Page 2 of Enamored
Though I willed myself not to gaze at the knights congregated below the spectator box where we sat, I couldn’t help myself. My attention strayed too oft to Sir Ansgar, much to my embarrassment. Outfitted in chain mail and a gambeson, he stood amidst his companions, tall and strong, holding himself with the bearing of a man who feared nothing.
Even though Sir Ansgar was among the Knights of Brethren and had earned the position of Grand Marshal, the highest knight in all the land, he was but a commoner, the third son of a chieftain, and not eligible for consideration as candidate for the future king.
His lowly birthright didn’t make him any less appealing to me and nearly every other young maiden in the kingdom. With his light-brown hair, warm brown eyes, and chiseled features, he was a handsome man. And he was renowned for his great victories in battle.
“It is settled,” the king said. “You feel some affection for Torvald. You shall marry him.”
“You cannot decide, Ulrik.” The queen’s interjection was firm but gentle. “’Tis Elinor’s choice to make and hers alone.”
“Yes, but Torvald is an excellent swordsman and is most suitable.” The king nodded at the young knight knocking another nobleman’s feet from under him.
I knew better than to protest outright. Instead, using a more tactful approach with the king would work better. “What if Kristoffer is more suitable, Your Majesty? After all, he won the joust yesterday.”
“Excellent point.”
“Or perhaps Sigfrid is the best. He defeated his opponents in archery.”
The king nodded, his gaze alighting on each of the young knights as I listed them. “You are astute as always, Elinor. I suggest you continue to get to know them all.”
“That is a wise decision, Your Majesty.”
“What say you, Rasmus? Do you have words of wisdom for the princess?”
Rasmus bowed his head, then met my gaze steadily. “She is wise to show the world she is choosing carefully. Let us pray King Canute hears of her caution and accepts her selection.”
I heard what Rasmus wasn’t saying, that King Canute could very well reject my decision and wage war against Norvegia to claim me for himself.
Rasmus pursed his lips and then scanned the distant harbor of Vordinberg and the sea beyond as he’d done throughout the festivities this week.
What was he looking for?
Vessels of all shapes and sizes crowded the waterfront, some with sails aloft but most at rest. The turquoise water gleamed with midday sunshine, revealing the depths that descended so endlessly that never was a sunken ship or lost item ever recovered along Norvegia’s southern coast. Offshore several hundred feet, numerous islands protected the capital city from wind and waves, making Ostby Sound a safe harbor and Vordinberg one of the richest port cities in the world.
I saw naught that was out of the usual. Naught that should cause Rasmus to fret. Was he afraid King Canute would attack by sea? Surely not. Swaine had far less coastline and lacked the ship-building industry and fleet that Norvegia possessed. The neighboring country wouldn’t dare try a sea invasion, not against Norvegia’s naval superiority.
The noise from the crowds crescendoed again as more knights succumbed to their opponents and fell to the ground in surrender. In a final move, Torvald swung his sword, bringing down the remaining opponents wearing the blue heraldry, leaving only those in red standing.
As the trumpet blast signaled the end of the melee, the king pushed up from his seat, his velvet cloak flapping in the breeze drifting from the sea, the air laden with the scent of fish and brine.
I rose from my position of honor between the king and queen. The crowd continued to cheer for the victors, but as royalty we remained neutral in our display of emotion, as was the custom in the tournaments.
Torvald was the first to extend a hand to the men he’d defeated, lifting first one and then another to his feet. His team did likewise, extending grace to those who’d lost. When finally, the dozen noblemen were standing, the winners approached the edge of the field in front of our raised seats.
The men removed their great helms and bowed their heads. I didn’t need the game master’s whispered remarks to know which of the noblemen was the champion. Even so, I listened and accepted the holy laurel I was to place upon the winner’s head. Although the king usually did the crowning, this week the duty belonged to me.
“I congratulate each of you on your feats of valor.” My voice rang out over the now-silent spectators. All eyes were fixed upon me, including those of Ansgar, facing the royal seats only a few feet away.
“One man has demonstrated unyielding courage in the face of adversity. His gallantry was evident on the battlefield today.” I paused and let my gaze linger on each bent head, wondering as I had a hundred times already during the past week, why Providence had chosen me to become the next ruler of the great northern country of Norvegia and not someone else.
Although I had spent my entire life preparing for the task of reigning, a small part of me had always hoped the king and queen would have a child of their own to fulfill the obligation.
Alas, Providence had not supplied a substitute. Now upon the cusp of adulthood, I could no longer deny the reality of my destiny—that I would become the ruling queen of this nation.
I pushed aside my reservations and continued. “Thus, in honor of his noble enterprise and his combat to glorify the king, I crown Lord Torvald Wahlburg as the victor of the melee.”
Cheers rose into the air. Torvald was the decisive winner. Should he also be the decisive winner of my hand in marriage? Could I somehow conjure feelings of affection for this man?
The Knights of Brethren standing below us parted ways, making room for Torvald to approach the raised seating box. When he took his place directly below us, I stepped to the railing.
