accustomed to it,” Rhoden murmured, watching as Cael danced with Issa Roth.
The smallest sister peeked from behind her mother’s skirts and, with a mischievous look, stuck her tongue out at him. Rhoden returned the gesture when Mira’s head was turned. The girl’s eyes widened and she ducked her head down again out of sight. Cael, who had witnessed the exchange, laughed loudly.
Despite the brief levity, Rhoden saw that, as each day wore on and the closer they came to the wedding date, the more agitated and restless his brother became. He thought that perhaps it had to do with the fact that Derrick Soraldson, the swords master, was gone. The man had disappeared without a word to anyone, sometime after the Mesian party had arrived, and his absence was sorely felt. Rhoden found himself sparring most mornings with his brother, and could see the confusion and anger in his eyes.
Rhoden felt a small measure of relief, having had his doubts about the man’s loyalties, but Derrick’s disappearance still gave him pause. He was certain that not everything was as it seemed with the Mesians, but he had nothing to prove it. Everything was progressing toward the wedding without issue. It should have been comforting, but Rhoden found his nights becoming increasingly restless. He often awoke late at night, covered in sweat.
Derrick was not the only one to have gone missing. Since their argument, Horst Bellenan was hardly to be seen around the palace. Rhoden felt his absence like a hole in his heart. He and his uncle had been inseparable since the day they had arrived at Tellegar College, all those years ago. Horst had, effectively, raised him as a father would their own child. True, they’d had their deal of disagreements in the past—Horst seemed to relish in being the contrarian—but never had they been apart for more than a few hours at a time.
Now, Rhoden only saw him at meals, and the man barely looked at him. Whenever Rhoden tried to approach him, Horst found a way to leave whatever conversation he had been having and vanish into the many halls of the palace. Rhoden felt frustration mount in him. He had so many questions. Why was Horst so convinced that Rhoden was in danger? The only danger he was in was that of Carlton purposefully stabbing him with a cloak pin.
Two days after their argument, Horst disappeared for several days. He returned the palace with a stranger; a middle-aged man whom he introduced to the court as Aras Rapidian. At the mention of the name, the king grew white-faced and excused himself quickly. Rhoden watched him go with some confusion, but was interrupted from his thoughts as it was left to himself and Cael to welcome the man.
“Rapidian is from Herstett,” said their uncle, his face grim. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”
“Ah, yes, the salt town,” said Cael, shaking the man’s hand and giving him a wide smile. “Lord Roth has always spoken highly of his association with your people. You provide a large portion of our exports. We are indebted to you.”
Rapidian, who was slender and small, with glasses perched on his nose, bowed slightly. “You are too kind, Your Highness,” he said, his tenor voice firm and calm. “We are only one small town and are content to remain so.”
“I’ll have our butler prepare you a room. You are here for the wedding, I presume?” Cael asked.
“For that,” Rapidian nodded, “and other matters.”
His eyes met Rhoden’s and for a moment, Rhoden was frozen beneath his gaze. It was as though the man looked into his very soul and weighed it. In his eyes, Rhoden could see deepness, darkness, and a grief he could find no words to describe.
After what seemed like hours, but could only have been mere seconds, Rapidian moved his gaze, and the feeling stopped. Rhoden took a step backward, weak and slightly trembling. He opened his mouth to demand what had happened, but a servant appeared, and Horst led the guest away. Rhoden watched them go, his heart racing.
Over the next few days, Rhoden attempted to find a moment he could speak with his uncle or Rapidian again. They were always together, talking as they walked through the gardens, or in a secluded corner of a sitting room after dinner. Their faces, from afar, appeared very serious, a far cry from the other guests who now swarmed the palace: visiting lords and ladies and dukes and duchesses who accepted the invitations given them and roamed the corridors at all hours of the day, speaking in loud voices and celebrating the wedding to come. Rhoden only rarely saw people he recognized, and even then, none approached or spoke with him. Once or twice, he saw King Sebastt of Mesia roam the palace grounds, surrounded by a gaggle of Thalist priests.
