Romancing the Throne (Marriage Market Misadventures #1)

Chapter 1

BIRDOSWYN

From the window of my attic room, which caught both the sunlight and the cool breeze of the fresh summer morning, I could see almost all the village of Hillstowe.

In truth there wasn’t very much to see since Hillstowe was quite small and fewer than thirty families called it home.

There were more goats in Hillstowe than elves, my mother often remarked with a weary sigh, but I liked goats.

They were friendly and clever. I could hear some of them bleating now from the yard next door, no doubt complaining their breakfast was late.

Once upon a time, our house had stood surrounded by intricate hedges and a sea of wildflowers, but each successive generation had sold a little land here and there to keep the coffers full.

We now had goats pressing up against us on one side, the blacksmith’s workshop behind, and a cluster of little cottages on the other side of us, the clothespinned washing on the lines flying like flags.

I heard footsteps on the stairs and turned away from the window.

My mother opened the door and clicked her tongue. “Oh really! You’re supposed to be packing, and look at this mess!”

I looked at the mess guiltily.

It wasn’t too much of a mess, mostly clothes and books strewn over the floor, but my parents had spent a lifetime impressing upon me the need for my conduct to be perfect today of all days.

Today would be my last day in Hillstowe, my last day looking out my window at the little village.

Because today, in accordance with the Fyreham Lathian, the escort from the royal family would arrive to take me to Everend Market, where I would impress the prince with my mien, my manners, and my magic, and we would be wed.

And the prince, my mother silently communicated through narrowed eyes as we both regarded my bedroom floor, ought not have to put up with a husband who didn’t know how to pick up a shirt.

“I am packing,” I said. “This is part of the packing. I’ll tidy it all up when I’m done.”

“Distractible!” She clicked her tongue at me fondly. “Come downstairs for breakfast, and then you’ll have to bathe, and dress, and—oh! We have so much to do today!”

She hurried back downstairs.

I folded two shirts and placed them on my bed, still unsure of whether or not to take them with me to Everend Market at the expense of leaving a few books behind.

I was sure that once I was married, the prince would allow me to send for the rest of my belongings, but I was also sure it would make quite the wrong impression to wear the same shirts again too often.

The indecision gave me a faintly queasy feeling in my stomach, especially because I knew what my parents would say if I asked them: Pack the shirts, of course!

The queasiness was guilt brewing because, knowing their answer already, I was planning to not ask them, to take my books and commit the sin of being seen twice in the same shirt by the prince.

But he was a prince. He was noble of blood and conduct.

He would judge me for my personality, not my scant wardrobe.

Mien, manners, and magic, my parents always said. That was what mattered.

I picked up one of my books and set it inside my pack.

I could always take it out later, I told myself, knowing I had no intention of doing that.

It was my favorite book about birds, though—I often scattered seeds on my sill, just to see which birds would turn up—and if I couldn’t take the view from my window with me, then I surely had to take the book.

I loved birds, just as I loved all of nature.

My parents would have preferred me to have been interested in alchemy, which they felt was a more prestigious sort of craft than the modest earth magic I’d been born with, but I had no feel for changing the nature of things, only amplifying it.

My magic wasn’t very exciting or dramatic, but it was good, honest nature magic, and far more traditional than the sorts of magic practiced in other places like Gearwick, where elves made all sorts of machines and contraptions.

My parents would have preferred it, I thought, if I was able to say, Look, I’ve turned this lead into gold!

instead of Look, I grew these beans! but earth magic was an Emberleigh tradition, and I was an Emberleigh elf intending to marry the Emberleigh prince, so my magic was perfectly suited to him.

Likewise, there wasn’t much they could do about my mien.

I wasn’t especially tall or handsome. In a room full of elves, I was usually the shortest one there, but I had good posture and a pleasant enough face.

My hair, despite its impressive length, was neither brown nor gold but caught somewhere between them both.

There was a light scattering of freckles across the bridge of my nose on otherwise clear skin.

I liked to think that my brown eyes at least caught the light in interesting ways, but I’d always secretly wished they were green.

Being that they couldn’t change my magic or my appearance, my parents had been working on my manners since the day I was born.

I knew the correct way to bow to a prince (two inches higher than to a king or queen and two inches lower than to a religious authority or court official), I could dance a proper farandole, and I knew how to hold polite yet interesting conversations on a range of appropriate topics.

“Breakfast!” my mother called up the stairs.

I also knew better than to be late.

I hurried down the two sets of stairs to the ground floor.

The kitchen was at the back of the house, with windows that overlooked the smithy.

In the winter, the heat from our oven and the heat from the blacksmith’s forge meant the narrow kitchen garden was usually a nice spot of warmth even on the coldest days.

In the spring, it was the best place to grow herbs.

Father was already sitting at the kitchen table with his bowl of oatmeal and honey in front of him. He gave me a bright smile. “Ah! There you are at last!”

Mother turned from the stove, pressing a warm bowl into my hands. “Eat! Eat! There are a hundred things to do!”

I sat and ate my oatmeal, even though I wasn’t hungry. I was too nervous for that.

My father beamed at me proudly, and then his gaze grew more critical and he tilted his head. “Have you brushed your hair today? You must look good for the envoy, you know.”

“I know,” I said. “And I have.” I set my spoon down and smoothed my fingers over my hair, or at least as much of it as I could reach without having to stand up. “But I’ve also been packing, so it’s gotten a little messy.”

I had been growing my hair my entire life, and the ends of it brushed the back of my thighs.

I just wished it wasn’t quite the same shade as dishwater.

Still, while its color didn’t impress, its length never failed to catch attention.

I had the longest hair of any elf in all of Hillstowe and I always wore it loose, as was the tradition for an elf from a genteel family.

