Page 1 of Settle Down, Princess

Chapter 1

“Jessalyn, come and see! Quickly, now.”

As I paused in the doorway of the dressmaker’s studio, my mother turned and beckoned me toward her. Although she stood in a group with several of the ladies of the court gathered around her, my mother’s demeanour and her tone made it very clear that it was she who was the queen of all Stormare. She motioned again for me to come closer, but I found myself unable to move. My gaze was focused on the dress in the centre of the room.

Dresses had always marked important moments in my life. My first memory was of the one I’d worn as a toddling child, with skirts stopping at my knees because I was too small to manage the longer trail of fabric of a ‘grown-up dress.’ Then there was my graduation to a full-length dress when I was thirteen and had gone through the bloody rites to become a woman. And now there was this one…

I felt a fine tremor in my hands as I stood there, my heart pounding. My mother’s ladies-in-waiting were talking all at once, standing around and pointing out the features of the dress, but I was struggling to take in all the details. White—bright, blinding white satin—was all I could see at first. Then as my eyes adjusted, I saw the pearls, several pound-weight of them, all stitched to the tight bodice. In decorating it thus, the seamstress had cleverly included a nod to my second name, even though it was only ever used in formal settings where I was announced as Princess Jessalyn Pearl Yasmina Tennesley.

“Do you like it?” Mother asked, moving toward me in the slow, measured way one might approach a nervous horse. I pulled my eyes away from the dress to look at her. I parted my lips but couldn’t find the words to express my response. I lifted my hands helplessly in the air, and a worried expression crossed her face. “Darling, if—”

“How could she not?” questioned my grandmother as she stumped forward, one gnarled hand wrapped around the head of her cane. She nodded toward the bodice. “There’s a king’s ransom in pearls on that dress.” Grandmother turned back to me. “Well? Speak up, girl!”

The world might know me as the king of Stormare’s only daughter and address me with the respect owed my title, but to my paternal grandmother I was frequently ‘girl.’ The dowager queen was known for not suffering fools, and her blunt way of speaking had a similar effect on most everyone who came into contact with her. Her no-nonsense tone always had me fighting the urge to drop a curtsey or stand up straighter. This time, it also prompted me to pull myself together, and so, when I turned to speak to the seamstress, I could actually get the words out.

“You’re a wonder, Rachael,” I said, taking her hands in mine, hoping she didn’t feel how damp they were. As I stared into her eyes, I saw tears forming at the corners, just as there were in mine. “This is…” I drew in a deep breath, then took another. “It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

This was my wedding dress.

At twenty and unmarried, I was still seen as a girl. I was more than ready to leave my father’s house for my husband’s; to become queen of my own domain. Not an actual queen, however. Such a thing was highly unlikely. Stormare was just a tiny kingdom wedged between three much more powerful ones. We would never have been allowed to continue to exist as an independent country if it wasn’t for the fact that after the last series of wars, those surrounding kingdoms of Lanzene, Matteau, and Khean found themselves unable to agree on who we should belong to. As a result, rather than risk yet another war, they agreed to maintain the status quo. And so, my father remained king. Given Stormare’s lack of land and troops to offer to an alliance, it was likely I would marry a duke or a marquis, perhaps a lord well-placed at court, the confidant of his king.

Or perhaps one of those handsome devils who arrived from the kingdom of Khean several days ago.

Every woman in the castle, from the humblest of scullery maids to my father’s chatelaine, had paid attention, and all of their tongues started wagging the moment the Kheanian contingent arrived. It wasn’t because they were visitors from another royal court. Diplomats and envoys were constantly coming and going due to the strategic importance of our trading infrastructure. Merchants from all over the continent used Stormare as a means to import or export goods to or from the major kingdoms surrounding us. But these men…

“The one with hair bright as the sun,” one of the maids had enthused the previous day as she made my bed. “And a smile twice as bright. I wouldn’t mind making his bed—after we made a mess of it, of course.”

The other maids had laughed.

“But what about the big one with eyes like a wolf?” She gave a theatrical shudder. “He gives me the willies.”

“Or you want him to give you his willy,” another maid said as she flicked the feather duster over my bureau. That resulted in a cackle of laughter.

I was sitting in my bathroom, the door wide open as I soaked in the tub, moving the soap slowly over my body as I listened.

“I’ll tell you the one that scares me, and that’s the dark one. Always playing with that knife of his. And those eyes…”

“Eyes to get lost in, you mean,” the first maid said, putting her hands on her hips. “And I wouldn’t mind a man who’s good with a knife. He’d make sure the grocer didn’t try and charge me double. The cheeky bastard leaves his thumb on the scale unless you watch for him.”

“If you want protection, what about the one with all the muscles?” another maid said. “Has to have ‘em, wielding a big bloody sword like that.”

“Why choose one?”

That question came from Jemima, my dresser. Every day she helped cinch me into my corset, fastened all the million buttons that went up the back of my dress, arranged my hair in an elaborate style, and then sent me off to court. Her words drew a gasp from the other maids. And from me. But Jemima didn’t let anyone’s reaction stop her from pursuing her train of thought. “Seems to me that if each of them has their merits, why settle for one?”

There was a moment of silence. My hand slid under the water, across my body. The maids seemed unsure what to make of Jemima’s salacious suggestion. Having more than one man? There was a word for a woman like that, and I was not supposed to use it ever. When I’d been still quite young, I called another girl a slut and my mother and grandmother hauled me into the bathroom then scrubbed my mouth clean with soap. A small, nervous giggle from one maid got the others started, and the room filled with their guffaws, the sounds bursting from them as they mocked the very idea of it.

Or found relief in laughing it off.

“Oh, Jemima, you’re a wicked one…” one of the women said.

As I dropped Rachael’s hands and turned back to the gleaming satin and pearls, I thought on how my father seemed content to dangle the idea of marriage to me in front of man after well-connected man as he sought a deal that would be of most advantage to the kingdom. I’d watched as all the other young noblewomen found husbands, put aside their maidenly veils, and walked bare-faced at court. Many of them even had children by now, whereas I… But that was all about to change. As soon as I saw the dress, I knew that it was my turn. I was to step over the threshold of girlhood and become a woman in truth. My father had found me a husband and it would be announced at court today.

“Come, come,” Mother said, gesturing me forward. “We need to get you dressed.”

“I’m to have a fitting?” I asked, looking at the dress on the mannequin.

“You’re to be clothed as if this is your wedding day, sweeting.” My grandmother’s expression was filled with both love and concern.

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