When Rhoden found he could not corner Horst or his mysterious guest, he tried a different tactic. He had not forgotten how his father had reacted upon hearing Rapidian’s name. Whoever Rapidian was, whatever he was doing here, Garazor knew something about it.
The problem was that the king was so busy with meetings and conferences that he rarely made it even to dinners. All of the preparations for the wedding were underway, and he made sure everything was perfectly in order. Every day brought wagonloads of workers—hired additionally from the city—to prepare for the wedding. Garlands and ribbons were strung together and taken by wagon to the Citadel, where the ceremony was to take place. The palace staff were constantly underway, tending to the many and varied needs of the honored guests. Even Rhoden’s own servants, who had so recently been given him, were requested to help in the efforts.
Anytime he approached his father’s rooms, he was turned away at the door, either by the King’s Guard stationed there, or by Garazor’s valet.
“His Majesty is not to be disturbed,” the valet would say, his voice slow and disapproving. “He is engaged in matters of great importance.”
Rhoden finally gave up. It was an inconvenient time, this he knew, but he had hoped to have even the smallest of discussions. He took solace in the fact that his father had promised him answers and Rhoden knew he would deliver. He was just going to have to be patient and wait until this whole affair was over.
A few days before the wedding, Rhoden took a stack of books into his room, requested privacy, and shut the door in Carlton’s face. The action gave him no small amount of pleasure.
He still had not heard any further news regarding Dorican’s Chronicles. Though the king had promised to do what he could to procure them from Lord Hestran, Rhoden had a feeling that this, too, would be delayed until after the wedding. He busied himself over the next couple of days with perusing accounts from the palace library that he had not yet read. If the sounds of grumbling voices from his sitting room were any indication, Carlton and his guards did not take kindly to his self-inflicted solitude.
Two days before the wedding, the cooks of the palace began the enormity of preparing a great feast. Though the ceremony and celebration would take place in the Citadel, as per tradition, the ball and subsequent dinner would be at the palace. Delicious smells wafted through the corridors—of roasting meats and golden pies and simmering soups. Rhoden sat inside his rooms and breathed in the rich scents and imagined the excruciating torment of the next two days.
On the day before the wedding, the members of both royal families were called to the Citadel. The Ennist and Thalist priests had insisted upon a rehearsal of sorts, to practice how the ceremony was to be run. Rhoden rode to the Citadel in an open-topped carriage with Cael, basking in the bright sunlight of the spring day.
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“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Cael, raising a hand to wave at a passing merchant. “A perfect time for new beginnings.”
The Citadel rose above the roofs of the other buildings, its bronze dome gleaming in the light. It was thought that the Sun King himself had ordered the construction of the building, and it certainly had stood the test of time. The structure was simple in shape: a half-circle that was much wider at the base, and which rose to the dome above. The front of the Citadel was flat, so that from the square before it, where the carriages stopped, it appeared that the building rose straight into the air to kiss the sky. Many statues stood in archways on the facade, the largest of which being that of Renthalas, the Sun King. Above his head, two great hands stretched, which represented Ennis. The Sun King held a scepter in one hand. In the other, he held the Heartstone.
Rhoden let his eyes linger on the stone-carved representation of such a significant artifact. The Heartstone was a powerful relic of the past, and had been guarded jealously by the Ennist Church for centuries. Rhoden had only seen it a handful of times, as it was only brought out for significant royal and religious occasions. It had belonged to the Sun King, and had been given to the church upon his ascension into heaven. Some said that it still possessed the great power it once had, though Rhoden was certain the myths surrounding the Heartstone were exaggerated. If there had been a Heartstone, and if it had belonged to the Sun King, it surely had been lost centuries ago.
The inside of the Citadel was cool, and the guests gathered together at the many doorways that lined the front. The Citadel itself was a large cathedral-like space, arranged in a half-circle that represented the rising sun. Great pillars, which had been decorated in ribbons and garlands, held the walls firm as they curved upward to meet the ribs of the dome, far above. Stained glass windows let in light, and a group of priests waited for the guests at the opposite end of the Citadel, where there was a large raised platform. The space in between had been filled with as many benches and chairs as it could hold, an indication of the number of guests who would be in attendance the next evening.
