Annabelle's life is suddenly in peril, when her father's
theft plunges her into a forced marriage with Cedric the
Necromancer, an evil prince exiled for his cruelty and murderous
treason.  But is he all he seems?  Annabelle cannot reconcile his
gentle behavior with the dire warnings of the royal family.  Even
discovering that Cedric truly is a wizard-a profession outlawed
for centuries and practiced only by members of the bloodthirsty
Circle-cannot wholly vanquish Annabelle's sympathy for him.
Forced to spy on her new husband, she must balance her own
instincts against the threat to the kingdom that she would die to
protect.  As the story progresses, Annabelle struggles to learn
the truth about the prince whom she loves against her will.  In
the end, Annabelle must travel to the royal palace, revealing her
own deepest secrets to protect the king and princes and seize her
elusive chance to live happily ever after.
     
                                
                                
                                
                                
                                
                                
                                
                                
                                
                                
                                
                                
                                
                        THE BEAST WIZARD
                          Chapters 1-3
                                
                   by Valerie Estelle Frankel
                                
                                
                                
                                
                            Chapter 1

     In the remote hills of Alcanster, a country trapped between

the magical beasts of Calithwain to the South and the merchant-

thieves of Lotorinum to the East, a young woman sat reading.  The

romance-epics of a bygone age captured her attention, rather than

the popular scandals of the court or sketches of the newest

fashions that most of her peers enjoyed.  Still fewer girls would

read up in a tree, as this one did, outdoors and exposed to wind

and sun.  But Annabelle needed a place to be alone.  And she

wasn't very like other girls.

     Reading stories and graceful poetry from dawn until her

candles burned down left her dreamy and romantic, waiting for her

gallant prince to carry her away.  Her thick, brown curls with

soft gold highlights were thought pleasant-looking by some, when

combined with wide-spaced eyes that matched them, and her heart-

shaped, wistful countenance.

     She had lived all her life alone, or practically so, here on

the outskirts of town, far from any friends she might have made.

Her father returned rarely, and Annabelle never sought out his

company; experience with him had taught her too well.  And so her

only companions remained the romances and adventures that she

poured over so avidly, a rescue from her quiet days in a lonely

house.  She turned the page.

                                #

     The moon gleamed over Kelen Hills, bathing each blade of

scrubby grass in a fountain of cool, silver light.  A few sleepy-

eyed birds warbled a last flicker of tune before settling into

their nests and to sleep.  A brook trickled along its giant bed

with a sound like rain, although the air lingered dry and barren.

Over the fragile border of Alcanster, the spies of Lotorinum

waited, scheming to exploit any weakness that might win them the

country they now sought for their own.  But that would be later,

when the hot sun rose over the summer-scorched earth.  For now,

all was dark.

     All was quiet.

     Yet in the hills above, a small group stood, armed for a

fight.  They shuffled and looked away from each other, searching

the heavens as if for some sign.

     At last it came.

     A single rider, with cloak and tunic of midnight blue came

over the pass, sword glistening against leg.  The watchers' eyes

opened wide.  For they beheld no ordinary sword, no ordinary

warrior.  The word spread quickly, from mouth to mouth.  "He

bears the lost sword!  The Sword of Kelen!"

     Yes, the sword of the mighty warleader, the old kelpie who

had defeated the superior forces of Lotorinum again and again,

never suffering defeat.  Before his disappearance he'd hidden

away his sword, swearing that one day the proper heir would find

it and lead their people to great deeds once again.  And now that

champion had arrived.

     The descendents of Kelen's followers drew back, circling the

new arrival.  Their silence spoke their longing and gratitude to

their hero far more eloquently than any cheers.  The figure in

blue dropped from the saddle to land lightly on the ground, and

drew the sword, raising it high so there could be no doubt.  The

polished blade gleamed like ice in the moonlight, while the blunt-

edged crosspiece bore the runes of Kelen himself.

     The champion broke the silence with a few quiet words.

"Yes, I am Kelen's heir and I have come.  The wizards of

Lotorinum will retreat, or know whom they face."

     And then the waiting heroes all spoke at once, each louder

than the others.  For this was no man's voice that issued from

the leather helm!

     Now the champion flung off the leather to reveal a woman's

face, careworn and not young, but filled with the fire of

determination.  "I am Danielle, daughter of Gedec, daughter of

Kelen," she said.  "I have found the lost sword and now I come to

lead you to victory.  Will you follow me?"

                                #

     Annabelle held her breath.  She'd arrived at the Second

Trial, when Danielle had to prove herself against the greatest

fighter of them all, Achren Avenger.  In time, he would become

her staunchest ally.  Annabelle's heart always jolted when

Danielle yanked off her helm.  How glorious it must be to risk

your life for your country and your certainty of right and wrong!

Still, the best part of the book came later, when Prince Koran

came to fight by her side, and then stayed with her for love.  He

was tall and handsome, a man of gentle spirit, but one ready to

die for his convictions.  He felt as determined as Danielle if

not more so, since--

     "Miss Annabelle!  Annabelle!"

     Annabelle sighed, dragged unwillingly from her daydream into

a world that was far too common and predictable.  She stuffed the

little book of heroic deeds into her pocket and scrambled down

the tree, careful not to tear her expensive velvet gown.  The

servants would let it wait a week or more before mending it, and

the weather was turning cold.  Perhaps her father would bring

more velvet back from the traders in the mountains.  Annabelle

would have greatly preferred another book of tales, but had

learned to take what she could get, especially where her father

was concerned.

     "Annabelle, where are you?" Selana called.  She always had

been a bit nearsighted, although it didn't interfere with her job

as cook's assistant.

     "Here."  Annabelle burst out of the grove.  "What is it?"

     "Your father's returned early and will be at supper.  You

only have a few minutes to change your gown."  At least Selana

was too close in age to Annabelle to be anything other than

polite to her.  The upper servants, having witnessed her father's

apparent disregard for her, addressed her with an informality

more appropriate to a scullery maid than to the lady of Woodland

Manor.

     "Why bother?  He'll be far more obsessed with who in the

village he can trade what to than with seeing his daughter.  And

I'd rather spend the time reading my book, if it's all the same."

     Annabelle started back towards her tree, despite the fact

that the sun had nearly disappeared behind the treetops.  Her

cloak would keep her warm a little longer, at least.  After dark,

she would sneak into the house, and perhaps snatch a bite to eat

if the unsympathetic cook was occupied.

     "Miss Annabelle, wait!"  Obviously Selana wasn't going to

let her go without a struggle.  "Your father specifically wants

to see you.  He said so."  The maid's voice dropped to a

conspiratorial whisper.  "Perhaps it's a man."

     "Perhaps what's a man?"

     "Your father may plan to marry you off."

      "Ridiculous.  He hates the townsfolk, and they can barely

stand him.  The only people he's seen on his trip are merchants,

and he's said hundreds of times how much he despises the

merchants' wives and the way he thinks they cheat him.  He would

never want me to be one of them.  Perhaps he found enough

leftover cash to buy me some sort of trinket, and wants me to

thank him in person this time.  I just hope it's something

readable."

     Selana trailed along as Annabelle turned towards the house.

Its tall, weathered planks stretched out of the forest like an

ugly crow among a flock of geese.  The smart, brown paint had

long since faded, leaving two stories the color of old ashes.  A

century ago, her house might have been the height of fashion, but

now the only creatures to gather here were pigeons.  "I do wish

you wouldn't read so much, especially when your father's home.

You know he thinks it's unladylike.  Not to mention climbing

trees."

     "Between the four maids, butler, and cook, I'm constantly

shoved from one room to another if I stay indoors.  Besides, I

like to listen to the birds chirping."

     "Miss Annabelle, if you were any more wild, I suspect you'd

sleep out of doors.  I know your father would like you to learn

some manners.  You should try to please him."

     Annabelle shuddered.  "And he'd teach them to me with the

back of his fist if I didn't spend my life up in my tree.  I'm

just thankful he spends so many hours away from home."

     "For shame, Miss Annabelle, he's your father.  And he brings

you lovely presents sometimes."

     "Usually after he hits me.  I wish I didn't have to see him

at all, and I could stay up in my tree forever.  Well, I'd better

hurry if I plan to clean up before dinner."

                                #

     Annabelle appeared in the dining room, appropriately curled

and perfumed, missing all traces of her wild romp through trees

and bushes.  Even when she did her best to keep her clothes

pristine, they managed to ruin themselves whenever she went

outdoors in them.  She had changed her snagged gown for a demure,

pale pink one totally at odds with her true feelings.  The stiff,

lacy collar itched, and the constant swishing of her skirts

annoyed her.  Annabelle longed to be outdoors and free, not

shifting her shoulders under the unyielding, silky fabric.

     The dining room was dim as her father preferred, with thin

tapers making the room seem larger and more elegant.  The hazy

light hid the bare walls and scuffmarks on the table.  Annabelle

usually ordered the lanterns lit if she dined outside her room.

     Her father emerged from the shadows to take her hands in

his.  Annabelle braced herself not to tear her fingers from his

viselike grip.  His sweating hands made her chilled ones slip a

bit where he touched her.  As always, she felt a bit as if a

slimy, dead fish slithered along her skin.  He always dressed in

dark velvets that made his pale, clean-shaven face stand out as

if he were a ghost.  She had grown since the last time they'd

met, or perhaps it was her new shoes that brought her head almost

to a level with his.  Her father's permanent slouch hadn't

lessened in his time away.  His eyes opened wider than their

usual squinting furtiveness, and he shuffled his feet, refusing

to look directly at her.  Why did he behave so oddly?  "Daughter!

I thought you'd never show up."

     "I was outside."

     Her father chuckled as they sat down.  His voice held a

nervous edge tonight, like a horse thief called upon to defend

himself in court.  He filled his goblet to the brim with the

harsh, double-strong red wine kept only for him.  He gulped it

down, and then poured himself another.  "You always have been

wild, running outdoors instead of studying to be more graceful.

Luckily, that's not my problem anymore."

     Could Selana have been right?  "What-- what do you mean?"

     "I've found you a husband.  We'll leave tomorrow."

     "That's impossible.  You always said that I'd stay here.

That you need me to manage the house while you're gone."  All of

Annabelle's words poured out in a rush.  Married?  She was

seventeen, on the young side but certainly a candidate.  Romantic

ballads aside, she'd rarely thought about it.

     "And I changed my mind," he said.  She tried to catch his

eyes with her own, but her father still avoided hers.

     "Who is he?"

     "You're very lucky, my girl.  You're to marry a prince!  One

of the royal family themselves."

     Annabelle was neither wealthy nor powerful enough for that

sort of alliance, and never would be.  "Prince Gerod would never

dream of--"

     "Not Prince Gerod."

     The dining room swirled around Annabelle and she swallowed

hard.  "No!  You can't mean-!"

     "Prince Cedric, the second son."

