Page 41 of The Cornish Princess
Love where you must.
From the night she was brought into this world, her future was writ in stone, with blood. She was thegoldenchildof prophecy, the hope and future of Pretania. She was the one who must deliver her kindred to a brighter future, free from disease and discord.
Indeed, her marriage to Prince Loc wasn’t only the means to secure Pretania’s survival, it was also the key to restoring her father’s good health, for only by restoring theysbryd y bydfor her people could the land itself be restored.
Alas, if her father wasn’t healed, it boded ill for Cornwall, and for Gwendolyn as well, for she was her father’s heir. If she failed him and ascended to his throne without curing the country’s ills, she would fall prey to the same wasting disease as that which now threatened her father and King.
This was her dowry chest.
This was her fate, now sealed.
This should be her joy, and hope as well.
And it was.
Truly.
She was only sorry she had been such a fool this afternoon, flying away from her Prince as though she believed he could do her harm. He would never, for he too held a stake in this marriage, and without Gwendolyn, he would have no right to rule. His blood was not the blood of the conservators; he needed her as much as she needed him.
“How envious I am!” squealed Ely with a clap of her hands. But Gwendolyn could say little intelligent in response. Her stomach was clenched tight.
She glanced about once more, taking in the bed that was overburdened with gifts. During the short time since she’d left her bedchamber this morn, her room had been filled with dresses, jewels, tiaras, ribbons, flowers, and every sort of gift a young lady could imagine—most of which could never have fit inside the modest-sized chest.
“You missed the procession,” said Ely, her voice shrill with excitement. “They came when you left, and one by one, carted in one heft after another. After they were gone, I wept with joy to see so many lovely gifts you’ve been given.” Her friend sighed dreamily. “I went to look for you only to tell you, and—” She clapped her hands again, delighted. “Mayhap, someday, I too will now have my own dowry chest, thanks to you!”
A slow grin unfurled as Gwendolyn took in Ely’s joy. After all,thatwas the most wondrous gift of all the gifts her mother had given her today—the chance to take Ely with her when she left and the opportunity to make Ely’s dreams come true. That gift was far, far above the rest, although in its entirety, this was a bounty unlike any that Gwendolyn had ever known.
Like last night’s feast, no expense had been spared.
“I cannot believe my mother sent me all this,” Gwendolyn said, still kneeling by the chest, the bruise on her knee hardly noticeable. Good thing she would have time to heal, so she wouldn’t arrive at her marriage bed looking bruised and abused.
Again she fingered the artwork gently, afraid to damage it even with the lightest touch. It was Demelza’s voice that broke the woven spell. “And who else would give you so much?”
Who else, indeed?
And regardless, it was such a great gesture that, after all the torment she’d endured in her life, Gwendolyn still couldn’t believe it was her mother who’d proffered so much—all for her, and all of it finer than anything Queen Eseld kept for herself.
Gathering her nerve and sucking in a breath, weak and trembling with anticipation, Gwendolyn dared to lift the lid, and there… inside… found…
More Prydein gowns, all made from similar materials as the gown she now wore. Even those fashioned of fine wool bore many of the same symbols that, as yet Gwendolyn had no clue about. She lifted a small pair of earrings, shaped like bees.
“Minoan,” said Demelza, and Gwendolyn laid them back down.
She also discovered a silver armband, finely hewn and in the shape of a fish.
Also, an intricately carved forehead crown, covered with rainbow moonstones—three of which were made to drip like tears between her brows.
“It will be some time before you can wear that one,” explained Demelza, as Gwendolyn lifted the crown to better inspect it. “This is the tiara you will wear on your bride’s day—and a glorious day it will be!”
Gwendolyn’s heart tripped painfully. Her bride’s day… arriving so soon.
“Your gown will be Trojan, your torc, Dumnonii, your crown, Prydein,” Demelza was saying with a smile in her voice. “A symbol of all you embody!”
Gwendolyn swallowed the hefty lump that rose to choke her.
There was so much here… so much… and it was all so… well, incredible. But, by far—even more beautiful than the gift of Ely—the greatest gift of all was her mother’s support, which seemed undeniable by these grandiose gifts.
Without question, these were not the sort of bestowals a mother who loathed her daughter would tender. Rather, they were gifts for a beloved child.
