Chapter Three

This is Chapter Three of my work in progress, Independence. Read the previous chapter here or start from the beginning here.

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This isn’t the final draft, so if you have any feedback, leave a comment and I’ll consider it in my next revision.

Thanks so much,

Alex Rosenthal

Chapter Three

Lord Marcus of the house of Vincona waited on the front steps of his mansion. He wore a pointed beard as thin as he was, and his smile was slightly too wide as he gave a shallow bow.

“My prince,” he said. “It is an honor.”

“Yes.” Antony gave a nod. “I’m sure it is.” He was honored to have his daughter wed a prince. He didn’t care a wit for Antony.

Lord Vincona was father’s first cousin. They didn’t look much alike, but their voices were eerily similar.

“Please, my prince, allow me to show you to the dining room. Otacilia awaits your company.”

“Will you be joining us, my lord?” Antony asked. He followed Lord Marcus through the grand double doors, feeling Kaermak’s presence looming at his back. They entered a grand hall, high ceilinged and painfully drafty, with windows lining three walls.

“Not unless you wish it, my prince,” said Lord Marcus. “I thought the two of you should get a little better acquainted. Young sweethearts don’t need old cynics like me getting in their way.”

Sweethearts. Antony barely restrained a derisive snort.

“If you say so,” he said. “And the betrothal?”

“So eager, my prince?” Lord Marcus laughed. A condescending sound, not sharing a joke, but making Antony the butt of it. “The papers can wait until after breakfast, I’m sure.”

So Antony had the length of the meal to find a way out of this. He couldn’t refuse to sign. Not when Kaermak had his signet ring. Could he make such a scene with Otacilia that Lord Marcus decided the marriage wasn’t worth it after all? What would Kaermak do in response?

No, having your children be next in line for the throne was too great a prize for someone like Marcus. He was just like father. No amount of bad behavior would sway him.

Lord Marcus led them out the back of the hall and around a corner,  ushering Antony into the small dining room where the meal would be served. It was warmer in here, almost cozy, with a fire crackling merrily in the hearth. Everything in the room was Vincona green, from curtains to tablecloths to the upholstery on the delicate chairs.

“May I present my daughter, the lady Otacilia Vincona.”

Otacilia gave a curtsey. She wore green as well. “I’m so glad to see you my prince. I look forward to dining together and making our acquaintance closer.”

“Good to see you, too,” Antony said, trying not to shudder at how forced she sounded. She’d probably practiced that in front of a mirror.

“We’ll talk later, my prince. I have meetings to attend. Enjoy your meal.”

There was something malicious in his smile as he took his leave.

Kaermak took up a position by the door. He glowered at the servants who brought in trays upon trays of food, far too much for the two diners.

Antony loaded his plate bite-sized cuts of assorted meats and a pair of flaky pastries, and began to eat. Manners would have had him start a conversation, but avoiding overt rudeness didn’t mean he was going to put in that much effort.

The table could easily have fit six people, and there seemed to be an awful lot of space between him and Otacilia, who picked at her own meal. She looked old for her years, all powdered and perfumed as she was, in a rich dress that showed almost too much, with deep brown hair bound up in ornate ribbons atop her head. The adult exterior only made her expression seem more childish. The way she sat, her uncertain smile…they looked a good five or six years younger than the body upon which they were displayed.

Antony stopped eating. The food was excellent, the pastries warm and buttery, but he felt his stomach turning in sympathy for the girl, tiny and awkward at the end of the oversized table.

This wasn’t her fault. She likely didn’t want this any more than he did. Making this awkward was unfair to her. Her father was the one who deserved Antony’s rudeness. Both of their fathers.

The day’s virtues were wisdom and prudence. Was it really wise or prudent to take his anger out on this girl?

“Lady, might we speak honestly with one another?”

“My prince?”

“You know why we’re here, don’t you?” By her expression, she did not. Or else she didn’t understand the question. “I don’t mean in the philosophical or the religious sense,” he said. “Do you know why our fathers set up this breakfast? What I’ll be discussing with your father after our meal?”

“You mean the engagement?” Otacilia blushed at her own forthrightness, but she held his gaze.

“Yes.” Antony took a deep breath, and decided that tact and manners could go burn to ashes. “Otacilia, I don’t want to marry you.” Kaermac cleared his throat, but Antony ignored him. “It’s nothing personal, but you’re five years younger than I am, by the gods. I’m going to attempt to negotiate a marriage between my sister and one of your brothers. They will be much nearer in age. I’m sure your father will understand.”

Otacilia flushed again. “What?”

Antony sighed. He’d thought that was clear.  “I am doing my best to avoid this marriage. If our families must have an alliance, it will be just as strong if my sister becomes a Vincona as if you become a Remus.”

“Shovel that with the pig-shit,” she said, “You’re telling me I won’t be queen?”

Oh. Not witless, just angry. Fantastic.

“You snake,” Otacilia said, unabashed for the first time that morning. “Trying to manipulate me and my family out of a crown with false concern? Trying to play on the feelings of the little girl? And to think father said you had inherited none of the king’s cunning. You will marry me, and no feeble lies about your good intentions will get you out of it!”