     "Cedric the Necromancer?  The one whose own father exiled

him because of his monstrous behavior?"  Annabelle could feel her

pulse almost leaping out of her body and she gripped the tabletop

for support.  "The prince who looks like a gargoyle and tortures

his servants for no reason?  I've heard he's insane as well.  The

Shadow Wolf marked him!"  She heard her voice grow louder and

shriller with every word.  She had to keep a clear head long

enough to get out of this.  Everyone knew that Prince Cedric was

a wizard, one of the evil creatures who'd tried to murder the

princess on her wedding day.  Sorcery had been outlawed for over

two hundred years, but still the Circle continued its intrigues

of terror and death.  "Father, what have you done!"

     He shifted in his chair, eyes widening at her hysteria.

Annabelle rarely spoke back to her father, but her life would be

measured in days if she wed such a creature.  Did he realize what

he sentenced her to?

     "I was lost in the mountains, alone and half-frozen," he

said.

     "Because you didn't want to pay for a guide?"

     He slammed his fist down on the table, making her untouched

plate jump and clatter.  He had passed his third glass by now.

"Don't interrupt me, girl!  While I was lost out there, the

prince opened his doors and welcomed me freely, like a true

gentleman.  Showed no signs of madness either.  So, we got to

talking, and after a time, I offered him anythin' of mine he

wanted.  He picked you.  He's quite generous, said he doesn't

need a dowry, nothin' but the clothes on yer back."  Her father's

voice became increasingly slurred with each sentence, reverting

back to his lower class accent.  He'd made money quickly, then

spent it all after his marriage to Annabelle's titled mother.

     "But why offer him anything?"

     Her father's beady eyes glared at her as he poured himself

another glass, slopping it on the table.  "He's the son of a

king, an' can do what he likes.  Including havin' a man like me

strung up for theft."

     "Theft!"

     He scowled even harder.  "You're leavin' in the mornin'."

     "No!  I won't marry a monster like that, no matter what you

owe him!" Annabelle said, terror edging her voice with unusual

defiance.

     Her father snatched her arm in a bruising grip and dragged

her up the stairs.  Annabelle struggled and dragged her feet but

he was much too strong, even drunk.  Rage and frustration at her

helplessness warred through Annabelle in a hot wave as he yanked

her along.  Her father finally hauled her up to her room and

flung her inside.  "You're leavin' in the mornin' an' you're

marryin' him," he barked, clinging to the doorframe as he wobbled

back and forth.  "An' then yer no longer my concern."

     Annabelle flung herself against the door, holding it open

before he could shut it.  She and her father were nearly face-to-

face, and she saw him scowl.  Her father had never liked being

reminded of her unusual height.  "Wait!  After he finds out how

unwomanly I am, always reading and climbing trees, he won't want

me!  And maybe he'll be angry at you for misrepresenting me."

     "He just needs to be fooled for the ceremony, an' then he's

stuck with you."  Her father shoved at the door and Annabelle

braced herself against it, straining every muscle against its

weight.

     "But he'll kill me!"

     "Not if you give him his way in everythin' and act meek as

you should.  He said he'd keep you safe there."

     "And you believe him?  The word of a man like that?"

     "I gave my word, and you're leavin' tomorrow, just as I've

said."  With a heavy shove, Annabelle's father slammed the door

against her and locked it with an audible clunk.

                                #

     Annabelle collapsed on her bed.  There were definitely a few

holes in her father's story. His fortunes had been in decline for

some time, and she knew him to be none too scrupulous.  Faced

with a chance to rob the prince's house, he must have availed

himself of the opportunity, and then offered her life in exchange

for his own after the prince caught him.

     Oh yes, she had her dreams about leaving, especially on the

hard days when her father came home, and he hit her or locked her

in the cellar.  Now to be offered up as if she were a pet kitten

to become the property of this loathsome creature!  Everyone had

heard the tales of the cruel, deformed beast that was the second

son of the royal couple.

     She would be rich beyond imagining, and have whatever she

desired.  But in exchange, she would go through life as the

captive wife of a despised monster.  Everyone abhorred his

fearful appearance, as well as his brutality towards those around

him.  Her father was lucky to have escaped with his life, and

Annabelle suspected that only his exaggerations of her beauty and

obedience had bought his freedom.

     "But what am I to do?" Annabelle murmured.  "There's no way

that I can marry a man who's unfit to live with anyone, who was

exiled to Kelen Hills because no one dares go near him.  I have

to escape."

     She glanced towards the door.  Far too thick, and she knew

from experience that the bolt would hold.  That left only the

window.  It was certainly big enough, with a sturdy vine trellis

that she had used on similar occasions.  Nothing quite as

desperate as this, but there had been times when she needed to

escape her room without using the door or the creaky stairs.

     Pulling on a thick, hooded cloak, she snatched woolen gloves

and a scarf, and then wrapped her hair in an extra shawl.

Annabelle could retrieve any other possessions later; right now

she wanted to be as far from her home as possible.  She swung

herself out of the window and climbed to the ground, clinging

tight to the trellis that had aided her all those years.

     She would spend the night in a tree, chilled but sheltered

by the branches.  Annabelle didn't have to fear snow, since

winter had just begun.  In the morning she could slip into the

kitchen and see if her father's attitude had changed with

sobriety.  If not, Selana would help collect her belongings.

Annabelle could take money and make her way to the village, where

she could find some sort of job, far out of the grasp of her

father.  She'd dreamed of this a few times, the sort of half-

planned, romantic notions that never go anywhere.  Now her dreams

suddenly turned to necessity.  Annabelle knew, with a certainty

that burned through her, that she couldn't stay in the house

another minute.

                                #

     The wind sighed in the trees above her, whistling down to

tug at her warm clothes.  Annabelle hummed to herself (mostly for

reassurance; she never went out this late).  After walking for

what must have been an hour, she was starting to feel calmer.

Just then, she heard hoofbeats behind her!  Annabelle dove into a

clump of scratchy bushes, hoping the dark cloak would hide her

from seeking eyes.  She bit her lip as the rough branches tore at

cloth and hair alike, scraping against her skin.

     The rider dismounted.  No!  She heard her father's heavy,

clomping footsteps.  He walked purposefully around the grove,

muttering to himself.  Annabelle drew her cloak over her mouth

and nose, scarcely daring to breathe.  Had her father gone to

check on her and found her missing?  Perhaps seen her footprints

in the snow?  Annabelle had no idea how he'd tracked her.  Her

father walked farther away, turning in a broad circle, and then

finally drifting closer again.

     Annabelle hugged herself tightly.  What was taking so long?

Couldn't he see she wasn't here, and go back home?  Why did he

have to check the area two and three times?  Perhaps he'd drunk

more than she'd thought.  If so, he might not find her.  His

footsteps came closer now, closer.

     A brawny arm plunged into the bushes and hauled Annabelle

out by the hood of her cloak.  It half-strangled her as it

dragged her upwards, unmindful of snagged hair and scraped skin.

Her father dumped her on her feet, still grasping her cloak in

one powerful hand.  The other hand clenched into a fist and

rammed its way towards her head.

     She tried to duck, but he had too firm a grip.  Pain

exploded against Annabelle's eye, and she cried out, shrinking

away as he dropped her on the cold ground.  She huddled into a

ball, face squinched shut as she could focus on nothing but the

throbbing of her eye and cheek.  He kicked her, but not very

hard.  Perhaps his intoxicated mind had caught up, and he

realized that he shouldn't hurt her too badly.  At least

Annabelle hoped so, somewhere deep in her trembling body.  "Stand

up," he said.  All Annabelle could do was lie there as waves of

agony pounded over her face, drowning her scratched arms into

near nonexistence.  "I said, stand up."  He yanked her to her

feet and dragged her the few steps to his horse.

     Annabelle's father snatched her arm with a grip of steel,

and hauled her over the front of his saddle, causing her sore

head to dangle nauseatingly over the horse's side.  He clambered

up behind her, one hand pressing on her upturned back to keep

Annabelle from falling.

     The journey back might only have been a few minutes, but it

lasted for an agonizing eternity.  The hard, leather pommel of

the saddle dug into her unprotected stomach, and she jolted

along, arms and legs dangling helplessly.  Every bump or shift of

the horse provoked a fresh burst of agony in Annabelle's eye, and

every bruised muscle complained strenuously.

     When they finally reached the house, Annabelle slid to the

ground, gulping in air and clutching her abused stomach.  Her

father snatched her arm hard enough to inflict more bruises and

hauled her up to her room a second time.  He flung Annabelle

inside and called two stern upper housemaids.  "Watch her, and

make sure she's ready to leave in the morning.  And don't let her

pack anything of value.  The prince said only the clothes on her

back."

     Annabelle grimaced from the bed at this latest insult.  "But

my horse, my books!"

     "No books of value and no horse at all.  Be sure she's ready

for tomorrow."  Her father left, slamming the door behind him.

     All that night, Annabelle lay shivering and clutching a

pillow to her queasy stomach and a cool cloth over her eye.  The

housemaids softened enough to pack a few clothes and trinkets,

along with her oldest books.  All of her mother's jewels would be

left behind.

     They laid out her mother's silver wedding dress for her to

wear in the morning.  Annabelle felt relieved that she could at

least liberate it from the stifling atmosphere of her father's

house.  She wished she could do the same for her mother's grave

in the forest, surrounded by a little wooden fence.  From the

servants' whispers Annabelle gathered that her parents had argued

more angrily than usual one night.  Then, as now, her father had

been the stronger by far.

     Annabelle's mind shied away from her mother's bruises and

the long illness that had followed, as her mother slowly slipped

away.  She had admired her mother greatly, although the woman had

little time to bring up a child and left Annabelle mostly in the

care of servants.  Princess Sulanel was the only one who had ever

spent time with her of their own will.  She had also been the

only true friend of Annabelle's childhood, despite their

difference in ages.

     Annabelle had always longed to be cool and dignified as her

mother was, or beautiful and stately like Sulanel.  When

Annabelle's mother died, her father dismissed the nurse and

governesses and left Annabelle to learn on her own.  The

resulting young woman tore her dresses outdoors and barely knew

how to curtsy, often raiding the kitchen for meals because no one

bothered to provide them for her.  And now she had to marry

Sulanel's younger brother, a creature she dreaded meeting.  The

irony was too much.

                                #

     In the morning, they stuffed her in the aging bridal gown.

After adorning her with flowers, bows, and other silly trimmings,

the servants loaded her onto her father's second-best mare, with

her hands tied to the reins in front of her.  They rode silently,

she, her father, and a manservant.

     Annabelle silently bid goodbye to the town as she rode

through it.  She had rarely come here; her house was an

inconvenient distance off.  Her father wanted privacy for his

increasingly dubious activities.  The villagers had always

resented her family.  Annabelle had never been sure if they

simply envied her father's prosperity or if they were aware that

he made his fortune by cheating and theft.  Now the drab wood and

straw buildings surrounding her were like an outgrown dress, part

of the past but something Annabelle felt reluctant to throw away.

