Mermaid_ A Twist on the Classic Tale - Carolyn Turgeon [77]
“This morning I dispatched a group of men to meet a new guest at our court. Princess Margrethe, daughter of the Northern king. She comes to us by her own volition as part of a marriage alliance that will bring peace to our land for many years to come, should the North agree. This alliance will bring the bloodlines of our kingdom together, and make us whole once more. We have ensured her safety. Another set of men are now traveling to the North to lay out our terms to the king. Princess Margrethe will be a guest here at our court until we receive his response. If all goes as we hope, Princess Margrethe and Prince Christopher will be married, and we will have peace. Peace and the glory of the kingdom of old.”
The king lifted his glass, and there was silence in the hall as his words soaked in.
Lenia looked over to Christopher wildly. He was livid. His face ashen, his jaw hard. She had never seen him look like that.
The king drank from his glass and set it down. “And now,” he said, “I want to present to you my son’s future bride, Princess Margrethe of the North.”
Before anyone had time to react, a guard opened the side door to the hall, and a young woman in a bright blue gown, her black hair twisted elaborately under a gold headpiece, entered the room. She stepped forward regally and calmly, stopping to bow to the king. She looked over the court with her dark eyes.
Lenia stared. Her mouth dropped open. And for the first time she knew what it was to feel pure panic.
Margrethe.
She could see, just under the girl’s sleeve, the diamonds on her skin where Lenia had touched her. The girl, Margrethe, had said she was the daughter of the Northern king. And Lenia, in this moment, understood what that meant. Understood what her lover’s father had just explained.
No, she thought. He must marry me. Tears filled her eyes and dropped down her cheeks. As if her face were underwater.
In horror, she watched Margrethe’s eyes searching the room before they stopped to rest on Christopher. She watched her soften and react to the sight of him, a slight blush coming to her face that only made her more beautiful.
But Christopher did not even seem to see Margrethe. His eyes flicked over her, his face a hard mask of fury.
The room erupted. Some clapped and cheered, others shouted in anger.
“Enough!” The king demanded silence with a gesture. “We have had enough fighting!”
The prince stood. “Father,” he said, his voice shaking with rage. “I seem to have been mistaken in the assumption that my life was my own to lead.”
Margrethe visibly blanched at this statement and then looked regal once more, transforming so quickly that anyone not watching carefully might have missed it altogether.
“Your task, my son,” the king responded, “is to serve your kingdom.”
The whole room was silent, steeled for what would happen next.
Several long moments passed as father and son faced each other, as if no one else were in the hall.
All the men braced themselves, their hands sliding toward their weapons. Each of them had sworn to protect the king at all costs, even from his own heir.
But Christopher surprised everyone. He turned to Lenia and extended his hand. She took it, her face burning, wet with tears.
“Come, my love,” he said.
Tenderly he helped her from her seat, his back straight and head high, and, his hand in hers, quietly left the room.
As they walked out the door, Lenia glanced back once more at Margrethe, who stood awkwardly at the head of the room, looking as if a hundred men had, in fact, drawn their weapons, and pointed them all at