Nevis motioned for the soldiers to set down her trunk at the midway point across the bridge. “I’ll have to leave you now.” He inclined his head. “May the Light be with you.”
“Thank you.” She watched him return to the south bank, then with a deep breath, she turned to face north where her destiny lay.
Her brother was still looking at her, his cold, calculating eyes going over her slowly as if he was searching for flaws.
She needed to play her role convincingly. This was her long-lost brother, the only family she had in the world. She sank into a deep curtsy, then as she straightened, she beamed an excited smile at him and gave him a little wave.
A corner of his mouth tilted up for a few seconds before his expression returned to its normal arrogant sneer. With a wave of his hand, he motioned to an officer standing nearby.
The officer, dressed in an elaborate blue-and-gold uniform, strode onto the bridge. “Your Highness.” He removed the plumed hat off his head, sweeping it in front of him as he made a grand bow. “I am Captain Mador, in charge of King Gunther’s personal guard.”
She gave him a bright smile, even though he looked like a younger, leaner, and crueler version of her brother. “I’m delighted to meet you, Captain.”
His gaze drifted slowly down her body. “Have you heard about the competition? I’ll be one of the top contenders vying for your … hand.”
He looked much more interested in her breasts than her hand. Brigitta’s smile froze. “How exciting! I’m so looking forward to this contest.”
Captain Mador’s heavy-lidded eyes met hers. “Are you?”
“Of course.” She waved a hand in the air. “How often does a girl get a dozen men competing for her?”
He snorted. “At last count, there are six.”
“Oh. Oops.” She touched her mouth, pretending to be embarrassed. “Well, six will be enough, I think. I’ll be sure to find someone I fancy.”
His mouth twisted with an arrogant sneer that he must have learned from her brother. He motioned for some of his men to take her trunk.
“Why do you have a nun with you?” He scowled at Sister Fallyn, who was wearing her convent gown.
“She is my dear friend,” Brigitta explained. “I asked her to serve as my maid and chaperone. And of course, I can’t go anywhere without my pet dog.” She gave Brody a fond look, and he played his part, lifting a foreleg and grinning at her.
Captain Mador scoffed. “They’re not coming. His Majesty will provide you with servants.”
Brigitta’s smile became brittle. “Perhaps you didn’t understand. I don’t go anywhere without my friend and pet. I’m sure my brother would understand the importance of keeping me happy and healthy.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Why would he care?”
“Because happy and healthy women give birth to happy and healthy babies.”
Captain Mador stared at her a moment, then smirked. “I’m glad you realize your purpose here.” He motioned to one of his men. “Take the nun and the dog to Her Highness’s tent.”
Sister Fallyn exchanged a worried look with Brigitta as she and Brody were led across the bridge. They were taken to a tent with a blue-and-gold pennant flapping above the entrance.
King Gunther turned on his heel and disappeared inside a much larger tent.
Was that it? Brigitta wondered. Would she be lucky enough not to have to talk to her brother?
“I’ll take you to His Majesty now,” Captain Mador announced.
Not so lucky after all. She winced inwardly as Mador seized her elbow and steered her toward her brother’s tent. “Oh, how wonderful!” She feigned excitement. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting him.”
“Piss him off and you’ll be sorry.”
Her smile wobbled. “Why would I do that? He’s the only family I have.”
“Don’t speak to him unless he speaks first. And don’t even try to lie.” The captain gave her pointed look. “We will always find out.”
“I understand.”
He shoved her inside the tent. Her brother was seated behind a table, pouring wine from a golden pitcher into a golden goblet. She immediately sank into a deep curtsy.
King Gunther set the pitcher down. “You can go, Mador.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The captain bowed, then left.
Brigitta’s gaze wandered about the tent as she straightened. The rug was thick and glimmered with gold threads worked into an ornate pattern. Cloth of gold had been draped along the inner walls of the tent. Enormous candlestick holders, thick and five feet high, appeared to be made entirely of gold. Why on Aerthlan would he travel with those? They had to weigh a ton. But then, why would he care if he was making life difficult for the servants?
On top of the candlesticks, white pillar candles were lit. A small fire in a solid gold brazier provided more light, making all the gold in the tent gleam.
An ominous feeling crept down her spine. Her brother’s lust for gold had escalated beyond a normal level of greed.
He rose from his chair and wandered toward her. Slowly he circled her, examining her with those cold eyes.
She was sorely tempted to say something to break the awkward silence, but she wasn’t supposed to speak until he did. She remembered Nevis’s advice. Don’t appear weak. And don’t offend him.
Gunther stopped in front of her. “Are you a virgin?”
She blinked, caught by surprise. “I-I was raised in a convent.”
“That’s not what I asked.” He glowered at her. “You were held captive on a pirate ship for a week. Did they pass you around? Or did you spend the entire time in that bastard Rupert’s bed?”
“I was not harmed. I appreciate your concern—”
He suddenly grasped her by the chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Don’t think I’m concerned about your virtue. I don’t give a rat’s ass how many men you fuck.”
She flinched, but his grip tightened, his fingers digging into her neck.