                                #

     Prince Cedric's castle was several days' travel from their

home, with only a few scrawny inns along the way.  Kelen Hills

guarded the border of Alcanster, close to the quarrelsome land of

Lotorinum with its merchants and thieves.  The castle stood even

closer to Calithwain, a land of untold magics and dangers.

People said that monsters traveled from Calithwain at times,

climbing north through the rugged mountains to enter Kelen Hills.

A dangerous place to live, without doubt.  As they rode, the

villages grew sparser and sparser.  The prince's family had

wanted him as far out of sight as possible, while still allowing

him to live as befitted royalty.  Annabelle would've liked to

question her father about the prince's home, but she held her

tongue.  Soon she would be free of his influence at least.

     The trio finally arrived at the prince's castle.  Its tall,

stone gates gaped like an enormous mouth before magnificent

towers and old-fashioned arches.  The castle had originally been

built as a stronghold, in Kelen's uprising against Lotorinum.  In

peacetime, the kings had transformed it into a hunting lodge,

adding decoration until it appeared sleek and graceful.  Rumor

had it that the prince had chosen this place for its strength as

much as its solitude.  Some said he hid behind its walls plotting

an insurrection against the kingdom.

     Instead of helping them to dismount, a groom gestured for

them to turn left and keep riding.  Annabelle didn't know whether

to be relieved or confused at not entering the castle where she

would be forced to live for the rest of her life.

     Within only a few minutes, they reached a round pond that

reflected the first touches of bronze-purple sunset like a

fairy's mirror.  Beyond it, Annabelle could see a small crowd

milling about.  As Annabelle drew closer, she could see that the

area had been organized as a chapel to the White Lady.  This was

only to be expected, since She presided over all ceremonial

occasions, with the exception of death.  The benches were all in

neat rows, and, yes, just coming into view was the archway for

Her priestess.  Studying the furnishings of the little clearing

gave Annabelle a distraction from watching the people.  There

couldn't have been more than twenty or thirty of them wandering

about the wooden benches and chatting, but they reminded

Annabelle how accustomed she was to the solitude of her forest

home.  They all wore rich costumes of satin and velvet, with long

sleeves and high collars to emphasize that the world stood on the

cusp of winter.

     Annabelle realized that she was shivering now that the

horses had slowed to a dignified walk.  It was truly ridiculous

of her to wear her mother's spring wedding dress, rather than

having it altered or a new one made, she thought irrelevantly.

Most of the trees around them had lost their leaves; the muddy

reds and yellows lay on the ground, trampled under the horses'

hooves as they moved closer to the wedding scene.  Ice would coat

that pond soon, if it didn't already.

     Despite the leafless trees, someone had gone to a great deal

of effort to make the clearing appear festive.  Ribbons and bells

hung from the trees, while garlands of flowers that must have

cost several fortunes were everywhere.  The Lady's priestess

stood at the head of a group of servants, dressed in silver and

gray.  Beside her was the prince.

     No one else could possibly answer to the descriptions

whispered about by kitchen fires and in horror-filled nursery

tales.  Annabelle would have known him even without the groom's

traditional pale gray suit and the hopeful look on his face as he

watched her.   The sprawling, dark birthmark leapt to her eyes as

it covered his forehead and cheek like a grasping hand or

squashed spider.  "Evil's touch could be seen on the prince's

face, where the Shadow Wolf bit him and drained all the goodness

out," Annabelle heard one of her old nurses whispering by the

fire.  A cold wind crept through her body and she shuddered.

     He stood surprisingly tall for a man with a large hump on

his shoulder, certainly taller than she was.  The prince leaned

towards his good side, making him appear twisted and unbalanced.

However, he moved forwards smoothly without a limp or odd gait.

Massively built, he had thick, muscular arms and legs like

barrels.

     Annabelle's father dismounted, yanking her from her

observation as he cut her hands loose from the reins.  He pulled

her off the saddle, and dragged her over to where the prince and

his guests were standing.  He bowed magnificently. "My lord, I

have brought you my daughter as promised."

     The prince gave him a black scowl that should have melted

him where he stood.  Her father, of course, merely became more

ingratiating, bowing again until his head nearly brushed the

ground, then yanking on Annabelle's arm, forcing her stubborn

knees to curtsy.

     The prince looked deep into Annabelle's eyes, studying her

through her thin, gray veil.  His forehead jutted out sharply,

shadowing the startlingly bright blue eyes as if they shone from

a cave.   The prince's face was not beastly under his thick, dark

hair, but rather wistful and almost intellectual, despite his

birthmark.  This shocking contrast between face and body

increased his peculiarity, rather than softening it.  It seemed

as if his piercing gaze could brush her soul as his pupils locked

with hers.  He suddenly tore his eyes away, in a manner that was

so quick it was almost shy.

     However, his first words were for her father.  "You gave

your word that she would come of her own free will."

     "And so she has," her father said hotly, his honor

challenged.  "She may have needed a bit of.persuasion, but you'll

find she'll be a good wife to you, after she's accustomed to

staying here."

     "Does this accustoming involve giving her a second black

eye?"

     Her father shifted.  "I may chastise her as I see fit.  So

may you when she becomes yours."

     The disfigured prince turned back to Annabelle.  "My lady,

what is your name?"

     "Annabelle."  She kept her face impassive despite the fact

that he had addressed her as a lady of rank, while she was no

more than a merchant's daughter.

     "Mine is Cedric.  I would not marry you against your will."

     "Aye," her father said.  "If a prince isn't good enough, you

may come back home with me."  Behind her back, where the prince

couldn't see, her father twisted her arm, painfully at first then

bursting into agony as Annabelle remained silent.  She tried to

think through the pain, but it blinded her in its intensity.  Her

father would be furious with her for proving him a liar, and

whatever he did would surely be violent.  Her father would never

let her go home.  Annabelle knew she had no choice at all.  As

the agony shot up her arm to her shoulder, she let out a yes that

practically shrieked.

     "You will agree to marry me?" the prince asked.  Annabelle

thought she saw a trace of sympathy in his eyes.

     "Yes," Annabelle said more calmly as her arm was released.

"I will marry you."

     The ceremony was quick and relatively painless.  The

priestess said some words, and then Cedric said, "I take thee, in

the sight of the Lady and her followers."  The prince slipped a

ring of silver and opal onto her finger.  Annabelle swallowed

hard at the feel of cold metal binding her hand.  By accepting

the ring, she accepted him.  The Lady's own stone, white with

flecks of fire, was only used for wedding rings in Alcanster.

When the priestess gave him permission, the prince lowered his

head and kissed her.  It was Annabelle's first kiss, and totally

unlike anything she had expected.  Despite his frightful

appearance, the man's touch was gentle, almost pleasurable if she

could forget that it sealed the bond between them.  Over the next

few minutes, Annabelle found her fingers drifting shyly to her

lips, as if only half believing what had happened.

     With the kiss, the ceremony was over and some of the

spectators dispersed.  Annabelle said a cold goodbye to her

father, who echoed her.  Then he murmured a few words to the

prince that caused him to bristle and walk away.  Annabelle

watched her father ride off, half of her relieved beyond words to

have left him and half of her longing to run behind him, begging

to return to her only home.

     Out of the corner of her eye, Annabelle saw the prince

approaching, the dark birthmark covering his face like a storm

cloud.  The prince came up to Annabelle and kissed her hand, as

she had seen the rich courtiers do on occasion.  "My wife."  His

voice was calm and pleasant, but Annabelle could hear a tightness

of suppressed emotions.  She wondered what they were, since his

mask-like control divulged nothing to her.  Was he pleased?

Disappointed?

     "Your highness," she responded, hoping that her whisper was

loud enough to be understood.

     "Cedric, please.  Er, may I show you around the castle?"

     "Of course."  The servants were completely gone now.  Even

the priestess had abandoned her.  A short, silent walk brought

them to their destination.

     From the prince's side, Annabelle gazed up at the soaring,

white stone of her new home.  Three immense stories with costly

glass windows down the center and archway-fronted balconies along

the sides.  The windows were in pairs, like sets of sneering

eyes, judging her and narrowing in on the old-fashioned summer

gown, eying her scuffed, white slippers as she slipped on the

gravel-studded ground.  Annabelle stared back at them, willing

the castle to give up its secrets.  As Annabelle approached, the

building rounded into fat towers, with delicate spires peeping

out from up above, and an even more ornate tower in the center

with oval windows set in its statuesque dome.

     The topmost tower faded away as Annabelle advanced towards

the thick wooden doors ahead.  She took a deep, steadying breath

and mounted the three stone steps as footmen opened the doors

before her.

     The prince's home was certainly a castle.  The receiving

room where they first entered made quite an impression, with

walls of crimson satin that must have cost several fortunes.

Annabelle could have fit half of her house's first floor into

that one chamber.  Matching curtains drifted from ceiling to

floor, shadowing the glass windows.

     Annabelle peered through the windowpane at the forest

beyond.  Ripples in the glass made the trees writhe and churn

like distorted monsters from a half remembered nightmare.  She

turned quickly away, bumping against a stiff, wooden chair with

red satin padding.  The pink-flecked marble of the nearby

fireplace ascended to the ceiling in ornate splendor.  A gold-

framed portrait of the royal family dominated the wall before

her, but the other satin walls were noticeably bare.  Annabelle

would've liked to examine the portrait more closely but she

decided to wait until one of its subjects wasn't in the room.

She turned, and found that the prince stood framed in the

doorway, watching her as she explored.

     "I hope you'll be happy here," he said quietly.

     Annabelle nodded.  "Shall we go, now?"

     He took her arm and led her through the grand double doors.

Every room bespoke elegance and wealth that Annabelle had hardly

dreamed of.  She and the prince wandered through countless rooms,

admiring paintings and figurines, intricate filigree work and

imposing statues.  Rich velvets and tapestries covered the walls,

while soft, fluffy rugs cushioned most of the floor space.  He

might be in exile, but it was certainly a comfortable exile that

his family had chosen for him.  All of the furnishings were

ornate but most were quite tasteful.  The odd garish bookend or

engraving appeared so out of place in the general style that

Annabelle concluded they were well meant but ill chosen gifts.

     The tour didn't include the separate stables, kitchens, and

servant quarters, or even the gardens in the castle center, but

there was still a great deal to explore.  Downstairs were the

ballroom, audience room, dining room, the prince's private study,

and even a little parlor for Annabelle to read or entertain in.

She lost track of the numerous receiving chambers, waiting

chambers, and antechambers that scattered themselves around rooms

with more familiar functions. And that was only the first floor,

with two more and probably an attic and cellar as well.  The

prince led her up a tall, circular staircase and showed her a

plethora of other rooms, all impeccably and lavishly furnished.

Finally, they arrived at a door with elaborate, diamond-shaped

panels.  Lacy wall hangings dangled on either side.

