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ANVARD. EARLY SPRING 1002
Despite the stone walls of Anvard’s castle, the chilly mountain air still managed to gust through the great hall intermittently. Nadora’s fingers were stiff as a result, and she wished, desperately, that she might have taken Lady Ilona’s advice about bringing a heavier cloak. As it was, even the double-layered cotton fabric hanging from her shoulders was not enough to warm her thoroughly.
It had been better when the grand doors—large wooden things hinged to the stone—had been closed. But now that the ceremony itself had completed, King Lune had removed all partitions throughout the fortress.
“It’s to keep spirits up,” Lady Ilona explained earlier, when Nadora had asked. But her mother hadn’t elaborated. She hadn’t had the time—instead, she’d been swept away by Nadora’s father, Duke Kotsireas, so they could address King Lune and pass on their blessings to little Corin.
It was as she was left behind to fend for herself that Nadora second guessed herself, just briefly. It would have been nice to know exactly what it was she was supposed to be doing now, if not accompanying her parents.
As it as, she’d had quite the row with them just days previous, and they still held stiff upper lips about it.
Nadora suspected they’d continue the discourse on their return home, back to Galma, but she wasn’t sure what more there was left to say. She was as stubborn as they were, and they knew it. One of them would have to admit defeat, and Nadora refused to allow herself to fold. Not about this.
She’d been born to sail the seas. This much she knew. To be out in the open, under the brilliant sky, with the clear, shining waters stretched out around her. The Eastern Sea had called to her since birth, and her parents were fools if they did not believe it. The corridors of Galma’s own citadel were lined with open columns, and the salty scent of the ocean was present in every corner of the island. Yet, Nadora had never felt closer or more at home than when she was on a ship with the spray of sea water upon her skin.
Taking a fortifying breath of brisk mountain air, Nadora tried not to think too much about the looming discussion still to be had, or the unbearable weight of responsibilities tied to her position as a Lady of Galma. Those responsibilities might have helped her know what to do here, in the great hall of another kingdom’s court, but there were other ways to learn proper etiquette and decorum. And Nadora was nothing if not a keen observer.
Turning about the room, she caught sight of servants and maids, knights and ladies, and other nobility and commonwealth. King Lune had not been wrong to open up the celebratory reception to the people of the kingdom. It was a little odd, perhaps, but beneficial nonetheless, even if only a handful of the attendees were not regular members of court. She spotted these individuals out quickly by the style of their hair and state of dress—clean but not ornate, lacking sparkle or embellishments—and was pleased to find they were mingling with the nobility well enough.
But the citizenry of Archenland were not the only ones who stood out among the attendees of Prince Corin’s fifth birthday.
There were, too, the Narnians.
Truthfully, Nadora wasn’t sure what to think of them, though their group was small. A couple satyrs, a beaver, a faun—a gathering of other that never ventured far from the four humans they escorted.
Narnia’s great kings and queens, saviors of the nation.
Nadora had expected them to be older, but the smaller of the two were certain to be younger than her, at least. Beyond their youth, however, they each stood with such an air about them that they appeared the picture of royalty. Similar but different expressions were painted upon their faces—pleasant, courteous, dignified. And, dressed exquisitely in rich but muted tones of red and gold, they each held all the qualities one might expect of kings and queens who were born to the position, as opposed to those who’d haphazardly landed in thrones by way of prophecy and magic only a year prior.
Eyes drifting from one Narnian monarch to the next, Nadora tried her best to remember her first royal appearance to a public event. As a guest, she’d first joined the Galman court at the age of twelve. Then, just as she was now, Nadora had been at a loss for what to do. Where to go, whom to speak to, what to do with her hands.
This was not the case for any of the four crowns of Narnia.
Each with a crown perched perfectly upon their heads, they appeared to interact with those around them seamlessly, without worry of overstepping or making a fool of themselves. And as she watched them, it became clear that even without their retinue, they were more than prepared to handle this occasion on their own.
The four did not move in a group, exactly, but they moved with one another. The younger boy would pivot cleanly to make room when one of the girls turned to join his conversation, and the older girl seemed careful to never be too far from her sister—no more than an arm’s reach away. And the eldest, the High King, never once stood with his back to the others, as though he were keen to keep them all in his sights.
Watching them, Nadora felt an old, yet familiar ache in her chest. She wished for her own brothers. Not just Ilias and Halloran, but Gennedy, too. She missed her family.
Then, as though she’d spoken the though aloud, Ilona was coming back to her.
“Mother,” she said tightly, plastering on a smile.
“Nadora, good, good. Come, the King wishes to meet you.”
“I…” The king?
There was no time for her to stop or question the situation. Instead, Nadora was being marched forward, with her mother’s hand at the crook of her elbow, keeping a gentle yet firm hold of her whilst crossing the room to the royal throne.
The parade through the guests was, at least for Nadora, an embarrassing endeavor. Every which way she turned, there were eyes turned toward her, watching her with what she was certain to be a high level of judgement. Even those not part of the gentry seemed to eye her. She knew it was not for her attire—dressed in a gown of maroon satin and silver-lined embroidery that matched the thin ribbon tied around her head, Nadora looked as presentable as any of them, if not more so. Yet, she felt her heartbeat grow louder under the sting of their keen eyes.