“I’m only asking because you’ll be in serious trouble if you’re pregnant.” He moved closer. “I won’t have some pirate’s whelp passed off as my heir.”
“I’m a virgin.”
“Really? I can have a physician examine you.”
She shuddered at the thought. But thank the goddesses Rupert had known to stop when he had. “I’m not pregnant. I’m having my monthly courses now.” Her cheeks burned for being forced into such a personal conversation with a stranger.
He released her, shoving her back a few steps. “Good. I’ll have the servants verify it.”
She took a few deep breaths, then looked him in the eye. “I was not molested. The pirates knew they could earn a bigger ransom if I was returned unharmed.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why did Rupert return you to Eberon instead of Tourin?”
“He feared the Tourinian navy would blast his ships out of the water,” she lied. “My sister Luciana offered to pay my ransom, and Rupert believed it would be safer to deal with Eberon than with you.”
Gunther scoffed. “The coward. I hear the Eberoni army captured him and took him to the dungeons of Ebton Palace. I haven’t received more information yet. Do you know anything?”
She shook her head. “I just hope he gets the punishment he deserves.”
“That would be death.” Gunther stepped back, eyeing her once again. “What is this rag you’re wearing?”
“My sister Luciana loaned it—”
“First.” Gunther pointed his index finger at her. “You will no longer refer to the Eberoni queen as your sister. I am your only family. Don’t forget that.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Brigitta inclined her head.
“Second.” He jabbed two fingers in the air. “The Tourinian princess will not be seen wearing secondhand clothes from another country. Especially a poor one like Eberon. You will be dressed in gold and jewels.”
She clasped her hands together, smiling as if she were delighted. “Oh, thank you, You
r Majesty.”
His arrogant sneer returned full force. “Have you heard about the competition?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. It sounds very exciting.”
He sauntered back to the table and sipped some wine from his goblet. “It will begin five days from now in the Lourdon stadium. You will be seated next to me in the royal box, where everyone can see you. You must look and act like a princess. I’ll expect a different gown each day.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
“Whenever we are seen in public, you will look delighted that you’ve been reunited with your long-lost brother. We will appear to be the happiest of families.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” She gave him a shy smile. “I am very happy to discover I have a brother.”
He snorted. “Perhaps you should occasionally slip and call me ‘dear brother.’ Or ‘brother dearest.’ I like that one. And then you could be flustered and apologetic.”
“Yes, brother dearest … I mean, Your Majesty.”
He barked a laugh. “Stay amenable like that, and we’ll get along fine.”
“Actually, brother dearest, I have a few concerns about the competition.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “No need to be concerned. The top three contenders are my favorites. You will end up with one of them.”
“Of course. But even so, I would like to give the competition my wholehearted approval. In order to do that, I would ask for a few concessions.”
He stared at her a moment. “Are you threatening me?”
“No! Of course not. How could I?” She pressed a hand to her pounding heart. “I simply wish to beg for a few favors that would make me feel more comfortable.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Go on.”
“I would like to be able to participate—”
He snorted. “You wish to join in the swordfight? You would be killed.”
“I don’t mean anything that drastic. For example, if one of your favorites asks for a token of my support, I would like the freedom to bequeath it or not, according to my wishes. I would like to feel like I’m taking an active role in the process.”
Gunther shrugged. “All right. As long as you accept the winner, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Thank you. And speaking of the winner, I would feel more comfortable if I were to marry him before…”
“Bedding him?” Gunther smirked. “If it makes it easier for you to fornicate, by all means, say a few useless vows in front of a priest. But if you don’t get pregnant in six months, the marriage will be annulled, and you’ll be reciting your vows to the second-place winner.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He sat behind his table and drank some wine. “I’ll have my physician concoct a tonic for you to ensure you give birth to a boy. You’ll start taking it tonight in preparation for the winner’s seed.”
She winced inwardly. The winner had better be Rupert. And that tonic would be poured down a privy hole. “I also wanted to ask you about the clause at the bottom of the notice, the one stating that the loser of each round would be executed.”
“That is not negotiable.” Gunther refilled his goblet. “I can’t have a bunch of sore losers roaming about the country, whining and stirring up trouble. Better to just kill them.”
A royal ass, for sure. She cleared her throat. “Yes, but I was hoping you could delay the executions? Perhaps do them all together at the end of the competition?”
He snorted. “You want a mass execution on the day of your wedding?”
She shrugged. “It would be very dramatic, don’t you think? Everyone would always remember my wedding.”
His mouth curled into an actual smile. “You sound like a Grian, after all. Welcome home, sister.”
She returned his smile. If all went well, she would marry Rupert, her brother would be imprisoned, and the losers of the contest would be pardoned when Rupert took the throne.
* * *
They left for Lourdon at noon, then arrived at the palace the following evening. Over the next three days, Brigitta was not allowed to leave her suite of rooms at Lourdon Palace. Her brother had meant what he’d said about her not being seen in a gown from Eberon. At least her prison was spacious and beautifully furnished, and Sister Fallyn was allowed to sleep in a small room that adjoined her suite.