     "These are your chambers," the prince said.  They proceeded

inside.  Annabelle nodded to the three maids who snapped to

attention upon her entrance.  "And these are Berida, Suzette, and

Elena.  They will be your attendants."  Unlike the menacing

housemaids that her father hired to keep her in her room and out

of trouble, these women had pleasant smiles and their eyes lit up

with simple friendliness upon seeing their new mistress.

Annabelle remembered how one snarling cook had spent weeks

telling her gruesome bedtime stories of forest monsters to keep

her indoors.  These women looked as if they had never heard nasty

rumors before.  Berida was plump, with curling brown hair and a

mouth that couldn't keep from grinning.  Suzette was rather tall

and thin, with dark hair in a plain little knot, and gentle brown

eyes.  Elena was certainly no older than Annabelle, with a

daintily embroidered apron pulled tight to emphasize her thin

waist and a pair of thick, blond braids that bobbed up and down

when she moved her head.

     The prince continued the tour through Annabelle's chambers,

showing her a setting fit for a queen.  The rooms were enormous,

with a sitting room, bathroom, bedroom, dressing room, and a

wardrobe that was almost a room in itself, as well as

antechambers for the maids.  The sitting room furniture was

upholstered in pink plush, with lots of low, soft chairs for

Annabelle and the maids or female friends to snuggle into.

Cheerfully embroidered pillows and baskets of knitting displayed

the maids' attempts to brighten the room.  A bright little fire

was the perfect touch to welcome her inside.

     The bathroom was mostly cream marble, full of shelves

jumbled with exquisite little bottles of perfumes and cosmetics

that tossed exotic scents around the room.  The full-length

mirror was the finest glass Annabelle had seen, without a single

ripple or tint to her image.  She thought her eyes would leap out

of her head at the enormous wardrobe, cradling the richest, most

expensive gowns that she could've envisioned.  Only a few hung

there now; the prince would expect her to have dresses made now

that she'd arrived and could be measured properly.  At least

Annabelle knew that much from her brief time in court.  She ran

shy fingers over the finery before her.  Ruby colored velvet,

delicate lavender gauze fine enough to draw through a finger

ring, winking jewels set into sleeves and necklines.  Every

accessory, from gloves to hairnets and stockings was there in a

variety of colors and styles, and all of the very finest

materials.  And boxes upon boxes of glittering jewels, far more

precious than anything her mother had ever owned.  The wardrobe

took up a third of the space in her dressing room, towering up to

the patterned hardwood ceiling.

     Quaint pastoral paintings hung here and there in the pale

blue embroidered dressing room along with several more costly

mirrors.  Shaded lamps made the room cozier while little chairs

were scattered here and there through the chamber.  A tub carved

from polished wood drew up to a little fireplace of rosy marble

with a grate of cheerful colored glass.

     From there, Cedric led Annabelle into the bedroom.  The

astounding red and gold ceiling was clearly worthy of a room in

the royal palace.  All the wall hangings here were of the forest

and of gardens, with a vague theme of roses that imprinted itself

onto cabinet handles and carved table legs.  Pretty candlesticks

and knick-knacks also scattered themselves about the room, making

it a bit more welcoming.  Even the furniture was of some reddish

wood, with little tables, a few soft chairs printed with a rose

pattern, and, to Annabelle's delight, a little bookshelf within

easy reach of the bed.  The bed itself was enormous, with

curtains of rose-colored silk and a matching down comforter.

Despite its lovely colors and rich materials, Annabelle felt

herself shiver a bit when she looked at it.

     The prince's eyes darted to her face now and then, as if to

ascertain whether she was pleased.  He appeared quite familiar

with the rooms; he had probably planned them out once he'd made

the bargain with her father.  He behaved a bit uncomfortably in

them now, hesitating and stumbling over his words.  Now that they

were in the bedroom, he hesitated to even meet her eyes.  "If

anything in your rooms is not to your liking, tell the servants

and it will be changed immediately."  He wandered over to a small

door in the bedroom wall.  It was almost an afterthought, so

unassuming it seemed next to the grand scenic paintings and

embroidered floral wall hangings.  Carved directly from the wall

and unembellished, it was close to invisible.  "And this leads to

my rooms."

     Annabelle buried her hands in her skirts to hide their

fierce trembling.  She had known what marriage meant before she

agreed to live with this monstrosity.  He might be well mannered,

but Annabelle hadn't forgotten that he'd been exiled.  Not

trusting herself to speak, all she could manage was a mute nod.

He smiled at her and gave her hand a simple pat, probably

believing that she was shy.  "Well," he said.  "You must be tired

from your journey.  I will leave you to rest, and see you later

at our wedding supper tonight."  His hand brushed her cheek and

Annabelle froze, scarcely daring to move as he examined her face.

"See that her eye is tended," he said to Annabelle's new

attendants.

     Then he was gone, and Annabelle's maids surrounded her.

They giggled and fussed, and insisted on showing her the rooms

what must have been twenty times over.  They noticed her

dizziness from exhaustion, and fed her delicate little pastries

and a glass of wine.  As she nibbled, they carried in kettles of

hot water, and prepared a bath for her beside the little fire.

Annabelle soaked in the hot, soapy water, and let her bruised

muscles relax after the tiring days on horseback, while the maids

dashed about her with cool poultices for her eye and sweet

scented bath oils.

     When she finally left the bath, they brought her a midnight

blue gown, with delicate sapphire combs and a necklace to match.

The dress was far more magnificent than anything Annabelle had

ever worn, but it felt like a stiff satin cage closing in around

her sore body.  The necklace and combs weighed on her like iron

chains, entrapping her and sealing her fate.  Brushing the dark

images out of her mind and banishing them with a resolute

squaring of her shoulders, Annabelle let the maids escort her

downstairs.  It would take some time before she could find her

way around all the rooms of the castle.

     The dining room had an immense pair of carved doors, which

required two pages to open them.  One of the pages announced her

at the door, and she found that Prince Cedric, the priestess, and

a number of the more finely dressed wedding guests awaited her

inside.  The prince stood to meet her and escorted her to a seat

at his right hand.  The dining hall easily could've seated more

than one hundred, although only fifteen guests sat there.  The

evening proceeded in a blur of toasts, good wishes, and

extraordinary food that Annabelle mostly picked at and pretended

to eat.

      The courtiers' shrill voices and empty compliments grated

at her, while Annabelle's tired muscles complained at the endless

sitting as yet another course made its way to the table, borne on

the shoulders of an endless parade of servants.  The prince

remained gallant and courteous through the evening, asking polite

questions about her interests and previous home.  Still,

Annabelle could not forget that she was forced into this arranged

marriage with a man whose own parents had sent him to live far

away, and spread stories of his heinous cruelty.  She answered

his inquiries briefly, and didn't bother following up on

conversational openings, instead letting them widen to awkward

pauses.

     The thought bubbled up from the back of her mind that the

servants hadn't been afraid of Prince Cedric.  Did he shield them

from the rumors, or did they trust him now that they knew him?

Annabelle's thoughts blurred in her head, smothered under a fuzzy

blanket.  The wine was better than anything she'd had at home,

but it was also far stronger and the servants refilled her glass

for each toast.  She couldn't try to puzzle the prince out when-

she couldn't even keep her thoughts moving in one direction.  He

might even be getting her drunk so he'd be unable to think!

Dessert had passed, and the guests still lingered over sweets and

even more wine.  Finally, she decided that her head buzzed too

strongly to make any more polite smalltalk.

     She stood, and immediately all conversation halted.

Annabelle blushed a bit at being the center of attention and

clutched the tall chair back fiercely enough to imprint its

graceful curlicues into her palms.

     "Please forgive me, milord and honored guests, but it seems

that I'm more fatigued than I realized.  If you will excuse me."

     To Annabelle's relief, the light conversation among the

guests resumed.  The prince took her arm and escorted her to the

door.  As she turned to leave, he placed one powerful hand on her

shoulder to stall her.  The other hand reached up to caress her

cheek, the fingers easing over the high cheekbone then circling

in a surprisingly graceful dance down to her jaw.  "I shall see

you presently, Annabelle," was all he said.  Annabelle hurried

out of the room as quickly as she dared, before she had to

witness the guests' knowing smiles.

                                #

                            Chapter 2

     Annabelle peered out of the window.  There was no trellis

here.  And she only had a few minutes to spare before one of the

maids returned, or before he came.  She had returned to her

chambers, where her maids peeled the sapphire dress off her, and

expertly braided her hair.  They dressed her in a feather-soft

nightdress with embroidered curlicues at the neck and sleeves.

Annabelle had begged them for just a few moments alone before her

husband arrived.  And now, she would have to put them to good

use.

     She gazed out the window again.  There were cracks enough in

the outer castle wall that she should be able to climb down, even

without the aid of her friendly ivy plant.  Once she reached the

ground, she could hide in the forest and figure out her next step

afterwards.  Fortunately, the cold air was clearing away all of

the muzzy traces of wine.

     The prince might arrive any moment; there was no time for

Annabelle to dress properly.  She pulled on her own plain cloak

and sturdy boots, still left out from the maids' unpacking, and

returned to her only means of escape.  With drawn breath, she

eased her body out the window.  Annabelle made it about halfway

down when she heard the loud screech of an owl.  Unaccustomed to

the sound, she half-turned, and then could not find her grip when

she eased herself back towards the wall.  Her cold fingers

fumbled desperately at the slippery stone as she scraped her

hands and scuffed her nails futilely.  With a soft shriek of her

own, she tumbled into the snow, a full story below her.

                                #

     Annabelle carefully stood, bracing herself on the wall

beside her.  She stumbled, and then collapsed back onto the

frozen ground.  It was no use.  Her ankle was sprained if not

broken, and she would not be able to walk.  She cursed her own

clumsiness for trapping her in this position.  Now, her only

choice was to crawl through the woods, hoping to find some sort

of shelter before she froze to death.  Unappealing, but her other

option was to crawl into that monster's bed.  All of her pain and

terror suddenly pelted at the man who'd stolen her from her home.

Annabelle would accept any danger to be rid of him.  At least the

cold would keep down the swelling of her ankle.

     She dragged herself towards the trees' welcome shelter,

biting her lip against the hollow throbbing of her ankle.  The

snow seeped into her dress, freezing her beyond shivering.  Wind

moaned through the treetops and Annabelle had never felt so

alone.  She sagged to the ground, then yanked herself up again

with a fierce shake of her head.  She couldn't stop!  Annabelle

had to reach the woods, to hide!  A fresh dusting of snow began

to fall, blurring the landscape before her.  Beyond the swirling

mass of white, the darkness all looked the same.  Where had the

forest gone?  Her aching fingers subsided into numbness; she had

forgotten gloves.  Annabelle struggled on, eyes shut against the

blasting snow, forcing her legs to drag her a bit further.  Her

icy breath rasped in her sore throat.  She had to rest.  Just for

a moment.