Curiosity, she could handle. Wonder, even, was easy to accept. But appraisal and assessment weighed down on her.
“Mother, I—”
Ilona squeezed her arm succinctly, and spoke through her smile. “Not now.”
Then, as suddenly as her mother had appeared, in front of her, she was gone again. Nadora stumbled just slightly, as Ilona’s grip no longer held her in place, but she gathered her bearings quickly enough. And upon straightening, she found King Lune standing before her.
“Lady Nadora, it’s a pleasure.”
Archenland’s king was older than her father, but not so elderly that the youth of his sons was a concern for the kingdom. He had a soft smile and even softer eyes, and as she took his expression in, Nadora was surprised to find herself more at ease than even just moments before.
Dropping into a deep curtsy, Nadora dipped her head toward the king and counted silently to five. Tradition and ceremony were not Nadora’s forte, and the entirety of Galma knew it, including her parents. But despite her severe lack of desire to do so, she could be well-mannered and act ever so appropriately when the occasion called for it, as this one did.
“Please, please, no need for that,” came the king’s deep voice.
“Thank you, your majesty,” she said. Straightening once more, Nadora maintained a neutral expression, grateful that they were, at least, tucked somewhat to one end of the room, away from any over-eager listeners—including her parents. She would not fake excitement or happiness, even for a king. But she could be cordial, at least. “It’s an honor to be invited to celebrate your son.”
The boy had, since the official ceremony, not been seen, at least not by Nadora. But she didn’t dare look around now.
“Our kingdoms have long since been friends.”
She supposed that was one way to say it. Archenland and Galma were trade partners, both benefiting from the exports of the other. “Yes, your majesty.”
“It wouldn’t do to leave you out of such celebrations, now would it?”
Nadora detected amusement in his eyes, but did not hold them long enough to confirm it. Instead, she simply nodded. “Of course, your majesty.”
“Now, I hear from your father, you’ve an eye toward the sea.” Here, the smile in King Lune’s tone was impossible to miss, as it was reflected on his face—lips stretched in a wide, low curve.
His smile seemed to deepen at the shock Nadora was not quick enough to hide. She wanted to turn around, find her father, and gauge the look on his face. To gain some sort of insight as to what she might be walking into here.
“Relax, my dear. It was only a brief note in our conversation,” he said. “I simply wanted to extend my greetings, and wish you luck in the endeavor.”
“I…” He what?
“Well, then. Thank you, Lady Nadora, for indulging an old man’s wish. I hope to see more of you in years to come.”
She frowned, but, knowing a dismissal when she heard one, she dropped once more to grant him the honor of an appropriate farewell and retreated out of the vicinity.
When she was finally far enough from the king, she let out a breath and took in the room once more.
Now, unlike before, there did not seem to be anyone watching her, eager to discern a fault or error upon her person. She could not find a single person—regardless of class or kingdom—who seemed to notice her at all. She couldn’t even find Ilona or her father.
Wherever they were, she was not privy to the information, and so, finally, she let her spine relax. And when her shoulders no longer ached with tension, she rolled her head gently in an attempt to ease the stiffness in her neck.
“I’m going to need a long bath when we’re home,” she murmured to herself, before taking up a small plate of refreshments from the banquet table nearby.
Posting up to the side where she might have the advantage of both a clear view of the room whilst also being out of the way, Nadora focused her energy on spending most, if not all, the rest of the evening alone if she could help it. As awkward as she felt to be here at all, other interaction would simply not do, if she wanted to keep her wits about her, anyway.
Unfortunately, she enjoyed only a few moments of solitude before a form appeared at her left knee, and a slight tug of her gown threatened to send her plate of food toppling out of her hands.
“What i— Oh.”
At her side, stood the young boy for whom all the glitz and glamor of the evening were arranged. Prince Corin of Archenland was a sandy-haired boy with pale green eyes. But it was his smile that wiped the annoyance from Nadora’s own features.
It was wide and crooked.
“Hello, Prince Corin,” she greeted pleasantly, only to have that crooked smile disappear.
“It’s just Corin.”
Voice still squeaky with youth, the scowl on the prince’s face was amusing enough that Nadora couldn’t help but laugh, herself.
“Corin, then,” she corrected. “My apologies.”
“It’s all right, I forgive you,” he murmured, before looking down once more to fidget with something on his belt—some ornament or sash, a fancy frill or something of the like that he didn’t care for.
Young though he was, Nadora understood exactly the tone he had and what it meant. She’d grown up much the same, after all—with any and everyone around her backtracking and apologizing for simply, unnecessary things.
Watching him, Nadora couldn’t help but think of her brothers. Halloran was only a few years older than him, but nearly as tall.
“Say, Corin?” she asked, crouching down a moment to meet him eye to eye. “Shall we be friends?”
He seemed to think it over a moment, furrowing his brows and mumbling something or another under his breath before he looked right back at her.
“Sure,” he answered. “Who are you?”
She grinned. “Lady Nadora of Galma, daughter to the Duke and Duchess. But you can call me Nadora.”