- Ellowyn Demont of Dochte Abbey

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CHAPTER TWENTY:

Leigh Abbey

In Malvern Hundred near the border of Pry-Ree stood Leigh Abbey. It was fashioned in the same image as Muirwood, though smaller and not surrounded on all sides by a rotten mass of swamps. The village of Leigh was full of rich and fertile farms with fat sheep grazing in the lowlands. Those sheep were tempting targets of Pry-rian bandits who were known to cross the border and steal them. What very few realized, however, is that the sheep were Pry-rian by origin and generations before had been stolen from Pry-Ree to feed the hungry during a period of famine. What those from Comoros labeled theft was true – from a certain perspective.

Prince Alluwyn stood by the windows where he could observe the approach of the riders and the covered litter. The Aldermaston of Leigh stood nearby and tried to engage him in conversation, but the Prince seemed lost in his thoughts, staring down the road with uncanny patience. The outriders appeared first and that was sufficient for the Aldermaston to beg his excuses.

“I see they have arrived. I must greet the king, my lord. You will excuse me while I attend them. I will bring your…betrothed when she has disembarked from the litter.”

The Prince did not reply and stared as the Aldermaston scowled at him and then hefted towards the doorway, for he was a very portly man.

As the door shut, his bodyguard Kieran Evnissyen spoke disdainfully in Pry-rian. “The rake. He calls your marriage to Lady Demont a sham. Insufferable.”

“Patience,” the Prince muttered. He glanced at the young man pointedly. “A man can see contempt in your eyes. Remember that when treating with him.”

“This whole affair is contemptible, my lord,” he said acidly. “For three years she has been kept under guard since captured by that pirate off the coast of Bridgestow. For three years!”

The Prince smirked. “I know the length of time better than any man, Kieran.” He turned back to the window. He parted the curtain. “There she is, taking the king’s hand.”

Kieran rushed to the frame, but the crowd was thronging them, making a view of her impossible. The rotund Aldermaston shuffled back towards the Abbey manor, leading them.

“Look at the gold collar the king wears,” Kieran said disdainfully. “He is flaunting his great wealth. But at least he looks like a ruler. Your dress is too plain, my lord.”

“I will suit her, I hope. She was raised at a small Abbey after all, far from the wealth and splendor that is so ripe within Dahomey.”

“But she has been held at Pent Tower where even the butler’s costume is finer than yours. It is beneath your dignity.”

The Prince smiled tolerantly and waited as the muffled sound of feet quickly approached the door. Kieran retreated into the shadows again, becoming as inconspicuous as a page. He was young, even for an Evnissyen.

The door opened and the Aldermaston entered again, bringing the guests with him. The king showed his years well, and Alluwyn nodded to him deferentially. His blond hair was well silvered, but it belied a ruthless jut to the chin and penetrating green eyes. His presence reeked of hetaera. The Prince could see their influence on his countenance as marked as any blemish. Rather than exuding light, he seemed to swallow it – every aspect of him was like a vortex, dragging all cheer and brightness and joy from the room. His presence caused a ripple of doom to spread across the opening. The Prince saw the necklace chained around his throat and knew it was a kystrel.

“We meet again, great king of Comoros,” the Prince said with a bow.

“Well met, Alluwyn Lleu-Iselin,” the king answered in a throaty, raspy-like voice. “King of Pry-Ree for now. May I introduce my fair cousin, Lady Elle Demont.”

As the king stepped away, the Prince was unprepared for the reaction the sight of her would bring. His emotions welled like a flood. She had her daughter’s face – the face that had haunted him in dreams and visions for years, the ghost that walked through life near him, whispering of what was to come. The mother and the daughter were distinctive, beautiful, and for a moment he could only see his visions until tears swam and he lost his composure. Summoning his strength, he subdued his feelings, but there was no hiding the wet lashes from the king.

“The Aldermaston will perform the ceremony straightaway in the Abbey itself. You are both mastons and I am not, so I cannot accompany you inside the sanctuary. You may not believe it, but I do not seek your death, Lord Iselin. I seek peace between our kingdoms. In that vein, I suggest a truce to be consummated with this marriage. There will be no incursions into Pry-Ree for five years. In exchange, you will agree that henceforth there will no longer be three kings in your domain. There shall be one ruler. With my cousin at your side, you will do well. Do we have an agreement?”