                                #

     Annabelle lay somewhere dark and clouded.  She struggled,

trying to see, to remember where she was.  There was somewhere

she had to go, someone she needed to escape from.  But who was

it?  She felt cold, as if icy talons gripped her.  Annabelle

continued to fight, despite the presence of gentle hands pinning

her down onto something soft.  With a sudden effort, she broke

free and sat up.

     She was back in her opulent bedroom, surrounded by her three

concerned maids.  They bustled about her, offering extra blankets

and hot tea.  Finally, she understood from their continuous

chatter that the prince had guessed her whereabouts when she had

not been in her rooms.  He had found her lying in the snow,

unconscious, and had personally carried her up to bed.

     "He wants to see you, milady, as soon as you're well

enough," Berida said.

     "Of course," Annabelle managed.  "Did-did he talk as if he

were angry?"

     "Prince Cedric is hard to read, but he did seem more distant

than usual for him.  He barely said a word more than he had to.

Just told us to take care of you, then he left.  The cook said he

retreated to his rooms and left orders not to be disturbed at

all."

     Didn't he mind what Annabelle had done?  Was he truly

apathetic?  Or would he explode with pent up rage when she next

saw him?  Annabelle's head started to spin as panic warred with

exhaustion.  She lay back against the pillows, realizing how

weary she really was.  So much had happened in the past few days

and through it she had felt too anxious for very much food or

sleep.  She would have to worry about the prince later, when her

mind was clearer.  It seemed she had escaped from her wedding

night at any rate.  Perhaps, when she was stronger, when her

ankle had healed.

     Too exhausted for her mind to penetrate her haze of fatigue,

Annabelle let herself drift into an uneasy sleep.

                                #

     She stayed in her room all of the next day, and most of the

following morning, letting her maids bring her food, as well as

supporting bandages for her sprained ankle.  It was a novelty to

have people caring about her and trying to help her.  All three

of them, even taciturn Suzette spent time reassuring and

comforting her as well as seeing to her physical needs.

Annabelle hesitated to confide in them, since their loyalties

would certainly be to her new husband.  She shuddered at the

word.  What had she done?  Restless from worrying over the same

questions in her mind, Annabelle finally convinced herself that

she was only delaying the inevitable.  With a sigh, she hobbled

down the stairs to see her husband.

     She wore a soft gown, not so rich as the midnight blue

dinner dress, but lovely all the same.  Fashioned out of warm

velvet (the maids had insisted), its deep crimson color made her

feel safe.  It was an illusion, she knew.  Her husband would be

furious, perhaps even more so than her father.  And he was strong

and powerful.  The day in bed had given Annabelle time to brood

and to regret her instinctive behavior.  Worse yet, she had run

away publicly, damaging his pride and his reputation.  Annabelle

cringed, envisioning the guests snickering at the prince and his

rage building beneath that massive frame.  Powerful men were

furious when crossed, and her small act of rebellion could have

serious consequences.  Since he was a prince, her actions could

even be considered treasonous.  It was a dubious charge since he

was out of favor with the court, but Annabelle had no one to

defend her if the prince petitioned to have her imprisoned or

worse!   Annabelle's thoughts continued to darken and she shook

her head firmly.  Whatever he did, she could endure it.  And

another opportunity would come for escape, soon.  The alternative

was just too unthinkable.

     She eased the door to the library open.  He was waiting

there, as the servants had said that he would be.  His back was

to her.  She watched him for a moment as he studied the shelves

of books in front of him.  So many books, more than she had seen

in one place in a lifetime.  Her father had never shared her

interest in reading.  The prince ran his fingers over the

shelves, glancing over each volume, looking for a specific one

perhaps.   His hands grazing over them seemed so massive and

powerful.  Involuntarily, Annabelle shuddered.

     The prince caught the movement out of the corner of his eye,

for he turned and nodded to her.  "My dear.  Thank you for seeing

me."  He slipped his hand under her elbow, looking pained at her

slight flinch, and drew her close to the fire.  The prince pushed

an armchair over to her, not even breathing hard as he dragged it

across the room.  He seated her with what she was coming to

accept as his typical elegant manners.

     "How are you feeling?" he asked.

     "Well, my lord."

     "You nearly died a few days ago.  Was my presence so

horrifying that you would risk freezing to death to escape?"  An

edge of anger was building in his voice.

     Annabelle shook her head, eyes rooted to the floor.

     The prince might have noticed her trembling; in any case,

his voice calmed when he next spoke.  "Where were you trying to

go?"

     More silence.

     "You agreed to marry me, did you not?  Did something happen

to cause you to change your mind?"  Perhaps a bit unnerved by her

silence, he lifted her chin up and peered into her eyes.

Annabelle did her best to stifle her forming tears as the warm,

blue eyes touched hers surprisingly intimately, seeing into the

depths of her mind and her tumultuous heart.  Apparently, Cedric

found an answer there, for he drew back and released her.  "I

thought you had agreed to stay with me, but looking back, I see

that this was forced on you by your father."  His voice softened

slightly, forcing Annabelle to lean forward to make out his

words.  "I apologize.  I should not have taken him at his word."

     "It isn't your fault," Annabelle said.   "He gave his word

to you when you showed him mercy, then he broke it.  You had no

part in it."

     "I asked him for something that I had no right to take, nor

he to give.  I am sorry."

     Annabelle nodded, accepting the apology.  Just words.  She

was more concerned with the present, and what the prince was

going to do to her.  She had run away, hurting his pride and

depriving him of his legal property.  How would he respond?

     He walked back towards the bookshelf, found a heavy volume,

and brought it back to her.  "The legend, Danielle of Kelen

Hills.  You know it?"

     "You read those stories?"

     The corners of his mouth turned up.  "Only when no one's

watching me."  He tugged his chair a bit closer to the fire, then

sat and started to read in a steady, quiet voice.

                                #

     It was the night before her first battle that Danielle faced

the Third Trial.  But while the first had been for herself and

the second for the soldiers, this time Danielle faced a stranger.

     He stood before her, a dark shadow hiding behind the choking

mist, though the evening had been fine.  "Why do you fight?" he

asked.  "What is this to you?"

     "Who is it that asks?"  She reached for the sword at her

waist, only to find it had vanished.  The empty sheath hung

there, as if mocking her.

     "A friend.  Perhaps an ally."

     "My allies have names."

     "You shall know me in time.  If you answer well.  Do you

fight for our crown?  Our flag?"

     "Our flag!  The king declared Kelen a rebel and banished him

to these hills.  If it weren't for his courage, all these towns

would now be Lotorinum's.  The men captured to fight in their

armies, the children servants to a land of thieves.  They trusted

him and he saved them.  Now that I proved myself his heir, it is

my duty to protect those he protected, serve those he served."

     "So you fight for the people of Alcanster."  He repeated the

words slowly, tasting them as he might a foreign herb.  "Not for

your country, to save it from the tyranny?"

     "What cause is there but the people, who are the soul of the

country?  I don't fight for a handful of dirt.  I fight for

them!"

     "That's all I wanted to ask."  And he vanished, leaving

Danielle blinking and shaking her head, stranded on the cold,

misty path.  Swordless.  Until she woke to the shouting of voices

in the camp.

     The scouts had captured a spy.

     They dragged him before Danielle, waking her from her

troubled sleep.  The stranger's shirt was torn, hair full of

leaves. He carried no weapons, only a wooden lute, scarred from

years of gentle handling.  He stood before her as she blinked the

sleep of conflict from her eyes, he fighting against the arms

that held him.  And they flung him at her feet.

                                #

     Cedric turned the page, reading the words to Annabelle in a

soft, even voice, the way she would speak to a frightened kitten.

Unconsciously, she leaned back in the plush chair, allowing the

warmth of the fire to penetrate her muscles.

     Wait!  What was she doing?  For that matter, what was he

doing?  Was he reading to lull her into a false sense of

security, so that the blow would sting that much more?  She

hadn't believed him to be deliberately cruel, but there was no

way to tell.  Annabelle stiffened in the chair.

     "You don't enjoy the tale?"

     "It's lovely, milord," she said, startled into candidness

for a brief moment.  "However, I would prefer to be punished

outright, rather than the endless waiting."

     His jaw dropped so suddenly that it could not possibly be

feigned.  "Punished?  For what?"

     "For-for running away that night."

     She would not look at his face, but Cedric's hand moved

towards her cheek, practically her eye and then stopped, mere

inches from her skin.  "Now I see.  Was that what your father

gave you the black eye for?"

     No reason to lie.  "Yes."

     "Annabelle, listen to me.  No one in this castle will ever

harm you.  For any reason.  Especially me, do you understand?"

     She nodded.  He lifted her chin gently, until their eyes

met.  "You have my word.  And I have never broken it, nor will

I."  Cedric sighed.  "It is all I have."  He flipped through the

pages of his book.  "Do you have somewhere else to go?"

     She shook her head, suppressing the new tears that stung her

eyes.

     "Then stay.  It gets so lonely here, with no one to talk to

but a few servants.  I wish companionship more than anything

else.  I will do nothing to harm you or make you unhappy."  He

actually reddened a bit at the last part of the sentence.

     His emphasis was not lost on Annabelle, whose blush answered

his.  The truth was that she had nowhere to go, even if they had

not been married.  No friend or relative to take her in; her

father's house was the only home she had known.  Perhaps it would

not be so bad.  Cedric seemed far kinder than the rumors implied,

although possibly he was prone to fits of madness, or somesuch.

Most importantly, she had no choice.

     "Wh-why?"  Annabelle had to know that at least.

     "When I was younger, I also had someone who forced me to do

his will, who bullied me simply because he could.  I have escaped

from that and I would not leave another person in that

situation."

     "Not the king-" she said, before she could stop the words

from coming.

     "No.  It's unlikely that you'll meet him.  Will you live

here for a time?"

     Annabelle nodded.  "Thank you," was all that she could

whisper.

                                #

                            Chapter 3

     Despite Cedric's assurances, Annabelle kept her distance

from him over the next few weeks.  She saw him occasionally at

luncheon, and every night at the castle's surprisingly formal

dinners.  He seemed to notice her discomfort, and didn't seek out

her company.

     One day, while searching for something to break up her

monotony of clumsy embroidery and talking to her maids, Annabelle

wandered over to the library.  The door stood open, letting the

cool morning air blow away the candle smoke from the evening

before.  Annabelle halted in the doorway, frozen.

     Cedric occupied one of the massive armchairs, immersed in a

fat volume.  A thoughtful, far away look graced his features as

he slowly turned the pages.  He looked so serene bathed in golden

sunlight from the windows, more of a god than a monster.

     A gust of wind whisked through the open door, interrupting

her observations.  The pages of Cedric's book fluttered, and he

lifted his head to see Annabelle framed in the doorway.

     "Good morning," he said, as if it were perfectly natural for

her to be staring at him.  "Were you looking for something to

read?"

     "No!  I mean, yes, yes I was but I'm disturbing you, I

shouldn't, I'll go."

     Cedric rose from his seat.  "Please stay.  I assure you, you

do not disturb me in any way.  Indeed, I enjoy your company."

