Page 1 of Enamored
Chapter
1
Elinor
“Whom do youchoose as your husband?” The king leaned closer to me in our spectator box. “Surely amongst so many gallant noblemen you have your sights affixed on one by now.”
“I would that I did, Your Majesty.” The melee unfolded in the tournament field before us, but I took no pleasure in watching grown men fight, even with blunt weapons. “I fear the choosing is more difficult than I expected.”
For a man of fifty years, the king maintained an aura of strength and purpose in his large, muscular frame as well as a benevolent spirit that had earned him the enduring title Ulrik the Good.
I prayed his benevolence would hold fast toward me, but as he rubbed his fingers through the light-brown hair of his beard, I sensed his patience was running thin.
I shifted in my cushioned seat, the pleasant warmth of the autumn day suddenly stifling and the gold laces at the sides of my gown constricting me. “I regret I have not yet developed fondness in my heart for any of the men—”
Queen Inge’s touch on my arm halted me. In the chair on my other side, she wore a stunning blue velvet gown and a circlet with a sheer veil covering her blond hair. Though she wasn’t my mother by birth, I was glad we shared the same hair coloring. The resemblance allowed the populace to accept me as a daughter of the king and queen when I was really only their niece.
The queen leveled a censuring look at her husband before she patted my arm. “You need not apologize, Elinor. The king knows how difficult this royal courtship tradition is.”
He raked a gaze over the queen. “I had no trouble selecting you from amongst the dozen noblewomen who came to court me.”
The queen smiled, her cheeks turning rosy at the king’s compliment. “Even so, you must be patient with Elinor. She wants to choose wisely.”
The king released a long sigh. The golden crown circling his head tilted precariously, as if to remind me of the precarious nature of the transfer of authority.
I wouldn’t assume the full rulership of Norvegia until after the king’s death—hopefully, not for many years into the future. Nevertheless, upon my eighteenth birthday in two days, the time would come for me to be crowned the heir apparent.
According to royal tradition, the naming of the heir to the throne was contingent upon the successor becoming betrothed to either a royal or noble bloodline from within Norvegia to prevent undue influences from other countries infiltrating the ruling class. The successor was also highly encouraged to make a heart match to ensure a strong marriage.
The twelve most eligible men or women were invited to the capital city for a weeklong courtship process. The festivities culminated in the eighteenth birthday feast, where the royal princess or prince officially chose a heart match.
In theory, the courtship tradition was reasonable and fair. I might not have complete freedom in whom I married, but at least I was given some say in the matter.
However, I had not developed fondness for any of the twelve noblemen during the past week. Now I felt the king’s frustration, for it matched my own.
If only we didn’t have the added pressure from King Canute of neighboring Swaine. While our ambassadors had clarified Norvegia’s long-held tradition to the young Swainian king, he’d asked for my hand in marriage anyway, insisting we would co-rule our countries side by side, that he had no intention of usurping my authority in Norvegia.
As my birthday drew nearer, the threats from Swaine and King Canute had steadily mounted. But King Ulrik and his advisors hadn’t bowed to the pressure. The weeklong royal courtship had commenced as planned, and now my future husband was among those fighting in the mock battle before us.
“I beseech you not to worry, Your Majesty.” I spoke with as much confidence as I could muster. “I shall surely develop fondness erelong.” I had done little else over the past days but spend time with the men, praying I would be able to pick the worthiest candidate and develop a heart match with him.
The king motioned toward his cupbearer, who quickly approached with a chalice of mead. “You always have thought deeply, Elinor, an excellent quality for a leader. But this week you must let go of the need to analyze everything and allow your feelings to grow.”
“I shall try, Your Majesty.”
A cheer arose from the crowds of nobility sitting in open stands along the fence line as well as from the commoners who watched at cordoned-off areas. The level field sat to the east of the city limits, where the terrain flattened into fertile farmland. I was used to seeing the sprawling eastern land from the castle turret every morn and was more interested in taking in my surroundings than in the melee.
Nevertheless, I attempted to concentrate on the dozen men fitted in armor from their great helms down to their chausses covering their leather ankle boots. The clank of sword against sword as well as the clashing of weapons against shields rang in the air.
The knights deserved my attention and utmost respect. After all, they were performing for me to demonstrate their strength and courage, and in so doing, prove themselves worthy to be my husband.
“Lord Torvald Wahlburg, Your Majesty.” Rasmus bent down with another update. “He’s eliminated his third opponent.” The Royal Sage stood behind the king’s chair, his usual scholarly black robe draped with a purple embroidered stole designating him as one of the seven Royal Sages. His black cap circled his head but was long and hung down one side, coming to a tasseled tip.
The king nodded toward the fierce knight swinging his sword at another opponent. “What about Torvald, Elinor? He would make a good husband, would he not?”
“He is indeed a worthy man.” But he had not captured my affection. Truthfully, he had not even tried, unlike the other noblemen. I could only conclude he had no aspiration to marry me and become the future king of Norvegia.
“He is the best.” The king took a drink of mead. “The best after Sir Ansgar, of course.”
