Second day of Helos, 1030

It was now Helos, the second month of the year. The days were becoming warmer and the trees were blooming. The sun shone brightly through the castle windows, and the fireplace was not needed as much. Because of the warm weather, men were busy with repairs to the stables while the women bustled around collecting clothes, perparing to sew new ones. The castle was bursting full of life as the servants scrubbed and polished the floors.

Eleanor loved spring, it was the beginning of new life and a fresh new year. Indeed, come next fall her mother would have a squalling red-faced babe in her arms. Eleanor was thrilled for the new addition to her family.

Through the whole day she danced around the castle, singing her favorite song. Jonas moved after her, room to room, begging her to shut up. She laughed him off and continued to dance around their sitting room. He groaned and threw a book her way. Unfortunately, for Jonas their father, Lord Blade Lacholm, entered the room as the book whirled over Eleanor’s shoulder.

"Jonas!" He snapped. "You should not be throwing things at your sister! Have I not taught you anything? Perhaps you need a sound lashing with my belt."

"Nay, Father, I shall not throw books at Eleanor again." He said, hanging his head in shame. Jonas hated disappointing his father. Blade nodded in approval.

"You must be kind to women, both noble and not. Chivalry is part of being a good and honorable knight," Blade said kindly, placing a hand on his only sons head. "Never forget that mercy is your greatest weapon."

"Mercy is your greatest weapon," Eleanor mocked Jonas once Blade had left. "Probably because your aim is dreadful."

Jonas glared. "No, I just did not want to hit a girl." He sniffed. "But I see I had nothing to worry about."

Eleanor merely laughed at Jonas and made her way to her bedchamber. She sang to herself as she sifted through her dresses. They would need to be altered, some might need to be cut up. And she would need a new one for her wedding dress. Ahhhh, her wedding dress. She imagined herself and Prince Lance in royal blue on their wedding day. She smiled dreamily and sat back on her bed, thinking how wonderful it would be to be married to Lance.

After their late night meal Eleanor headed off to her bedchamber. Her maid helped her undress and brushed out her long brown hair. She smiled and bid her maid farewell. She climbed into bed and fell instantly asleep.

Prince Lance's laughter filled her ears. They were in her family's sitting room, playing a friendly game of darts. The winner would receive a kiss. Prince Lance was sure he would win, and Eleanor was sure she would let him. Her aim was far better, but she just barely missed. It would not do for her to kiss him first, otherwise she would seem rather foward.

"Ah, my sweet lady, how you do tease me," Lance said, after he had thrown the winning dart.

Eleanor had managed to sidestep his kiss, trying to play hard to catch. It was working quite well. She blushed and pushed her left cheek into her shoulder. He came closer and she stepped further back. The dance continued until she was cornered.

"Put out your palms," he commanded, suddenly.

She did as she was told, and his hands covered hers.

"How small your hands are," He whispered, looking down at her with his soft green eyes.

"Aye m'lord" she whispered back.

"And how soft they are," he said, rubbing his thumb slowly over her palm.

She blushed and looked down. He smiled and put his finger under her chin, tipping her face upwards. She closed her eyes and he pressed his mouth tenderly to hers. She stood letting him kiss her, but not kissing back.

He grabbed her and spun her down, his arms wrapping over her elbows, locking her arms in place. His mouth was hot and heavy over hers, but she still did not kiss back. He righted her and smiled.

"My dearest lady," he bowed and placed a small kiss on her forehead.

Eleanor opened her eyes and sat up, her heart was racing. She found herself in bed, in her dark chamber. Was it only a dream? Alas, it was. She found herself torn between embarrassment over what she dreamed and longing for it to be real. Eleanor rolled over, closing her eyes, imagining Lance's face smiling before her. A small sigh escaped her lips and she fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

The next morning Eleanor rode out to Nieven Castle to find her friend Lady Ellana Vaughan. The two girls were only a year apart in age, but worlds apart in other areas. Lady Ellana was fifteen and married to a thirty-five year old knight. They had been married for a year now and Eleanor was curious as to what married life was like.
Ellana came out and greeted her laughing and smiling. She was so tiny! Eleanor was amazed at how a tiny girl had so much energy. The two girls embraced tightly.

“How good it is to see you again!” Ellana said with a giggle in her voice.

“And you as well!” Eleanor and Ellana looped their arms around each other and made their way up the castle steps. Ellana led Eleanor to a small room with a large fireplace and a bench. They sat beside each other.

“How are you?” Eleanor asked.

“I’m well,” Ellana replied, picking up her sewing, her eyes suddenly downcast.

“You are lying!” Eleanor exclaimed smiling at her friend, trying to lighten the mood.

“Aye,” Ellana gave a small sad smile.

“Does your husband treat you well?” Eleanor said lowering her voice to a whisper.

“Aye, he treats me very well. I am just melancholy today, but less so because you are here!” Ellana wrapped her arm around Eleanor’s shoulders, pulling her close.

“What’s it like being married?” Eleanor asked, staring into the fire.

“Ah….Well….”Ellana’s freckled skin flushed red. “Tis almost like having a father in some ways. In others, tis like having a companion who knows your whole heart and soul.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened and she turned to look at beautiful Ellana. Her blue eyes were alight as she talked of her husband, and her soft red hair was elegantly pinned to her head in the fashion of matrimony. Her face was small just like the rest of her. She was as delicate as the petals of a flower. She was filling out her gown, nowadays, but still looked as though a strong wind would blow her over.

“You love him!” Eleanor clapped and laughed gleefully.

“Aye and I will love him all the more in late fall.” Her eyes were soft and dreamy.