Since leaving after his invitation would be incredibly rude,

Annabelle fled to one of the bookcases and busied herself

searching for something to read.

     "Those books are rather dry; you would probably have more

luck with the minstrel's tales to your left.  Or do you enjoy the

kingdom's financial accounts?"

     Annabelle's shoulders squirmed.  Cedric's voice was

emotionless on the surface, but she could hear the echo of a

smile in it.  "Minstrel's tales sound fine, thank you."  She

selected a book at random and seated herself in the other

armchair.  Annabelle sat up straight, as her father had always

insisted on, instead of curling up as she might in her room.  At

least she could show that she had a few manners.  Annabelle

struggled to read, vaguely aware of Cedric's gaze on her warm

face.

     Just as she was starting to calm herself she heard, "That

must be a very interesting table of contents."

     "What?"

     "By my count, you've been staring at it for ten minutes."

     "Oh."

     "Does something trouble you?"

     "No, no of course not."  He was still watching her.  She

tried again.  "I suppose I'm just a bit restless."

     "Perhaps I could read to you, as I did before," Cedric

suggested.

     Annabelle found herself nodding.  "That sounds nice."

     He picked up the book from a nearby table and opened it to

the marked spot.

                                #

     The scouts had captured a spy.

     They dragged him before Danielle, waking her from her

troubled sleep.  The stranger's shirt was torn, hair full of

leaves. He carried no weapons, only a wooden lute, scarred from

years of gentle handling.  He stood before her as she blinked the

sleep of conflict from her eyes, he fighting against the arms

that held him.  And they flung him at her feet.

     "Who are you?" she demanded, an oasis of calm in the

whirlwind troops surrounding them, pushing and clamoring for the

stranger's death.

     "A-a traveling minstrel, lady.  I have done nothing to

deserve capture, I swear!"

     "A common minstrel with kidskin boots?" one of the crowd

called out.

     The prisoner shifted.  "I sang frequently at court."

     "He's a spy, Captain," another called.  "Sneaking round the

camp and cursin' the troops, I've no doubt.  Look what we found

on `im!"  And he held up a slender, ivory wand trimmed in amber.

     Danielle crossed her arms.  "So.  Wizard as well as spy."

     The captive shook his head.  "A wizard, but no spy, Lady.  I

came to aid you."

     "And how shall I believe this?"

     He straightened, throwing off some internal constraint that

gagged his lips.  "By this token that I offer," he said, holding

out his hand, and on it, the golden ring set with the crest

marking him heir to the throne.

     

     Annabelle sat up straight in her seat.  "Prince Koran!"

     Cedric smiled.  "You're quite an appreciative audience.  But

did you lose yourself so far as to forget you've heard the

story?"

     "But Koran wasn't a wizard!"

     "Indeed he was.  It was that that made him so invaluable to

the army and won the battle in the end."  At Annabelle's look of

pure disbelief, Cedric smiled almost mockingly.

     "Nowadays, when Vornak the Shadowlord is all people

remember, many of the stories have changed to mirror the new

traditions.  But I prefer the original texts, so that is all I

keep.  Shall I continue reading?"

     "Of-of course."

     Cedric read on, continuing the tale of Danielle's final

battle.  With Koran at her side, they defeated Lotorinum,

frightening them back over their border for centuries to come.

And then Koran brought Danielle to the palace, newly restored

from the attacks that had reduced it to rubble such a short time

before.  There he wed her.  And together they founded a new age

of peace and prosperity for the kingdom.

     Annabelle snuggled back in her chair, smiling at the happy

ending.  Everything worked out in the end, fear changed to love

and war to peace.  And Cedric's deep, even voice sounded so

soothing.

                                #

     Suzette shook her gently.  "My lady?  It's time you prepared

for dinner."

     "What?"  Annabelle sat up.  Suzette's prim figure, with

every hair neatly pinned back and every bow expertly tied made

Annabelle realize how rumpled she felt.  Had dinner already

begun?  "How long have I been asleep?"

     "Only a few hours.  The prince said that you were napping in

here and that we shouldn't disturb you.  But now it's close to

dinner and I thought-"

     "Yes, of course.  Let's go get ready."

                                #

     Dinner that night was somehow pleasanter than her past meals

had been.  Cedric was courtly and gallant as always, paying her

light, inconsequential compliments and suggesting she try some

dish or other.  However, this night Annabelle found herself more

relaxed around him.  For once she paid attention to Cedric's

quiet attempts at conversation, and even asked him a few

questions about his books.  They chatted in a friendly manner

long into the night.

                                #

     Finally, Annabelle decided her ankle had healed enough that

she no longer needed to stay cooped up in the castle.  Ignoring

the fluttering of her maids, Annabelle picked up her ancient ice

skates and left for the frozen pond.  She strapped them on

tightly and amused herself for a while, looping and swirling

around the ice.

     After a few circles she paused.  She had the strange

sensation of eyes staring at her.  She took another leisurely

turn around the ice, reluctant to give in to silly fears.  The

feeling was stronger than ever, although there was no one about.

No one that she could see at least.  Finally, disgusted with her

irrational impulse, she called out, "Hello?  Is someone there?"

     Cedric stepped out of the shadowing trees.  Startled that

someone had been there after all, Annabelle stumbled, skating

over the hem of her dress.  She wobbled precariously for a

moment, and then suddenly Cedric was close enough to lend her a

steadying arm.  "Thank you," Annabelle said as her breathing

returned to her control.

     "I should not have startled you," Cedric said.  He still

held her arm, keeping her steady on the ice.  She glanced down at

his imprisoning fingers and he immediately released her.  He took

a step back and then started to slip himself.  Annabelle steadied

him in return before he could fall.  He thanked her with a nod.

"I had best get inside before there are any other mishaps," he

said, glancing at her as if he wished to ask something but didn't

quite dare.

     A sudden burst of compassion made Annabelle ask, "Do you

skate?"

     He shook his head.  "In my youth, my tutors kept me inside

constantly.  And I had no playmates of my own age."  Annabelle

had a sudden moment of empathy, knowing what it was like to be so

alone for so long, no friends, parents that you were an

embarrassment to.

     "Why don't you try to find some skates," Annabelle

suggested.  "I can teach you now."  The shocked, dazzling grin on

Cedric's face was more reward than she could have hoped for.

     Cedric proved to be a terrible skater, who fell

embarrassingly often, and more frequently clung to the trees

circling the pond.  He skated much better when she took his arm

and pulled him along the slippery ice.  Not wanting him to feel

humiliated, Annabelle told him about how much trouble she'd had

learning to skate,

     "And when I was nine, I fell and had to have my wrist

stitched where I cut it on the ice."  She held it up for him to

see the thin scar.

     `It doesn't diminish your beauty the tiniest fraction,"

Cedric told her gallantly, and bent to kiss the scar.  Then he

lost his balance and tumbled to the ice in a heap, dragging her

down with him.  Annabelle let out a cry as she plummeted down on

top of him.

     "I am so sorry, Annabelle.  Are you hurt?  I should have

known I'm far too clumsy--"

     Annabelle interrupted his apology with an explosion of

laughter.  His bewildered expression only made her giggle harder.

Finally he joined her laughter with his own deeper chuckles and

they sat there on the ice, both overcome by the hilarity of the

moment.

     Finally Cedric stood shakily and helped Annabelle to her

feet.  "Perhaps we should go in, before we end up covered in any

more of the pond."

     Annabelle noticed that they were both drenched in tiny

droplets of melting ice and that she was shivering.  Annabelle

nodded.  "I wouldn't mind some tea and a warm fire."  They

changed out of their skates, and then walked towards the house

arm in arm.

                                #

     Cedric might have been a horrible skater, but he was

determined to improve.  Often, at night, Annabelle would glance

out her window to see him skating, falling, and skating some more

on the tiny pond.  Occasionally he saw her there and waved to

her.

     A few times she shook off her sleepiness and went to join

him for a while.  Skating in the moonlight was strange and

magical, always filled with an aura of unearthliness.  Annabelle

felt as if she were fast asleep in her bed, dreaming, rather than

gliding across the ice with Cedric in lazy circles.  Unlike the

thin, cracked ice that she had skated on near her father's house,

the ice here was deep and smooth.  The pond shined like a silver

mirror reflecting her hopes and dreams of the future.

                                #

     One night, after hours of skating, they finally slid to a

halt on the edge of the ice.  Annabelle clung tightly to Cedric

as she stumbled, and grasped both of his tall shoulders to keep

from falling.  He smiled down at her.  "It's not like you to be

so awkward.  I thought I was the beginner."

     She had to grin back.  Cedric rarely criticized her.  "Maybe

I'm trying to make you feel better.  You must've fallen, what?

Eight times tonight?  You aren't usually that clumsy, either."

     "Annabelle, you know that my skate laces--"

     "Of course, I'm sure they're responsible for all your

skating mishaps."  Annabelle's straight face shattered at

Cedric's mock look of offended dignity and she dissolved into

giggles.  "You always make me laugh."

Her hands were still on his shoulders; now Cedric put his arms

around her and drew her in closer.  Still wearing her skates, her

body glided irrevocably towards his.  "Isn't that something a

woman hopes for in a husband?  Someone to make her laugh?" His

head bent down towards her, far too close.  Suddenly, the hands

on her shoulders felt too tight.  Annabelle found herself

remembering what tremendous strength he had.  Hadn't her maids

spoken admiringly about how easily he had carried her upstairs a

few weeks before?

     Annabelle jerked away with a shudder.  "Please, don't!"  To

her relief, his hands instantly released her.  She scurried to

the pond's edge and sat down, yanking at the laces of her skates

when they wouldn't submit to her frantic fingers.

     Cedric stood there silently in the middle of the pond,

watching her.  Finally, as she pulled her shoes onto her cold

feet he murmured her name.  Shaking her head desperately,

Annabelle pelted towards the house, leaving him standing all

alone in the middle of the ice.

                                #

     Why had Cedric gone and ruined everything like that?  Things

had been so friendly, so perfect, and then--

     Suddenly everything had changed.  Back in her rooms,

Annabelle asked the maids politely to allow her a bit of quiet

and then retreated into her bedroom.  She wondered if they could

hear her pacing from where they sat, out in the parlor.  It

hardly mattered, but thinking of the maids and wondering if they

were spying on her kept Annabelle too occupied to think of other

things, particularly Cedric.  She paced back and forth in her

rooms, far too agitated to consider sleep.  The silken dressing

gown the maids had draped her in was far too thin for this

weather, but she wasn't going to ask them in so they could build

up the fire.  Annabelle tugged an extra blanket from the carved

chest at the foot of the bed and wrapped it savagely around

herself.  Thinking of the chill brought back thoughts of ice

skating and of course, Cedric came with them.

