Though Leander’s invitation to my candidates had said nothing about courting me, everyone knew the Princess of Arbore was of marriageable age, and that she hadn’t found a human husband yet. And Hippolytus was clearly here for me. Or rather, my dowry. Likely to spend it on gaudy real estate furnished with things such as solid gold bathtubs.
In short, I had no trouble judging this ethereal pretty-boy as a narcissistic, overgrown child who could never love anyone but himself. And that was saying something coming from me, the princess everyone in Cahraman had accused of being a vain, spoiled brat.
I guessed that was what everyone here thought of me as well, if Leander had placed that vapid gander among the top of my candidates.
Not that I could do anything about that opinion now. If I failed to find the man who’d break my curse, I’d die in two weeks’ time and that would be my legacy. The tragic princess who was useless in life, and pointless in death.
On the bright side, the pointed tips of Hippolytus’s ears, along with the vivid circles of colors in his eyes served to introduce me to inhuman features.
After the unpleasant experience of having my feet trampled by that vacuous bore was over, I moved on to my second candidate.
Björn Torkelsson was a shapeshifter from Avongart, and an atheling—a potential prince—a title given to all of the king’s male children, legitimate or otherwise. The succession was determined by election, a council choosing which offspring was worth the throne.
I’d previously seen him without the mask that barely covered the top of his face, with large slots for his chestnut-brown eyes. I supposed he was handsome enough, in that burly, bearded manner of Northerners. As I’d approached him, I’d been intrigued by his intricate leather attire, and the dirty-blond hair arranged in complex side braids, which held some specific significance in his culture’s hierarchy.
My intrigue had persisted until he’d almost scared me senseless.
His response to my offer to dine with me had been to haul me off my feet and into a rib-cracking squeeze. I’d thought I’d offended him, and he’d crush me to death right there and then.
Just as I’d finally gathered enough wits to struggle, he’d jovially dropped me in a seat at a table, and went about piling food in front of us.
Between his own excessive eating and drinking, he practically force-fed me more food than I’d eaten in the past week. Whenever I protested, he called me skinny and many other pitying adjectives, while praising the hardy figures of Northlander women.
Aside from how he’d initially frightened me, how brash he was, I found Björn to be interesting company. This mountain of a man couldn’t speak without constantly poking me and gesturing exuberantly with his massive hands, and was so loud he managed to drown out the din of the packed ballroom. He also somehow ended up making me promise I’d let him know when I could go on a walk into downtown Eglantine with him, so I could see him shift into a bear and fish in the river.
Though I felt mostly stunned amusement towards him, he was the first suitor I’d ever looked forward to dining with again, if mostly to relive the overwhelming yet entertaining experience.
“What a strange, strange man,” Meira commented as we regrouped at the corner of the ballroom, lifting our masks for a break from their stuffy confinement. “I’ve never seen someone so friendly without it being suspicious.”
I nodded as I looked over at Björn who was sweeping a couple under his massive arms and steering them to another table. “The friendliness was indeed a nice surprise, since I’d first thought he’d maul me for daring to approach him. At least I now know what a bear hug is—literally.”
“I don’t think actual bear hugs have any affection in them,” Meira mused. “Human form or not, he’s still a predator.”
“Don’t be mean,” Agnë chided. “He was very nice, a gentle giant.”
“You consider all that poking and squeezing gentle?” Meira teased her. “If you like big men so much, why don’t you pursue him yourself?”
As Agnë flushed red, I sighed wryly. “I think we should focus less on how jolly bear-man turned out to be, and worry more about how unattractive he found me. He would not stop talking about how frail I looked, and likening me to his land’s little girls. Just how big are the women up there?”