The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,66

there was a king's son the right age for her. Ostron Isle was ruled by an elector, chosen from one of the great merchant families who held court feasting and bickering over trade agreements. And the last Merofynian kingson had been her mother's younger brother. Poor little Sefon, her mother always called him. Queen Myrella hadn't seen her brother since he was a toddler and she was eight years old. After his death, the throne had passed to King Merofyn the Sixth who was older than Piro's father. From what she'd overheard, he was a nasty piece. His own wife had killed herself to escape him. Piro was relieved her parents weren't trying to betrothe her to King Merofyn.

Even so, the thought of political marriage made her burn with resentment. She had always known she would have to marry to further Rolencia's alliances, but until today that had been in the distant future.

'I don't want to m -' Her voice was muffled as Seela pulled the gown over her head. Piro blinked, '- marry. I'm not ready.'

'Those boots will have to come off,' her mother said. 'Sit by the fire while I find your gold-beaded slippers.'

'The ones that match the red and gold velvet gown, Myrella?' Seela asked.

'Yes. And she can wear the gold head-dress.' The queen adjusted her own head-dress. It was the married woman's style with a little hood that sat forwards over her face and fine gold net which confined her hair.

Being unmarried, Piro's head-dress was a small cap which would sit on the crown of her head, held in place with a few pins, the fine mesh falling to her shoulders, beaded with mandarin garnets.

'I don't want to -'

'Take those boots off!' her mother called over her shoulder. She picked the gown up by the shoulders and shook it to get the wrinkles out. Several little sacks of lavender fell on the floor.

Piro sat on the chest in front of the fire wearing only her woolen chemise. She tugged at the laces of her riding boots. They were made of soft suede, bleached white to match her gown, and weren't designed for snow. Even her woolen stockings were damp.

Seela put the boots and stockings aside then rubbed lavender-scented oil into Piro's cold toes, chaffing them to get the blood flowing. It felt good, even better when Seela slid silk stockings onto her feet.

'Silk?' Piro muttered.

'Fix those stockings in place,' Seela said. 'There's a good girl.'

'I'm not a good girl.' Piro rolled the ends of the stockings over her garters to hold them up just above her knees. 'I don't want to marry some hairy, half-savage warlord!'

Piro was very aware of her mother and Seela exchanging glances.

'And I will tell father so!' Piro announced.

Her mother's mouth settled into that familiar thin line of annoyance. 'Arms up.'

Piro held up her arms and wriggled as the gown settled over her shoulders. Seela pulled the lacing tight.

'Red suits you,' her mother said.

Piro frowned. Just then Seela surprised her with a dab of expensive Ostronite myrrh. The perfume wafted up around her face, sweet and fruity, exotic as Ostron Isle itself.

Queen Myrella turned Piro around to look in the mirror. Taking a hairbrush, she unravelled Piro's plaits. Once her hair was loose, it fell in wavy ripples to her waist, black as sable. 'You have lovely hair.'

'It doesn't matter what I look like,' Piro said. 'I'm not... Ouch!'

Seela had jabbed her scalp as she stood on a foot stool to pin Piro's cap in place. 'Sorry.'

She draped a net of fine gold mesh over Piro's shoulders. It gleamed in contrast with her hair. Piro tugged her royal emblem out of the dress's bodice. Her small, silver foenix pendant glowed against the rich velvet.

'You look just like a kingsdaughter should!' Seela beamed.

Piro fumed.

'Something's missing,' the queen murmured. 'I know. Fetch the ruby choker from my jewellery box, Seela.'

The old woman scurried over to the dresser where several jewellery boxes had been left open. She began sifting through one.

Piro watched proceedings mutinously.

Queen Myrella stepped closer to Piro, her face next to Piro's in the mirror.

'Do you think I wanted to leave my home when I was betrothed to your father?' she whispered. 'I was only eight years old. I never saw my mother and my baby brother again. My father visited once, when I was wed at fifteen. But I never complained. I married King Rolen to stop the constant warring between our kingdoms. Rolencia and Merofynia have been ancestral enemies forever. Hardly