The Princess and the Bear - Mette Ivie Harrison [85]
Then Jonner suggested that Richon allow him to remain in the palace. He had long wished to stop traveling. He was getting older and it did not do his health good to be moving about, never knowing where his next meal or his next bed would come from.
“If you wish to, I suppose we can find a room for you,” said Richon.
“A room for me? There is the entire library!” said Jonner, gesturing to it, above the royal suite, a vaste warren of halls and cubbyholes that Richon had let go.
“It is in terrible shape,” said Richon. He did not know if the shelves were intact or if any of the other furniture from his parents’ library remained in the palace.
“I will rebuild it,” said Jonner. “And after that I will sit in it and read all the books I have been meaning to read. Those who wish for knowledge will have only to come to me, and I will direct them to the proper book. I cannot wish for a better life for myself. If it suits you, Your Majesty.”
Richon embraced the man heartily. A librarian! Yes, of course. Now his kingdom was complete.
“And I will have a special section for books on magic,” said Jonner.
Richon thought of Prince George and his search for any knowledge about the magic. Perhaps that, too, would change in the future.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Chala
THE WEDDING COULD not be escaped. It wasn’t the finality of marriage with Richon that bothered Chala. Even the ceremony itself, however tedious and incomprehensible, could be borne. But the preparations made her irritable enough to wish for her hound’s teeth, if only to snap at those who bothered her every moment with some triviality.
Already there were rumors swirling that she was a she-bear that Richon had brought back with him from his enchantment. She must do what she could to show her human side as much as possible. And yet there was a part of her that would always be different.
There were three women who became Chala’s particular burdens. She refused to call them ladies-in-waiting, for she had no more wish of women fluttering around her now than she had when she had been Princess Beatrice. They were kind enough, but they tended to chatter about topics of no particular interest to Chala. When she spoke of sword fighting, hunting, or running races, they gave her strange looks and seemed to have nothing to add to the conversation.
The three insisted on attending each of Chala’s fittings for her wedding gown, for they said that she would not be able to see herself clearly and that they would be better able to tell her what flattered her figure best.
The seamstress came with her best work, but Chala rejected gown after gown. One in particular Chala remembered with a shudder: lace everywhere, with a feathered hat and silver threads that a beautiful white wild bird had died to make.
“You would look like a dainty thing,” the seamstress promised as she held it out. “A woman made to adorn the arm of the king.”
“It is lovely,” said one of the not-ladies-in-waiting.
“Magnificent,” said another.
But Chala ignored them. She had not been a human woman long, but she knew what suited her and what did not.
Besides, she did not think that Richon cared a whit about whether or not she looked ornamental on his arm. He had loved her first as a hound, and as a woman he had loved her for what she could do, not for how she looked.
“Bring me something simple,” said Chala. She could wear a gown that was striking in color, she had found, but simply designed. Yet she knew that a wedding gown had to be white.
And at last the seamstress returned with a gown that was made of one piece of fabric, from the bodice to the skirt.
“It is from three seasons past,” she said, her mouth twisted. “And I never sold it then, for it was too plain for any of the noblewomen who could afford it.”
But Chala liked it immediately. It had strong lines and the fabric shimmered when it moved.
She only pulled out the ribbons at the neckline and then raised the gown over