“I can scarce recognize you,” Jane breathed.
“How much longer will you be?” Queen Armenal demanded. “You’ve been an age, I vow! Bring her out, Jane! The groomsmen must nigh be upon us!”
Wordlessly Jane took her hand, and Una allowed herself to be led around from the screens toward the center of the room, where a large bed lay on a raised platform, covered in rose petals.
“Finally—” the Queen began, before another of her ladies let out a shriek. There must have been seven ladies stood in the room, spreading petals and draping garlands of flowers over the four-poster so it looked like a bower more than a bedchamber. Every one of them turned now to stare at Una with frozen expressions of varying stupefaction.
“That’s never the princess!” Lady Fenella Vawdrey cried, dropping her end of the garland. “Whatever have you done to her, Jane?” For her part, Una rather liked the country-born Countess who seemed such an odd choice of wife for the elegant Lord Vawdrey. She invariably said the wrong thing but was exceedingly kind for all that. Against all odds, her husband positively doted on her. She hurried forward now to clasp Una’s hand. “You look so much better without those awful cumbersome clothes! I suppose that extraordinary hair was really a wig, then?”
“I can take no credit,” Jane answered, serious as ever. “For the princess wrought this change herself.”
The Queen was the first to recover from the shock, clapping her hands together. “Bring her to me,” she ordered summarily, setting down her goblet of wine with a thump. Obediently, Jane obeyed her summons and Una meekly followed until she was stood before the Queen Armenal.
Una waited while those shrewd dark eyes summed her up. Much like Robkin the jester had circled her half-brother earlier, the Queen paced about Una taking in her altered appearance. This time, it seemed the Northern stranger was not found wanting. The Queen’s lips spread into a slow smile, as she came about to face Una again. “But this is charming,” she pronounced. “Our princess was under a dark spell, and now she is freed by the kiss of true love.”
The ladies gasped and twittered at this, clearly as taken with the notion as the Queen herself.
Una colored. It trembled on her lips to point out that the only kiss she had received thus far from Sir Armand had been a chaste salute placed clumsily on her fingers, after their vows had been exchanged. His eyes had been bleary and his smile somewhat vacant. It seemed to Una’s seasoned eye that her groom was sotted and small wonder, for every time she had caught a glimpse of him before the ceremony, someone had been pressing a goblet of wine into his hand.
“Quickly!” the Queen cried, for her sharp ears had caught the sound of the bridegroom’s party approaching. “Set the crown of flowers on her head, then get her under the covers!”
Una found herself rushed toward the bed, as the Queen’s ladies hastened to set a flowered wreath over her head, while dragging back the sheets for her to clamber into the wide bed.
“I wonder what Sir Armand will say to such a transformation?“ one lady gasped out, before she was shushed and dragged to stand against the dressing room door. Apparently, the Southern tradition was for the bridal party to prepare the bride, and to then retreat as the groom’s faction approached. It seemed there would be some crossover as the Queen’s party lingered at the far end of the room, eager for a glimpse of the bridegroom.
Three ceremonial knocks were heard on the bedchamber door and an upraised voice shouted out impressively, “The bridegroom has arrived!”
Lady Fenella cleared her throat discreetly, then called back. “The bride awaits her groom within!”
Then the door burst open and Sir Armand was dragged into the room, his arms slung around two supporters who were big enough to support his frame. Una huddled under the blankets as a stream of groomsmen came noisily into the room. They seemed a loud, inebriated bunch and her heart sank when she saw her nemesis, the court jester prancing about at the foot of the bed telling what, she could only guess from the raucous laughter, was a bawdy joke.
“Good luck, Una,” called Fenella with an encouraging nod, as the ladies hastily backed out of the room.
The King remained by the door, deep in conversation with Lord Vawdrey, though the earl seemed to be watching his wife as she whisked out of the dressing room door. Una had noticed whenever his countess was around, he had precious little attention for anything else.
“That’s it! Take off his clothes!” the King boomed as Sir Armand was lowered onto the bed face-first. “No need to stand on ceremony. She’s his wife now and will have to suffer him in worst states than this!” He guffawed and nudged his companion in the ribs. “Eh, Vawdrey? You should know, you’ve no head for spirits yourself!”
Earl Vawdrey looked a little pained. “’Tis sadly true, sire.
Una watched the King’s eyes drift over the flower-strewn bed until they reached her, and practically started from his head. “Good gods,” he faltered.
“Your Majesty?” she heard Vawdrey inquire. A hush fell over the room as everyone present caught the direction of the King’s stunned gaze and followed it to where Una sat huddled. Robkin’s bauble stick hit the floor with a jingle and a clatter. The jester let out a surprised yelp.
“Ah, Lady Una,” said Lord Vawdrey politely. He alone seemed quite unaffected. “I trust you are more comfortable, now you can abandon the royal trappings of the House of Blechmarsh.”
Una’s fixed smile grew a little warmer. She appreciated he was the first to address her without her old title. “Yes, my lord,” she agreed. “Indeed, it is a great relief to me.”
“I can only imagine it would be,” he responded and turned back to the King. “Perhaps your Highness, you might suggest we now withdraw and leave the married couple to their nuptials.”
“Eh? Oh, er, quite,” Wymer agreed, still looking like he had suffered something of a shock. “Everyone out!” As they turned to go, she heard him murmur to Lord Vawdrey. “What the hells happened to all that hair!”
The court jester was the last to tear his gaze away, and in keeping with his character, he tripped over his stick on the way out. Una wondered if he felt obliged to exit all rooms in such a fashion. Either way, when the door was finally shut after them, she breathed a sigh of relief. Only then did her eyes travel down to where her naked husband lay sprawled on the covers. Oh my.
Slipping out of the bed, Una crossed to shoot the bolt across the door and then returned to try and haul the inert body up the bed so she could cover his nakedness with the sheets. To her surprise, he roused from his stupor sufficiently to aid her in this task. It was just as well that he did, for she would have stood no chance without his cooperation, for his body was large and heavily muscled.
She tried not to stare as she pushed and rolled him over the bed. She was no sheltered maiden, despite the distinction of her birth. A lifetime of military campaigns meant she had been fully exposed to all the privations of the battlefield. She had seen men’s bodies before, whether it was a flash of buttock as they peed in a field, or stripped for the attention of a surgeon. She had never seen one “stark ballock naked” up close though, as she believed the term went. She could not help stealing a few glances at him now, as she maneuvered him between the sheets.