She was breathing heavily after that, and it took her a few seconds to calm down enough to remember her manners. “My prince,” she added, and looked down.

There was a muffled snort from the doorway. Kaermak had enjoyed that.

Antony put his elbows on the table and leaned his head on his hands, massaging his temples with his fingers. He was torn between laughing and weeping in frustration. Did everyone in his life have to stand in his way? Well, everyone save one.

“You are misjudging me,” he said. “I don’t say these things in an attempt to deny you the crown.”

“Forgive me, my prince,” Otacilia said, keeping better control of herself. “I doubt that. What other reason could you have? If you will permit me a little pride, I have been told by many that I am beautiful and will surely only grow more-so. I…” Otacilia stopped, embarrassed, as a new thought appeared to strike her. She turned to her guard, a thick-set fellow who matched glares with Kaermak from his corner across the room. “Cassius, would you give us a moment?”

She waved the servants off as well, and Antony seized the moment. He gave Kaermak a sly smile and waved his hand in a shooing gesture. The Keld gave Antony a hard look, but he left with Cassius, shutting the door behind him.

“If it is my, er, wifely duties that concern you,” Otacillia said quietly, “I have been told what to do, and our family’s hypocrat says that there is no reason I should not be able to bear you children. If your preferences lie elsewhere, I am amenable to some arrangement so long as we have heirs.” She blushed again as she spoke, but held his gaze.

That was too much. Antony laughed. Not loudly or for long, but it was enough.

“Does my forwardness offend you, my prince?” she asked, angry again. “And after you were so forward yourself.”

“No, no,” he said. “It’s not that. I…” It wasn’t like he could ruin the conversation any more than the two of them already had, and father already knew, so it wasn’t much of a secret anyway. Why not be honest with the girl? “I’m in love with another woman, Otacillia,” he said.

For once, her face did something other than blush. “You are?” she asked, eyes narrowing, and then suddenly widening. “Oh, you are?” Otacillia laughed, then caught herself, schooling her face back to primness. “Forgive my assumptions, my prince. You really do value love in a marriage?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’d have thought if anyone would understand that, it would be a 14 year old girl.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but Otacillia turned serious, biting her lip. “I apologize for your heartache, my prince, but the kingdom must come first. My father and I have often spoken of love, but the greatest love of a noble must be for the people. Our houses must be joined to improve relations with Tibbland, regardless of our personal feelings. I am the closest unmarried female relative of king Alfred. There is no better way to placate him than to marry me to you.”

That line had a rather rehearsed sound to it, and Antony couldn’t help but remember Otacillia’s fury at the thought of being denied queenship. Her desires mattered, and his didn’t? Rather hypocritical of the girl. Still, she had a point.

“And besides, I know that men sometimes find…diversions away from their wives. After we have an heir, of course.”

“Did your father tell you that?”

She looked down again. “Yes, actually.”

“From what you say, our fathers sound much alike,” Antony said, pouring himself tea from a pot in the center of the table. It was one of the few things Tibbish he actually enjoyed. “They are both such…” insufferable know-betters. But he couldn’t say that. “…pragmatic thinkers where emotions are concerned.” Meaning of course that they couldn’t care less about anyone’s save their own. Not even their children’s.

“Aren’t they right to be?”

No. Hypocrisy can never be right.

Antony looked back to his food. He didn’t feel like eating any more. “You can call the servants back,” he said. “They can clear this away.”

Kaermak did not reenter with the rest. Instead, a Vincona pageboy came from that direction.

“My prince,” he said, bowing deeply, “You are expected in the entry hall when your meal is finished.”

“In that case, I’ll take my time,” he said, stirring a dollop of honey into his tea. He took a sip and sighed in appreciation at the bitterness edged sweet by honey. The taste soured only slightly at the thought of how much Lelia would have liked it.

Otacillia gave a quiet harumph.

“Is something else the matter?” He asked.

“Not at all, my prince.”

That sounded like a lie, but Antony ignored it. He drank his tea in silence, savoring every last drop before rising.

“Farewell, Otacilia,” he said. “Perhaps your father will think differently than you do.” And perhaps Remus would rise from the dead and offer to marry the girl in Antony’s place.

He turned to leave.

Lord Marcus, I’m not going to marry your daughter. I’d like to propose another arrangement.

Antony nodded to himself as he opened the door. That was good. Straight to the point, and with a thesis he could return to if the conversation got away from him. I’m not going to marry your daughter.

He rounded a corner and stepped out into the grand entrance hall.

“Lord Marcus, I…”

Lord Marcus wasn’t waiting for him. The hall was deserted save for Kaermak.

“Carriage is waiting,” said the Keld. He turned, striding towards the front door.

“What about my audience with Lord Marcus?” Antony asked. “The betrothal?”

“All sorted,” said Kaermac. “Here.” He turned and tossed something in a high arc. Antony fumbled the catch, and the small object bounced once before landing at his feet. It was his signet ring.

“You signed for me,” he said. He bent to pick up the ring. Standing again was somehow difficult. His stomach seemed full of iron weights.

I’m betrothed and I don’t even get a say.