Page 39 of The Cornish Princess
Her father said nothing. Nor did he nod, and Gwendolyn sensed he had retreated from this conversation, leaving her mother to do what she would.
“I will,” she promised.
“You must receive instruction from him daily!” her father announced, his gaze refocusing—although he was immediately taken by a fit of coughing so dreadful that it turned Gwendolyn’s attention from their negotiations.
Alas.The glen was hale, but her father was not.
His fits were getting worse and worse, and more and more, he was secluding himself in his apartments, with only her mother as his eyes and ears… and voice.
Gwendolyn wondered what would happen when she left, and for the first time, she worried she would go and never see him again.Gods.The last thing she wished to do was to fight with him now, and then leave, knowing their last days were embattled.
“This is ultimately why we have enlisted him,” her father explained, when finally he could. “Gwendolyn… dearest… I wouldst know you leave us with the means and knowledge to defend, not merely yourself, but your kingdom as well.”
“Father,” she entreated. “Art worse?”
He coughed a bit more, then said, clearly irritated, “I would not have it said I left you ignorant and incapacitated.”
Gwendolyn felt a sudden foreboding. “Leave me?”
“Hush, dear one,” said her mother now, her voice kinder than Gwendolyn ever remembered. “Your father is well enough. He means only that you are his heir—his only heir. As such, you will someday be called upon to lead.”
She sighed with portent, glancing briefly at King Corineus before continuing. “Nothing is certain, Daughter. There will be times you will have only yourself to look to, and he—we—wouldst be certain you have the finest of educations, and this includes your military tuition. I understand this now.”
“But—”
“You may take Ely,” her mother relented. “I shall gladly part with my best girl if you feel she will serve you better.”
“I do,” Gwendolyn said, careful not to frown, mostly because the negotiation had been too easy. It didn’t even bother her at the moment that her mother had called Ely her best girl. Something was amiss, and she wanted to know what.
A single glance about the hall revealed servants scurrying about, preparing for tonight’s ceremony, though it wouldn’t precisely be held here. In keeping with tradition, the Promise Ceremony would be performed, not within the great hall, nor beneath the Sacred Yew, where her wedding would be held, but in the courtyard, at twilight, where the villagers could amass before the dais to witness the exchange of torcs.
Later, after the ceremony was done, Gwendolyn would be whisked away, out of the Prince’s sight, with no intention of seeing him again, until the day they took their vows.
The Prince, however, would remain with his father and everyone else to celebrate whilst Gwendolyn was escorted to the yew to pray.
The revelry would resume here, in the great hall, with everyone but Gwendolyn in attendance. Even now, the trestle tables were being returned to their dining positions, and soon the entire room would cease to look like an audience hall for the King.
Of course, Gwendolyn was pleased their negotiations had turned out to such great advantage—and that her mother was being so cordial—but the address now left her feeling… unsettled. Although mayhap it was only the stress of the events to come. After all, after this evening, she would no longer be free to love as she pleased, but a bride bound to a Prince she really didn’t know. “Thank you,” she said finally, discomposed by the thought.
Once more, her father gave in to a vigorous bout of hacking, and then cleared his throat and tilted Gwendolyn a watery glance. The red veins in his eyes were angry and swollen.
“Never fear, my daughter. I am well,” he reassured. “I simply find myself… weary. I warrant after the evening’s ceremony, and once I retire, I shall sleep well enough and alight from my bed with a spring to my step you haven’t seen since you were a wee child.”
He gave her a wan smile, and Gwendolyn longed desperately to believe it. After all, the glen was still without blight. And this must truly mean her father was getting better.
Mustn’t it?
She wanted to tell him what she’d found, but held her tongue, only because she didn’t wish to remind him of yesterday’s trouble with Bryn—not now.
Wanting so desperately to embrace him and knowing it wasn’t seemly, Gwendolyn knelt at his feet and offered him a heartfelt vow. “I swear it, Father, I will practice daily. I will not leave Trevena without acquiring all the knowledge you deem necessary, and I will…” She couldn’t lie and claim she would enjoy sparring with Málik. “I will respect my tutor.”
Her mother arched a perfect dark brow. “See that you do,” she said firmly, though without ire. “His tutelage comes at a high price, and though we hoped it might be easier for you to have Bryn learn from him and teach you, this is no longer reasonable. You must do as he bids.”
Once again, Gwendolyn met her mother’s gaze. Queen Eseld was smiling, but sadly. “I will,” Gwendolyn said, all the fight having left her. “I swear it.”
Queen Eseld gave her a nod and said, “Go now. Prepare yourself for the ceremony, as I have sent Demelza with a gift for you, and ’tis likely it has been delivered.”
Gwendolyn straightened. “A gift?” she asked, surprised. “For me?”
