Reynard just smiled, something silently crafty in his gaze. “She trusts her father implicitly in such a matter. I will make an admirable match for her—for both of you, should you wish it. After all, do I not spend more time in Caledon than I do in my own kingdom?”
“Strange to say you do,” Girion muttered, but he faced into the wind, and the words were covered by a rumbling growl. Why is that, he longed to ask, but refrained. It did not take a scholar to see that the young Prince of Wyndwood wouldn’t be ruled by his conniving uncle, and that bad blood made things uneasy for the Archduke in his own land.
Reynard hopes to curry favor from all sides with this match. His nephew will thank him for adding Caledon’s wealth and strength to the family and furthering an alliance. I will thank him for leading me to a wife with magic in her blood, and potentially, he will maneuver himself into greater power over Lady Renata—and thus greater power over me.
I will not marry a woman who is someone else’s pawn. A pawn is not a partner, and Caledon needs another protector in the palace, not some agent to do Reynard’s bidding.
“Ah! Here she is!”
Girion held still, squinting. A gilded coach with a team of hardy white draft horses sped over the tundra, ice and salt flying from under their wheels and hooves as they stopped in front of him.
Reynard hurried forward, blundering into footmen in his hurry to help Lady Renata from her coach, leading her out with many an exclamation of delight.
“Look at her, Your Majesty! Isn’t she just beautiful! And incredibly skilled. Incredibly powerful. You could not ask for better.”
Girion bowed stiffly as a dainty, sneering beauty was paraded before him, her red and white hair plaited in some complex tower under a small gold tiara. She curtseyed with a slight dip in her knees as she swirled her white fur robes lined with pale purple velvet around her white dress. The dress was a thin garment that looked like it was made of starlight and cobwebs—most unsuitable for a bear king’s bride.
Renata’s disdain stuck out like black-tipped ears in a snowbank.
Foxes—at least Foxes of royal blood—do not lower themselves to wed Bears—hulking, brutish bears, beings of size and strength.
Nonetheless...“You must be cold. Come inside, Lady Renata, and welcome,” Girion grunted, using what scant manners he happened to retain in the face of her scowl and Reynard’s fawning.
Renata gave him what could generously be called a cold smile. “Thank you, Your Majesty. How kind of you to receive your guests personally.”
“Girion doesn’t line his palace with servants, my dear. He prefers his lands and walls to be lined with guards instead.” Reynard beamed.
Yes. To keep out threats.
I very much fear I have let one inside...
“How different from our palace at Wyndwood. Still, if one does not have a Queen or ladies-in-waiting to attend to her, one needs fewer servants, I suppose. My. It’s very... imposing.” Renata was ushered inside, her glinting golden eyes raking across the stone battlements and the gray and white turrets.“The exterior is very much like a fortress. I had not recalled. I’ve been to Caledon, naturally—”
“You were a babe-in-arms, Renata, one or two, when you last visited Tundra Spring. That would have made Girion... My. About fifteen.”
Girion’s blood always ran hot, a natural shifter ability that helped him survive life in the harsh land that was his birthright. Now, it ran cold. “She is only—”
“Twenty-one. A lady of noble birth should be married young, of course. And so should young men of royal lineage, to ensure their line continues. Why your father did not insist—”
Girion halted, the clanking of the metal embedded in the leather and furs that made up his clothing suddenly silent. “My father died when I was twenty. He was busy making sure I could run Caledon. He knew I could handle marriage myself.”
Lady Renata laughed, a silvery sound, but not in the least pleasant. There were no overtones of sleigh bells jingling or goblets clinking in her exclamation. No, it was more like someone dropping a box of straight pins. “Clearly, you have neglected it until it is nearly too late. Father told of your desperate plight.”
So, she thinks I am her pawn. She holds all the power.
“It would indeed be troubling if we had no other measures in place, but I do thank your father for his concern, and, of course, you, for rushing to our aid.” Girion kept his voice calm and even managed a steady smile. Inside, he chuckled, catching Reynard’s sudden twitch and the widening of Renata’s eyes. “We’ve had a supper prepared in your honor, Lady Renata, and my advisors and their wives are here to rejoice in a royal visit. I don’t know if you’ll find it as dainty a table as you enjoy at the palaces of Wyndwood—are you a guest of the prince very often?”
Renata coughed. “Well... My cousin is very busy—”
“Since the king’s death, the prince has had little time for socializing,” Reynard smoothed things over, but the panicky look in his eye remained.
“Of course, of course. I know that feeling well. Things are different in Caledon. Here, a prince becomes king upon his father’s death, without the need of a bride. Is Wyndwood not considering the same changes, or will you cling to the archaic school of thought that a prince must take a bride before being crowned king with his queen?”
“In Wyndwood, we believe that marriage is the true test of maturity. A bride makes the king—something I think Caledon should consider,” Lady Renata spoke up.
“My dear, you well know that Foxes mate for life. The same can not be said for Bears.”
Girion managed to swallow a snarl. “It will be said ofthisBear. But, I really should pay Prince Fannar a visit to offer my aid, and to thank him for lending me his most trusted uncle and cousin.”