There was a short but brief battle at the kitchen doorway as a determined chicken tried to get inside and my mother foiled it with the broom. For a moment she had it beaten, but then it darted around her, squawking madly, wings beating, and it was in.

My mother screamed, and my father lifted his feet off the floor.

I slid out of my chair and scooped the chicken up. I tucked it under my arm and said, “I’ll return it to Ismeray!”

“And then brush your hair!” my father called out after me as I darted out into the sunlit back garden.

Our back garden was full of herbs and beans and cabbages and onions. I hoped that my parents would be able to keep everything flourishing as well once I was married to the prince, because their earth magic didn’t have the same affinity for plants that mine did.

Ismeray the blacksmith lived on the other side of the sagging back fence. I stepped over into her yard, the chicken still tucked happily under my arm, and skirted the brick smithy building to get to the entrance around the other side.

“Don’t come in here!” she called as soon as she saw me, and I stopped at the doorway.

Ismeray, her hair pulled back in a bun, set down her glowing tongs on top of the anvil and came out into the sunlight to meet me.

She had told me before that she didn’t want me anywhere near where there were sparks flying around given the way I wore my hair loose.

“Oh, did she get into your garden again?”

“Into the kitchen,” I said, setting the chicken down. “During breakfast.”

Ismeray winced and scratched her nose, leaving a dirty mark behind. That was another good reason to stay out of the smithy, today of all days. “Sorry about that.”

“I don’t mind,” I said honestly. “But my parents don’t like it.”

“Your parents don’t like much, do they?” Ismeray asked with her famous bluntness and a snort. “Shouldn’t you be sitting at home waiting for your royal envoy instead of returning lost chickens?”

I didn’t ask how she knew it was today. All of Hillstowe knew, because my parents had made sure of it. They didn’t socialize much with our neighbors, all of whom were farmers or worked other physical jobs, but they still managed to let everyone know that I was going to marry the prince.

“Yes,” I said. “Because of the Fyreham Lathian.”

“Remind me how that works again,” Ismeray said, wiping her dirty hands on her leather apron and leaving them exactly as dirty as before.

“The Fyrehams are the royal line,” I said.

“Well, several hundred years ago, back when our house was part of a big estate and not just a house, a Fyreham princess happened to be traveling nearby. And she fell into the river and almost drowned, except that my ancestor—one of the Cranhawcs—saved her, without even knowing who she was.”

“Sounds like a fairy-tale romance,” Ismeray said with a wry smile. “Did he have to slay a dragon as well?”

“No, there aren’t any dragons in the story.

Also, the princess was already married, and my ancestor was too,” I said.

“So the Fyrehams said from that moment on, all the rescuer’s descendants would receive a special royal invitation—the lathian—to the Everend Market whenever a Fyreham was seeking a spouse so that they could be considered for marriage. ”

“Huh,” said Ismeray and folded her arms over her chest. “You know you could just go to Everend Market anyway? You don’t need an invitation.”

“I know,” I said, “but it means I get to meet the prince on my own, you see? Without having to clamor for his attention. And once we meet, then he’ll want to marry me.”

A divot appeared between Ismeray’s brows, but she nodded. “Well, good luck, I suppose.”

I appreciated the sentiment, but it was unnecessary. I didn’t need good luck. I had a lifetime of training in mien, manners, and magic and the longest hair of any elf in Hillstowe. Which reminded me, I needed to get back home and brush out the tangles before the envoy arrived.

“Thank you for always being my friend,” I said to Ismeray, and she looked a little taken aback at first, and then a little misty-eyed. “And thank you for letting me play with your chickens.”

“I’d hug you, except…” She gestured to her dirty apron. “Good luck in Everend Market, I mean that, and don’t forget about us lowly blacksmiths when you’re married to the prince.”

“I won’t,” I promised and flashed her one last smile before hurrying back home.

The envoy came midmorning. I first caught sight of him from my window, when the village children who usually gathered by the pond to play cried out and hurried to the road that curved its way into Hillstowe.

The village didn’t get many outsiders, so the presence of a stranger was very exciting for them.

I leaned on the sill of my window, sunlight warming my face, and watched as the envoy approached.

He was tall, slim in the hips yet broad across the shoulders, and he wore his dark hair in a loose braid.

Disappointingly, he was wearing the plain brown and green clothes that most elves traveled in and not bright livery.

Still, he wore them well. His doeskin breeches were decidedly snug, and only the modest length of his green tunic prevented them from being wholly indecent.

They clung in all sorts of interesting ways.

He had a rucksack on his back—and three different children by the time he got into the village.

The rest of them darted around him like minnows in the millstream, bright and fast.

Some of the adults came out to meet him too, and I saw the goose-girl point at our house, as though there could be any mistaking it. It was clear there was nowhere else in Hillstowe that could be housing a genteel family.

I ducked away from the window as he approached the house and listened, my heart beating hard inside my ribs, for the knock on the door.

It sounded as sharp as a branch cracking when it came.

I swallowed down my sudden overwhelming sense of apprehension—this was my home, how could I just leave?—and brushed my hair one more time. Then, drawing a deep breath, I left my room and walked gracefully down the steps to where my parents were speaking with the envoy in the front hallway.

“Ah!” my father exclaimed. “And here he is now.”

My gaze caught the envoy’s. Up close, he was very handsome. He had sharp cheekbones, a generous mouth, and eyes the same shade as a greenfinch’s breast feathers.

“My son,” my father said proudly, “and subject of the Fyreham Lathian, Birdoswyn Abrecan Cranhawc-Hazelthorn.”

“Sweet merciful goddess.” The envoy gave a startled blink. “He’s called what now?”

Rude.