“Are you with child?!” Eleanor gasped.

“Aye,” Ellana smiled.

They embraced once more and Eleanor felt a mixture of emotions. She was happy for Ellana, but jealous. She wanted a child of her own. Perhaps the year after next, she mused. It would be such a long wait!

First day of Alans, year 1030

She was flighty. There was no other way to describe Lady Eleanor Lacholm.

Her laughter came in pearls of mirth, over nothing. A slight comment about the weather, a furrow of ones eyebrow, and there was that shriek of laughter, spouting from a slash in her face.Her words were full of nothingness. Meaningless blather about dresses, horses and babies. ‘Twas enough to make one want to stick a sword through their gut. She was too busy gossiping about the next lady’s dress to realize her silliness. And every sentence was followed with, “When I am Queen that shall not happen!”

When she was Queen, she would get a sound behind lashing, Lance would be sure of it.

Her behavior was not what was expected of a future Queen. Thought it was not strictly her fault, he mused. She had not been brought up in his household, as a proper queen would have. Children raised to marry royalty were nearly always sent to live in the royal household. However, her mother had begged and pleaded with her father, and Eleanor was not sent to live in Koven Castle, instead she was brought up by an equally silly mother, with no nursemaids or fathers to instill poise and discipline in her.

She was fairly pretty, he mused. She had soft brown hair that cascaded down the curve of her back, and accentuated the heart shape of her lovely face. Her skin was soft and the coveted pale pink, the envy of all the noble ladies in the land. Lady Eleanor’s brows sloped elegantly downward, bringing out the vivacious and laughter-filled blue eyes. Her hips were wide, a good sign, as Prince Lance hoped for many sons and a few pretty daughters.

Currently her pink lips were formed again in that awfully pretend coy smile. She held one hand over her mouth, poorly hiding her giggles, as the Prince bent to kiss her tiny hand. Her hair was pinned up on either side of her head, making her look childish and goofy. He gladly bent over, lest she see the annoyance in his face. She continued to giggle and snicker the longer he bent over her hand. A mixed mask between servitude and mock admiration, though he doubted she’d take it as such, was placed on his face as he stood up before her. He bowed once more and his father, King Alistair, called for Lord Blade, Sir Jonas, Lady Avelina, and Lady Eleanor to join him and the Royal Family in sup.

During the meal the Lady Eleanor was seated between himself and her brother, Sir Jonas, the Prince’s own squire.

A fine man-to-be, Lance thought to himself. Jonas often made the half a mornings journey just to ride and hunt with the Prince. They talked about all manner of things. Women, maidens and kitchen maids, weaponry and war and the like. Jonas shared his taste in women and in strategies. They were well matched, often drawing in games of chess. Jonas was his favorite companion because he was unafraid to be himself. He also shared the opinion of his sister’s vapidness.

The loud braying of his bride-to-be interrupted his thoughts. “How wonderful this food is!” She said, glancing in his fathers direction, with a disgusting simper on her lovely face.

Jonas glanced over Eleanor’s head and met Lance’s eyes. His expression was exasperated at his lady sister’s unbecoming conduct. King Alistair, however, was most amused and he smiled warmly over at Lady Eleanor.

“You must thank Cookie on your way out, Lady Eleanor,” he chuckled as he sipped on the broth in front of him.

“Oh I shall, Your Highness,” She fluttered her lashes at him.

Lance hunched down further in his chair and let his spoon clatter loudly against his empty bowl. The entire table turned and looked at him, his father in particular. King Alistair glanced warningly at Prince Lance and turned back to his sup.

Beside him, his mother, Queen Jenet picked at her food, staring silently into the reflection of the broth. She was paler than normal, and very quiet.

Only Lance seemed to notice his mother’s broodiness.

After what seemed an eternity, King Alistair rose, and with him everybody else did as well.

“Come guests!” He boomed. “Let us give you the tour of Koven Castle.”
Lance rolled his eyes. He was quite sure that the Lacholm’s had seen the castle on previous occasions. His father just liked to show off his pride and joy.

Later that night Lance propped himself up in bed, trying to get into a comfortable position.

He tossed and turned, but still his mind whirred with thoughts. Lady Eleanor was such a simpleton, he could not believe he was to marry her next year. He hardly felt physical attraction to her, much less love. He wanted to have what his mother and father did, he reasoned with himself, it should not be required that he make a great match. He was going to be the king of Kieran one day.

Lance leaned back his arms crossed behind his head He stared moodily at the ceiling. It wasn’t fair, he thought, to either of them. He should be able to have a bride of his choosing. Not just a pretty flower of a thing, but a woman of intelligence, with the capability to be Regent in his place. He rocked his foot back and forth, nodding at his own thoughts. Of course he was right, and his father would surely agree with him.

Lance sat up abruptly. Perhaps his father had chosen a bride for him based on his muteness on the subject. His father thought he didn’t care about the matter, so he wasn’t consulted. He would go and tell his father right this moment that he did not want Eleanor.

He dressed hurriedly. A foot was placed in his boot, when a small noise came from his bedchamber window. With one booted foot and one bare foot he made his way carefully to the window. His barefoot made loud slapping sounds against the stone, against the cold spring night. But it was nothing more than a bird, perched on the sill, staring back into his own reflection.

Lance sighed, pushing his soft brown hair back with both hands. The hour was late. It would do better to seek an audience with his father in the morning. It would not be too late, he reasoned with himself, doubts rolling over his mind like the sea crashing into the sand.
The betrothal had not even been announced at court.

Nay, it was not too late.