     Why was she so afraid?  It had only been a moment there on

the ice.  When Annabelle considered everything rationally, she

had to admit that his behavior towards her had been more than

fair.  Confronted by an unwilling bride after being promised a

lovely, obedient one, he had done his best to be a friend to her

and nothing more.  Most men would have cajoled if not actually

insisted, but Cedric had allowed her all of the luxuries of being

his wife without asking anything of her in exchange.

     He had said he wouldn't harm her, and she believed him.  But

there was so much she hadn't learned about him yet.  Why had his

family banished him and spread rumors of his brutal savagery?

She certainly wasn't comfortable enough with him to ask that, and

the question was appallingly rude, she had to admit.  But there

had to be a reason.  No one would send a royal prince into

virtual exile, especially young as he had been, without a

startlingly good motive.

     Annabelle pushed aside her conflicted emotions about him,

forcing herself to analyze the question objectively.  If she had

a clearer picture of who he was, she might be ready to decide how

she felt about him.  He was kind and courteous to those around

him, and always displayed an even temper.  His appearance was

odd, but hardly frightening enough to cause those tales.  None of

the servants cringed when they saw him, and she hadn't heard any

of them whispering dark rumors in the corners.  None of the

stories about him had told exactly why he was a deranged,

bloodthirsty beast.  Although if Annabelle had known she would

marry him, she would've listened more carefully to all the

conflicting tales.  She was no closer to the answer now, and had

even less idea what she should do about her own warring emotions.

                                #

     Annabelle slept late the next morning, worn out from her

evening skate followed by a night of tossing and turning.  When

she finally awoke, the maids brought her breakfast without

commenting on the tardy hour.  As Annabelle ate, relaxing in bed,

she listened with half an ear to their usual gossip.

     "The scullery maid has toothache again, and the stable

master's gone and overfed another of the prince's horses.  Why

he's still kept around, I've no idea," Elena said.

     "Speaking of the prince, he was in a fearful mood this

morning," Berida added.  "Ordered everyone to stay out of his way

and wouldn't touch his breakfast.  And he's generally so even

tempered."

     Annabelle's head jerked up at this piece of news.  "Cedric's

angry?"

     "Well yes, milady, not that you've anything to fear.

Everyone in the castle knows how much he dotes on you."

     "They do?"

     "Oh yes."

     Annabelle postponed this tidbit of news for later.  "I

should talk to him."  She hastily dressed and then rushed down

the stairs three at a time.

     As she hurried towards the library, her best guess for

Cedric's whereabouts, Annabelle stopped for a moment, arrested by

the sight of a tapestry she must have passed dozens of times

without truly seeing it.  Beside her hung a picture of the gods.

The White Lady floated above, borne on her currents of air while

the Silent Wanderer stood below, pack over his shoulder.  It was

very like Cedric to believe himself in the power of the Wanderer,

Annabelle mused.  The male god represented instability, and

destiny controlled by fate rather than the individual.  Given how

tempestuous Cedric's life had been, all because of uncontrolled

rumors and a startling physical appearance, it was no wonder that

Cedric swore by the Silent Wanderer.

     As a child, Annabelle had always believed that she

controlled her own destiny, planting and clearing away the wild

growth of her future even as the White Lady did.  Life would've

been far more unbearable if she hadn't believed that she could

escape someday and make a new life for herself.

     She and Cedric were so different.  Almost opposites, in

fact, like the gods.  Equal, and yet with so little in common.

Yet she and Cedric both were cast out by their families, and both

had great potential for friendship and even affection.  Annabelle

forced herself to think the word rather than starting away from

it as usual.  Even though he was a great prince, and she the

clumsy daughter of a merchant, they might balance each other

quite well.

     Annabelle suddenly realized that she had been staring at the

tapestry for at least ten minutes.  Time to stop dawdling and

speak to Cedric, assuming he wasn't too angry to listen to her.

     She hurried down the hall, stopping shyly in front of the

open door.  Cedric was in the library, just as she had expected.

For once he wasn't reading or poring over the immense

bookshelves, but instead sat staring out of the window onto the

snow-covered meadow.  His birthmark shadowed his face more than

usual, reminding Annabelle of his dark mood more than any

expression could.  It didn't look so spiderlike now, more of a

blanket of gloom he'd wrapped himself in.  Annabelle certainly

knew what that felt like.  She tapped on the doorframe and Cedric

jumped.  "Annabelle."  His eyes widened and he simply stood there

for a moment, staring as if wondering whether she were truly

there.

     "How are you?" she asked.

     "Well, thank you."  His instinctive and obviously untrue

reply gave him the moment he needed to regain his composure.  "If

you will excuse me, I was just leaving."  He stepped towards the

door, but Annabelle blocked his escape.

     "Cedric, I should explain.  Last night--"

     "No," he said, interrupting her.  "I do not require

explanations.  We-we have grown to be, well, friends at least.  I

must be contented with that and should do what I can not to

destroy it forever.  Sometimes I overlook what you go through,

imprisoned here against your wishes, forced to look at me every

day.  I allowed myself to forget all of this for a moment.  There

will not be another such lapse, I assure you.  Good day,

Annabelle."  He slipped out past her before she could speak

another word.

     It's all right, Annabelle consoled herself.  I'll speak with

him at dinner.

     The poor man must believe that his appearance disgusted her.

Far from it; she was used to his unusual features and certainly

didn't mind them now.  Only the obviously exaggerated reports of

his wickedness, combined with her own silly fears had made her

draw back.  Here in the light of day, and confronted with

Cedric's loneliness, all her ponderings of last night felt

pointless and out of place.  Whatever he had done to receive this

treatment, she knew him and even, well, cared about him.  Their

friendship was important to her, and she needed to apologize for

being frightened out there on the ice.  Cedric's kindness meant

too much to her not to thank him.  And after a little more time,

perhaps she could give him more than her friendship.  Well, there

would be time enough later for explanations.

                                #

     For some reason, the maids fussed over her appearance more

than usual that night, dancing around her with combs and perfume

until Annabelle wanted to order all three of them to leave.  Why

were they taking such pains?  Had Cedric hinted something about

what had happened?  There was no holiday or occasion that

Annabelle knew of.  She found herself shyly pleased with the

thought of looking nice for Cedric, yet angered at her maids'

presumption.  Finally, she was adorned to their satisfaction.

She did look almost lovely, Annabelle had to admit.  The misty

pearl gray of the soft silk clung to her like a second skin,

emphasizing her slender waist and tall, straight back, while the

fluffy, blue gauze sleeves made her appear fragile and delicate.

Turning her back on the mirror and fingering the fine silver

bracelet on her wrist, Annabelle walked down the stairs.

     The usual page waited outside the banquet hall, dressed more

richly than she had ever seen him before.  He held up a hand to

stop her.  "You should be announced tonight, my lady."

     "Very well," Annabelle said, puzzled by all the formality.

     The page disappeared into the room, leaving Annabelle

waiting outside.  Normally only Cedric would be inside to greet

her, but tonight she heard the rumble of a second voice.

Intrigued, Annabelle moved a few steps closer to the conveniently

ajar door.

     "So, your highness," a nasally voice said, drawing the title

out as if to imply that he only used it out of courtesy.  "You

write his Majesty the king requesting half of your royal mother's

jewels.  With the excuse that you have taken a bride,

nonetheless.  Needless to say, the entire court was astonished."

     Cedric's reply was soft enough that Annabelle had to press

her ear to the crack of the open door.  His voice remained even,

with no trace of insult or indignation.  "And have you brought

them as I asked?"

     "The king wishes for your wife to be presented at court, so

that he can meet her in person.  Of course, he is rather occupied

at the moment, and hopes for a meeting in, say, six or seven

months when he becomes more available."

     "This delay is your idea, of course.  I shall write to him

personally to explain how matters stand.  Your `assistance' is

hardly required for us to speak to one another."

     "As you wish," the man said, his voice going from

overbearing to sulky, like a bully who has no one left to fight.

"However, I must warn you that as his representative, I have his

full confidence and power to act for him.  He may take your

complaints as self-indulgent whining, or worse, a threat of

treason.  It is only six months, after all, and I may be able to

shorten it.  Surely quarrels should be reserved for more

important subjects."

     "I suppose."

     "Of course, I may advise him to postpone the meeting

further, or even cancel it depending on the.appropriateness of

the lady in question."  The man's voice had turned from cowed to

downright malicious.  "It is well known that no one from the

royal court would consider--"

     "Whatever may or may not be well known, I have married a

noble lady who will be treated at all times with perfect respect.

I do not mean this grudging subservience you show to me; as your

prince I require you to treat my wife as a princess."

     "At least if she is past childbearing age, you need not be

troubled with extra changes to your reclusive lifestyle.  I know

she's poor as a beggar and probably hideous into the bargain, no

need to deny it.  Is that why you haven't brought her in yet?"

     "If you say such things again, I will have my servants teach

you to keep a clean tongue in your mouth.  You may be my only

source of courtly news, but the king will take your speeches

amiss if I should pass them along."  A sharp edge began to form

on Cedric's words, like a knife cutting through the cloth that

muffled it.  "I will not always back down from interfering in

your annoyances and petty schemes.  I trust you understand me."

     "Yes, highness," the man said, sulkier than ever.

     "Is she here?" Annabelle heard Cedric ask.

     "Yes, sire," the page said.  "Her ladyship, Princess

Annabelle."

     Annabelle leapt back from the door as the page opened it and

escorted her into the room.  Cedric and a weasely looking man

both stood beside the table waiting to receive her. Cedric gave

her an amused, knowing glance that made Annabelle's eyes fasten

themselves to the rich carpet.  Did Cedric know she had been

listening?  Annabelle managed a curtsey, unsure of the proper

etiquette for greeting this stranger in the room.

     "My lady wife, may I present Lord Retten."  The weasely man

kissed her hand coldly and murmured some insincere pleasantry.

He was handsome, in a dark, courtly way, but Annabelle's hand

felt cold and clammy where he had touched her.  His thin features

reminded Annabelle of some vile, slithering creature always

trying to worm its way where it wasn't wanted.  She murmured back

something equally polite and shallow, and then let her husband

help her to her seat.

     Dinner was a disaster.  Lord Retten spoke with her about

court poetry, art, dancing, and even the wholly feminine pursuits

such as embroidery and ladies' fashions.  In every subject

Annabelle felt woefully ignorant and coarse as a peasant.  In

their many dinners alone, Cedric had never ventured the slightest

hint about her table manners (which were well ingrained but

likely not as fashionable as those at court.)  Now Annabelle felt

as if each spoonful of soup and crust of bread that passed

through her lips was under scrutiny and she barely dared to taste

the fine dishes.  The little candied raspberries she loved were

on the table, although Cedric had mentioned that he didn't care

for them.  Annabelle decided not to risk it.  Given her husband's

more refined tastes, candied raspberries were probably

unfashionable now.

