Chapter Text
It was a fine summer’s day that found Reynard Odo by his King’s side, waiting beneath the shade of a tree near the border. Proud as he was to serve his King so closely, he was humble enough never to forget the close brush with the hangman’s noose that had brought him here, or the valuable lesson he had learnt in holding his tongue. So he did now, though half a dozen thoughts crossed his mind about the advisability of the King’s latest venture.
On the face of it, an alliance with the Lyrian Princess was certainly politically desirable; their neighbouring kingdom was a fair one, and a union between the two could only benefit both. But whether the Princess in question was a desirable wife for a king was another matter, and gossip was rife on the subject. The very fact that not one king or prince among all the northern realms would trouble themselves with her spoke volumes, even though he who wedded her would become the King of Lyria. The stories were whispered everywhere – how she had terrorised governesses, her rough ways and unladylike habits, that she was said to be readier to swing a sword than tell one end of a needle from the other. Her knees were bruised and scabby from falling off horses and out of trees, she was unwomanly, hardly a girl at all; her advisors had been at their wits’ ends until Reginald had finally offered for her. Of course, some said that, already very pretty, she promised to be a great beauty one day – though others were as quick to say that those rumours had been put about to try and improve her marriage prospects.
Reynard had to wonder if those particular rumours were what had swayed Reginald in the end. It had been many years since the people of Rivia had despaired of their King ever taking a wife, and yet here he was, about to meet his bride-to-be, an apparently wild girl he had agreed to marry without even laying eyes on her. This had caused quite some consternation amongst the court, who had grown used to the bachelor King’s ways, and had sent many of the ladies fretting that they would soon be at the beck and call of some outlandish hoyden. For his part, Reynard thought that the talk must be greatly exaggerated; he could not believe that the Princess would truly be as terrible as the tales would have her. But still, a king could not be too careful in his choice of bride, and his aide thought the way he had gone about making his choice was most unwise indeed.
The King and a small retinue had ridden out to meet her near the border between the two lands, and Reynard was glad this idea of his had been listened to at least. He had suggested that it may be less overwhelming for Her Highness to meet her soon-to-be husband more privately, but in truth, he had thought this way they might see her for themselves before the court did. To that end, they had arranged a little camp on a plain near the forest, ready to greet Princess Meve and her party before journeying together back to the city. The time of their arrival was not certain, but it was a fine, clear day and the small group of courtiers and soldiers who accompanied them were quite content to wait in the shade and enjoy the refreshments they had brought with them.
Reynard and the King stood a little away from the rest of the party. For all his relaxed attitude, leaning against a tree, Reginald’s eyes were fixed on the border of forest that stretched along the horizon, and Reynard could sense his anticipation. He had to wonder again why a man of almost forty summers, who had for many years openly enjoyed the pleasures of his single state, should choose now to bind himself to a rather dubious princess less than half his age. Rivia was not perhaps the largest or most powerful of their neighbouring kingdoms, but Reginald could have had his pick of any of the eligible ladies of their royal families. Why now? Why her?
This train of thought was interrupted, however, when Reginald clapped his shoulder and grinned, pointing at the tree line. “Can you see that?”
Reynard followed his King’s gaze, squinting slightly against the bright sunshine. He could see a horse and its rider had just broken free of the thick wall of trees and seemed to be crossing the terrain at a tremendous speed. He looked at the King, puzzled at his excitement.
“I’ll wager you that’s my betrothed, Reynard.” The King was still smiling broadly. “I know you’ve had your doubts, though you’ve not voiced them as many others have. I’d like you to be the first to meet your future Queen.”
Feeling doubtful, but ever obedient to his King’s command, Reynard leapt into his saddle and rode out to meet the fearless rider.
His horse galloped at a good pace, but he could see that the figure before him was still approaching much faster. He could see the horse was a magnificent animal, but it was the rider that soon made the breath catch in his throat. It was the way she rode that first captivated him. She was riding astride like a man and her seat was superb; she barely moved on the horse’s back. As she drew closer, he began to pick out other details – her golden hair that blazed under the sun, the hilt of an ornamental sword at her hip. He noticed that she was beginning to slow her horse as the distance between them dwindled. He stopped to wait for her, and before long she drew up her mount just short of him.
She looked up at him for the first time, and Reynard saw that the tales of her beauty had hardly done her justice at all. Two large, clear blue eyes gazed steadily at him, from a fair face blessed with high cheekbones and full lips. Her hair shone brightly, hanging heavily down her back, the same burnished hue as the wheat ripening in the fields around them. She seemed full of joy and exhilaration from her daring ride, but he caught her taking his measure as fully as he was taking hers.
It was a moment before she spoke. “Good day, sir.” Her voice was both lower and sweeter than he’d imagined. “I presume you must be one of King Reginald’s knights.”
“Yes, Your Highness – Count Reynard Odo, aide to His Majesty – at your service.” He bowed in his saddle.
“’Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Count Odo.” She offered him her hand and seemed bemused when he kissed it. “It seems you have guessed who I am.”
“Your reputation proceeds you, Your Highness.”
She laughed at that. “I should not be surprised, I suppose. What tales of the terrible Princess Meve have been circulating through th’ Rivian court, I wonder?” She raised an eyebrow at him, seeming to challenge him to repeat the rumours.
He smiled, and simply said, “I have heard much of your prowess with th’ blade, Your Highness. I was rather hoping to learn if that tale were true.”
She returned his smile broadly. “I hope I shall have the opportunity to prove myself amply in that regard, Count Odo. Shall we ride onward?” She tilted her head towards the camp. “I am quite eager to meet my future husband, and those who shall soon be my subjects.” She began to canter towards the site of the gathering.
Reynard followed her, though he craned his neck turning back to the forest she had emerged from. “Your Highness…where are th’ rest of your party?”
“I’m afraid I left them behind a little while back,” she admitted, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “After trotting so primly for hours on end, Cygnet and I could not resist a nice gallop as soon as we saw th’ end of th’ trees,” she said, patting her mare’s neck. “I cannot imagine it will take them much too much longer to reach us – although not one of them can ride as I can.”
Though he knew the Princess was not yet twenty, she possessed not a trace of awkwardness or shyness to betray her years. She carried herself proudly, and there was a determination to the set of her jaw and the tilt of her head that spoke of an iron core beneath the pretty exterior. Perhaps she had not been the most conventional choice, but who cared if she preferred to wield a blade than a needle when she bore herself like a queen already? Reynard smiled to himself; she would be more than a match for her new court.
They had almost reached the Rivian party – the Lyrians could just be seen emerging from the forest when Reynard looked back again – and Reginald strode forward to meet them. Reynard saw his eyes widen and knew he’d been captivated by her beauty. He watched from a respectful distance, as his King gallantly handed the Princess down from her mount – though Reynard had no doubt she required no such assistance – and the couple made their formal greetings to each other. The King now kissed her hand, and no maidenly blush coloured her cheeks; instead, she gave him the same look of calm appraisal she had bestowed on Reynard just before. He could not quite say why, but it pleased him that Princess Meve did not succumb instantly to Reginald’s charm, as so many other women did.
As Reginald led her towards the rest of the party, he glanced back at Reynard, following dutifully behind the pair, with a very smug expression – he may as well have said I told you so. Reynard could only smile wryly back. Despite not being blessed with the sharpest wits, the King did have the knack of seeing the potential in those around him. Reynard hoped, fervently, that Reginald would perceive the true value of the woman he was to wed. For Reynard knew already she was far more than a pretty face – she had the makings of a truly remarkable queen.