As soon as King Garazor, King Sebastt, and Lady Miriandri and her family arrived, the rehearsal began. Rhoden quickly realized that not only was he not needed, he did not desire to be there. The priests droned on about propriety, where they were all to stand, and the exact speed at which Mira was to enter the Citadel. Rhoden nearly burst with a desire to leave. So, when the Thalist priests began to argue with the Ennist priests about which scriptures should be read, and when no one was looking, Rhoden ducked into the shadows and made his way to the front of the Citadel.
The front comprised of three levels of balconies, each a series of alcoves, joined together by spiral staircases on the ends. Small arched windows looked out on the square below. Though mainly used by church choirs, today they were empty. Rhoden saw in them an escape, and he climbed the stairs eagerly.
When he reached the second level, though, he paused. There were voices ahead, whispered and low. Not wanting to interrupt a private conversation, but also not wanting to give away his presence, he stood uncertain, one foot raised on the step above.
Two people were having a heated, though whispered conversation.
“What if he should fail?” A man’s voice.
“He will not fail. It is his birthright.”
This second voice sounded like a woman’s, though quite deep. There was silence, then the man spoke again.
“If anyone were to know—”
“I’ll not be telling anyone, and you made an oath to me to keep your silence.”
“Yes, but—”
“Who’s there?”
Rhoden cursed himself silently, then climbed the last two steps to the landing. Two people stood in one of the alcoves, a man and a woman. Rhoden recognized the woman immediately.
“Forgive me, Lady Issamin,” he said, bowing low. “I did not mean to eavesdrop.”
“Prince Rhoden,” she said, the alarm on her face softening. “We did not know anyone else was here.”
The man was a stranger, a tall, broad man with black, curly hair. He stood behind Issa, his eyes flicking between her and Rhoden.
“Rhoden,” said Issa, stepping aside, “this is Croftin Meran, Lord Rittal Meran’s only son. Croftin, may I introduce Prince Rhoden.”
“We have not had the pleasure,” said Croftin, stepping forward and grasping Rhoden’s hand tightly. “I only just arrived in Torran today. Issues with the last salt load. I’m glad I made it in time for the wedding, eh?”
“You’re a miner?” Rhoden asked politely.
“Lord Meran’s land borders my father’s,” said Issa. “They work together in the salt trade.”
“I see,” said Rhoden.
“We were discussing some last-minute plans for the ceremony,” Croftin said. “There is so much to prepare, I’d no idea!” He winked at Issa. “Something to look forward to, eh, my love?”
Issa’s cool eyes met Rhoden’s. “Croftin and I are betrothed,” she said.
“Allow me to congratulate you,” said Rhoden with a smile, though he felt a small stab in his heart. They both returned the smile, and Croftin placed a hand on Issa’s shoulder.
“She’s a very special woman,” he said. “I consider myself the luckiest of men.”
Issa nodded, though it seemed stiff. “We…well, you’ve caught us in an awkward situation, Rhoden. We haven’t announced it to anyone within the royal court yet. We didn’t want anything to overshadow Prince Caellamar’s special day. And, well…”
“You wouldn’t want word to spread,” Rhoden murmured. “You have nothing to fear from me, my lady. Your secret is safe with me.”
The two of them expressed thanks, then took their leave, exiting down the staircase. Rhoden was left to himself, caught between the happiness at someone else’s joy, and the pain of losing something he had never possessed.
----------------------------------------
Horst found him there, several hours later, sitting on a bench in the alcove. The wedding rehearsal was long over and yet Rhoden had remained, allowing himself this chance to escape the suffocating atmosphere that was the palace. The Citadel was cool and empty and blessedly silent. For these few hours, Rhoden had felt as thought he had been transported back to the college, and his heart ached for it. There was something about silence that filled him with its sound, rejuvenated his soul. He had a feeling there would be precious little silence in his life from now on.
His uncle’s footsteps echoed slightly as he approached.
“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, his voice full of angry reproach. “There’s a carriage waiting below.”
Rhoden felt a weariness as deep a well settle over him. “I would stay here a little longer.”
“This is not the college, Nephew. You do not have the luxury of sitting for hours, thinking of nothing.”