     Each comment of Retten's held a tiny sneer, as if mocking

everything she was and ever could be.  Annabelle had to bite her

tongue to keep from responding to his baiting.  A more detached

part of her mind questioning whether he had any hobbies other

than inciting people to their boiling points.  Annabelle had seen

a boy in the village who tormented dogs and cats until one day a

cat clawed his face.  Annabelle found herself wondering what he

would do if she dove across the table and scratched him.  She

quickly hid a guilty grin in her dinner napkin before either of

the men could see.  The thought was a pleasant fantasy at least.

From Cedric's acquiescent behavior, Annabelle reached the

impression that Retten should be handled carefully.

     Cedric remained quiet, changing the subject when he seemed

to think Retten pushed her too hard, and several times pressing

Annabelle to try some dish or other.  Retten's subtle

interrogation continued well after dessert, and Annabelle found

herself wondering how much more she could handle before she burst

into a horribly unladylike scream.

     "My lady?" It was Cedric, and not Retten who dragged her

from her momentary lapse into thought.  "I must speak with Lord

Retten concerning some matters of politics that I doubt will

interest you.  If you could have the kindness to excuse us."

     Annabelle flashed Cedric a brief look of undying gratitude

and left the room, taking care not to run as fast as she could to

be out of Retten's presence.  As she closed the door behind her,

she heard Retten say, "No interest in politics, indeed.  She was

most ignorant of everything else as well, and has almost no

ladylike talents.  An ignorant country bumpkin who can't cross a

room without tripping over her own feet.  And I'm not surprised

you keep this room dim if you must look at that complexion every

night.  Did you find her running wild through the forest, or busy

picking vegetables on her hands and knees?  I suppose that she

was the best you could find who would dream of agreeing to wed

you, in exchange for fortune and power or something."

     There was an odd little pause as Annabelle's face turned

bright red.  So she had disgraced Cedric at dinner.  Perhaps she

was a bit clumsy at times, but Cedric hadn't said a word to her

about needing to know court dances or even embroidery.  Cedric

spoke to her about things she could relate to: their different

childhoods, amusing stories about the royal family, a book he

thought she might enjoy.

     Retten's voice dragged Annabelle back to the dining hall.

"Your eyes betray you, Highness.  She didn't agree to anything,

did she?  Somehow you've coerced her, bribed her family perhaps,

to give you a cast off daughter they couldn't afford to keep.

Finally became lonely all by yourself, knowing that everyone

despises the sight of you-"

     "Enough!" Cedric said, voice giving way to an edge of fury.

"Your behavior has gone from insolent to abominable, and I will

not have you speak of my wife in that manner."  Annabelle raised

her eyebrows.  Even calm and placid as Cedric generally was, she

would've expected him to lash out in his own defense, not in

hers.  Although, he had finally lost his temper when Retten

mentioned his loneliness.  Was that the truth, after all?  Had

Cedric sent for her just to keep him company in his exile?

     "Very well," Retten said.  "Will you be satisfied if I seek

her out for an apology?"

     "If you wish," Cedric said, startlement grazing his well

controlled voice.  There was a slowness to the words, as if

Cedric wanted to refuse but didn't have a ready excuse.

Annabelle felt equally surprised.  What had changed Retten's

attitude?  "She's probably in her parlor, right now," Cedric

added, and Annabelle dashed off before Retten could catch her

eavesdropping.  How had he known?  She often sat in the parlor

after dinner, reading or sewing by the fire, but she'd had no

idea that her husband kept such a close eye on her.  Had he

memorized her entire schedule?

     No one ever frequented the little parlor other than herself,

and it was as unlike the audience room and Cedric's study as

possible.  Her husband shrouded the latter with navy blue velvets

and dark rugs; it always came off as a bit depressing.   The

audience room that separated them was mostly red and dignified

brown, without a hint of personality to it.

     Annabelle's parlor was warm and sunny, with large, airy

windows and delicate lace curtains.  Obviously intended for a

woman, the room sparkled with dainty china knick-knacks and

quaint little drawers to hold pincushions and yarn.  A rarely

necessary brick fireplace sat in the corner, and a pale yellow

carpet with dark gold sofa and chairs made the room feel like a

giant ray of sunlight.  Even at night, the maids lit the lamps

and the room stayed warm and bright with the curtains drawn.

Little lace doilies and dainty white end tables with a wicker

rocking chair completed the cozy atmosphere.

       Annabelle reached the parlor in plenty of time to snatch

up a book and pretend to read.  Her breathing was still a bit

fast; hopefully Retten wouldn't notice.  A sharp knock sounded at

the door.  Lord Retten gave her a long, searching glance as he

entered the room and bowed.  He couldn't know she had been

listening.  Or could he?  Annabelle had done her best to calm her

heavy breathing, but had an escaped tendril of hair or cheeks

reddened from the exercise given her away?  "May I join you?"

Retten asked, manners changed to silk.  Annabelle rose and

curtsied, then gestured him to a chair opposite hers.

     Once they had seated themselves, Retten leaned forward.  "My

lady, how well are you acquainted with your husband?"

     "What do you mean?"  Annabelle asked, shifting a bit on her

seat.

     "For example, would it surprise you to know that he

practices magic?"

     "What!"

     "I assume you have heard of the Circle?"

     "No!  I can't believe Cedric would be a part of that."  She

knew the rumors, but after meeting Cedric, Annabelle was sure

they were only stories.  Memories flooded through her.  Princess

Sulanel, so alive and beautiful, chattering excitedly about her

wedding.  Then white-faced and fainting, later.  The princess's

words flooded into her.  "The wizards have always wanted more

power, and my father refuses it to them."  Annabelle shuddered.

The Wizards' Circle had poisoned her, wanting to murder the

kindest, loveliest lady in the kingdom and Annabelle's only

friend.  Cedric was so thoughtful and gentle.  Surely Lord Retten

was only causing trouble.

     Everyone in the country knew about the Wizard's Circle.  A

group of robed men and women, they specialized in magical

assassination.  They also perpetrated a few very high-class

thefts, mostly of jewels or supposed magical items.  They were

famous for discovering secrets through theft spells and

eavesdropping, then using blackmail and extortion to attain their

desires.  The Circle was fabulously wealthy, and its members did

not hesitate to kill.  Magic had been forbidden in Alcanster for

centuries, since the Circle's founding.  The few decent wizards

had left, until only the Circle remained, inflicting their wicked

spells on Alcanster's citizens.

     "It was quite a shock to me as well.  But haven't you

wondered why Cedric was exiled?  Perhaps you will have the

kindness to read this."

     Annabelle took the sheet of paper and glanced over it.



     Lord Retten:

     Prince Cedric is a member of the Wizard's Circle, as I had

feared.  Gerod has given me conclusive proof.  I fear that I must

send him away before he can turn on those who care most for him.

Please arrange a small contingent of your guards; I want this

done with discretion.



     The letter was signed by the king himself and stamped with

his own royal seal, dated nine years ago when the prince had been

quietly banished.

     "Sir, may I see your award of lordship?"  Annabelle asked,

clenching her fists under the wide, voluminous skirt.  There had

to be some other explanation.

     "I assure you, I am a lord truly enough, appointed by his

Majesty to serve him."  Retten's voice was far colder now.

     "Please, just for a moment."

     Retten handed over a small square of parchment from his

inner pocket and Annabelle painstakingly compared the king's

seals.  They were identical.  She handed both papers back.

     "Ah, clever girl.  You wish to prove things for yourself.

Well the king has known the truth for years now, but exile hasn't

been enough of a punishment for the prince.  His followers visit

and conspire with him; he gains power every day that he stays

here.  These past few weeks, his wizards visited no less than

four times.  They plan to strike soon, but we can't tell what

they're planning.  I need you to find out.  I assure you, you

shall keep your status and retain the eternal gratitude of the

kingdom."

     "In exchange for betraying Cedric?"  Annabelle couldn't-she

was his friend.  By the Lady, she was his wife!  Yet Retten was a

trusted counselor of the king.  And the king had proof of

Cedric's treason.  If he allowed Retten to be their go-between,

the courtier must be trustworthy.  And it explained so much about

the dark rumors.  Besides, Cedric was too kind, too gentle with

her feelings, too-- Annabelle jerked her thoughts away from

there.  The point was, that he was much too perfect.  Everyone

had secrets.  Was this his?

     "He is a wizard," Retten said.  "His father and older

brother are the only ones between him and the crown.  Not to

mention his little nephew."

     "He-- he would murder them to take over the kingdom?"

Retten had to be lying; Cedric couldn't do such a thing.could he?

She knew so little of him.  Wizards had attacked the princess

before this; now the rest of her family could be in danger.

     Retten nodded.  "My lady, you must help me to stop him,

while there is still a kingdom to protect."

     After a few minutes of lengthy persuasion, Retten left the

room with Annabelle's reluctant promise that she would keep her

eyes open.  Cedric was so kind to her!  How could he be the

monster that Retten suggested?  But the letter was

incontrovertible.  Every member of the kingdom could recognize

the king's seal and hand.  Caught in her tangle of unpleasant

thoughts, Annabelle fled up to her chambers.

     She yanked open the little drawer of her sitting room where

she'd seen the maids store a few of her possessions.  With her

permission, they'd packed all her dresses and so forth in a chest

and carried them up to the attic.  It wasn't as if Annabelle

needed them anymore; the ones of Cedric's providing were much

finer.  Her books were tucked away in her bedroom shelf.  But the

few trinkets deemed too worthless for her father to desire them

and cherished enough to escape the attic had found their way

here.

     Annabelle dug feverishly through the drawer, pushing aside

childish bead strings and handkerchiefs with her clumsily sewn

initials in the corner.  What if the maids had neatly arranged

them in stacks and rows; they were her things and she could dig

through them as she wished.  Pressed flowers, a little silver

ring that had somehow slipped past her father's looting-- she

hadn't realized she'd brought it.  Could they have packed her

charm away upstairs?  Lady forbid they had thrown it out!  Tucked

near the bottom of the drawer, hidden through its small size, was

the tiny pendant she had searched for.  Barely glancing at it,

Annabelle snatched it up and fled with her treasure to the

bedroom, before the maids could discover what she was up to.

     Once in her room with the door securely bolted, Annabelle

unclenched her hand to reveal its treasure.  After wizards had

made the attempt on Princess Sulanel's life, charms of this

nature had gone into instant fashion at court.  A pair of

hawthorn wood hands clasping a sprig of real angelica, soaked for

three nights in rosewater and two in the juice of mistletoe and

juniper, then one in pure spring water.  A silver loop at the top

suspended it from a cord of tightwoven crimson silk.  The herb

women said that such a charm would protect its wearer from all

but the most powerful enchantments.  Annabelle had no idea how

well the charm would work, but she tied it around her neck,

burying it under the collar of her dress.  If Cedric was a

wizard, then the royal family and the kingdom itself were all in

terrible danger.  And what of herself?  Though she doubted that

he would harm her, the unwelcome thoughts flowed into her mind.

The gentle, kind man whom Annabelle had married, that she was

beginning to trust with her heart, might be a murderer and an

evil wizard.

                       <end of submission>