Brody roamed freely about the castle with other dogs, listening in on conversations and bringing back information to Brigitta. Her brother was busy finishing renovations to the stadium. The plain wooden benches for the public were receiving a new coat of varnish. Meanwhile, the royal box was being encased in gold. A blue velvet canopy with golden fringe would stretch overhead, while blue velvet curtains would surround them on three sides. Two huge chairs were being upholstered with cloth of gold.
Brigitta was assigned a secretary named Hilda, an older woman with beady eyes who watched her like a hawk. Brody confirmed that everything Brigitta did and said in Hilda’s presence was passed on to the king. Not that there was much to report, since Brigitta was kept so isolated.
Each day, a small army of seamstresses was hard at work in a room across the hall from Brigitta’s suite. She only saw them when they came over for fittings, and Hilda was always there, watching them.
The seamstresses had completed seven capes for Brigitta before she’d even arrived at Lourdon Palace. Since the capes were voluminous, the seamstresses hadn’t needed her measurements. But now that she had arrived, they were in a rush to finish seven gowns to match the capes.
Bored out of her mind, Brigitta had begged the seamstresses to allow her to help. She and Sister Fallyn had made their simple gowns at the convent, so even though they didn’t know how to produce anything fancy, they were capable of simple tasks such as hemming skirts.
On the third day, around noontime, Hilda brought over two seamstresses for the final fitting of the fifth gown. This one was midnight-blue silk embroidered with gold thread. Each gown had gold in it somewhere. Brigitta suspected her brother had selected all the fabric, for he was strangely obsessed with gold.
While the two seamstresses, Norah and Marthe, helped Brigitta into the new gown, she motioned to the empty pitcher on the nearby table. “I’ve completely run out of wine. Would you mind bringing me some more, Hilda?”
With a frown, the older woman peered inside the pitcher. “You drank it all already?”
Actually, she’d poured half of it down the privy hole when Hilda had gone to check on the seamstresses an hour earlier. “I was thirsty. And I’m hungry, too. All these fittings wear me out. Could you bring us some food? Please?”
Hilda huffed. “Very well.” She gave the seamstresses a stern look as she headed for the door. “No gossiping. Stay on task.”
“Whew.” Brigitta heaved a sigh when Hilda the spy left. At last she could fish for some information. Of course there was no guarantee that the seamstresses weren’t spies, too. Even the guards outside the door were probably listening. Good goddesses, she was becoming paranoid. She would have to do her fishing very carefully. “I hope the contestants will like this gown.”
“Oh, I’m sure they will.” Marthe tugged at the laces on the back of the bodice. “You look beautiful in it.”
“I can’t believe the competition begins tomorrow morning,” Brigitta continued. Shouldn’t Rupert be arriving soon? “I’m so looking forward to it.”
Sister Fallyn exchanged a look with her, then continued hemming a white silk shift. “I heard there are six contestants.”
“That’s what I heard.” Norah knelt on the floor to pin the hem of the skirt. “But only the first three matter. They’re the king’s favorites. No one will be able to defeat them.”
Brigitta tugged at the bodice, wishing the neckline wasn’t cut so low. “They must be very strong.”
“Oh, yes,” Marthe agreed. “The first one is the captain of the king’s personal guard.”
“Oh, you mean Captain Mador?” Brigitta feigned a smile. “I’ve met
him. Who are the others?”
“The second one is the head general,” Norah replied as she worked her way around the skirt. “And the third one is the admiral of the king’s navy.”
“Then who are the other three contestants?” Brigitta asked.
Marthe waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about them. I heard the king doesn’t even want to acknowledge their names. So all the men will be given numbers during the competition. It’s supposed to keep it anonymous and fair, but of course, everyone knows who the first three are. The last three will simply be Four, Five, and Six.”
“I see.” Brigitta drew a deep breath. So when Rupert arrived, he would be called Seven. And just as the Telling Stones had predicted, she would have seven suitors vying for her hand. “I know the other contestants can’t win, but I can’t help but be curious about them. After all, they’re risking their lives.”
Norah nodded. “They must be very brave.”
Sister Fallyn shook her head. “Or foolish.”
Marthe placed the matching headdress over Brigitta’s hair, then made some adjustments. “I suspect their fathers have forced them into it. After all, the winner gets to be the father of the heir to the throne. There are plenty who would risk their lives to be powerful at court.”
Hilda burst into the room, followed by two servants carrying trays of food. “That’s enough talk.” She stopped to eye the gown. “That one will do for this evening. Marthe, have it finished in two hours.”
“Yes, madam.” Marthe inclined her head.
Brigitta swallowed hard. “Is there something happening this evening?”
“His Majesty is hosting a feast to celebrate the competition that begins tomorrow morning,” Hilda explained. “King Gunther plans to present you to the court, so you must look your best. I have requested several maids to see to your bath and arranging your hair. I suggest you eat quickly before they arrive.” She shooed the two servants who had brought food out the door. “Marthe, remove that gown from her and get back to work.”
“Yes, madam.” Marthe untied the laces while Norah gathered up their supplies.