“It isn’t nothing,” Rhoden muttered.
“You know what I mean,” Horst growled. “You are part of the royal court. You can no longer disappear whenever you wish to. You have duties and obligations, an example to set.”
Rhoden looked down at his hands. “Tell me, Uncle. Have I made the right decision in staying at the palace?”
“You were quite passionate about it.”
“But is it the right choice?”
“If I remember correctly, you did not want my advice.”
Rhoden ducked his head. “Yes, I’m sorry for our argument,” he said. “I’ve been trying to find you these last weeks, to apologize. I…” He trailed off, feeling lost. “I thought this was what I wanted,” he said softly. “But now I find myself surrounded by people who stare at me even more than they did before. I have no time to call my own, no space that is private. I thought that by accepting my father’s offer, things would change. And they have, but I don’t know if I like it.”
Horst was silent for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he sat on the bench opposite Rhoden, their knees touching in the small alcove.
“Rhoden,” he said, and his husky voice was kind. “Whether or not the decision you made was right, you have made it. You cannot undo what has been done.”
“It’s just so…different,” Rhoden whispered. “I knew it would be, but…I suppose I thought things might be…easier.”
Horst gave a low chuckle, not unkindly. “Fool boy,” he said. “You thought that leaving the college behind and joining the royal court would be easier? Whatever simpleton raised you did a poor job, indeed.”
Rhoden smiled. “Do you think that simpleton would leave me?”
“To face the horrors of royal life alone? Never,” said Horst, and his beard twitched. “But,” he added, and his face grew more serious, “you have chosen a difficult path, Nephew. To have spent most of your life in seclusion and then to be thrust into the middle of court society will be challenging. You will find yourself in situations that you never expected. People will look at you. They will watch your every action, hear every word that comes out of your mouth, and they will judge you for them.”
“If this is meant to be encouraging, Uncle, you’re doing a poor job of it,” Rhoden murmured.
“I tried to hide you from this,” said Horst quietly. “All those years in Tellegar, I hoped that you would never be faced with the prospect of joining the royal court. But I realize now that I was only denying what is true. You were born a royal prince. You were meant for this life.”
Rhoden once again examined his hands, the black skin, the grayish fingernails.
“And what about the danger?” he asked, his voice low. “The danger you believe I’m in by staying at the palace?”
Horst’s face took on a pained expression. “That’s not something I can tell you. But…” He gave Rhoden a mournful look. “That is why Rapidian has come.”
“Who is he?” Rhoden asked, remembering once again how the man had held him with his gaze.
“He is…” Horst paused, shuffling his hands. “A…kind of scholar. He came because he wishes to speak with both you and your father…about the Shadows.”
Rhoden’s interest was immediately piqued. “He studies the Shadows?” he asked. “Why haven’t you mentioned him before?”
“Rapidian is a very private individual,” Horst explained. “But he has promised to give you and the king a private audience, once all this is finished.” He nodded to the vast interior of the Citadel.
“And he thinks I’m in danger, too?” Rhoden asked, searching his uncle’s face.
Horst drew in a deep breath. “That is for him to decide,” he said. “But I believe he has eliminated all immediate danger. You have nothing to fear, Nephew.”
“Except overbearing valets,” Rhoden muttered. He sighed. “Very well. I suppose I shall have to be patient and act the prince.”
“Just be yourself,” said his uncle. “They will accept you as you are.”
“I seriously doubt that,” said Rhoden under his breath, and his uncle chuckled.
“I believe Lem will have dinner waiting for us when we arrive,” said Horst after a moment, standing. He held out a hand to Rhoden, who took it and stood. For a moment, the two of them looked down at the hundreds and hundreds of chairs arrayed below. The Citadel hummed with the anticipation of the next day.
“Tomorrow, the world will have a new beginning,” Rhoden murmured. “Aleria and Mesia at peace. My brother, married.”
“If all goes according to plan,” said Horst, nodding. “Let us pray that it does.”
After another long look at the citadel, watching as the afternoon sun shone through the stained glass, throwing color across the ground, Rhoden and Horst left for the carriage, which waited patiently for them.