The Princess Knight
Chapter One
There was nothing more terrifying than the execution of long-awaited plans.
Everything had been set in place years ago; Clíodhna had spent her entire life working toward this.
The palace was fluttering with excitement as everyone awaited the arrival of Prince Domhnall, yet Clía was hiding in her rooms. She should be elated, not worrying, as the icy chill of dread filled her lungs.
By tomorrow night, she would be betrothed—the engagement her parents, her kingdom, were relying on. Her future was only a day away, and everything needed to be perfect.
That included the gown she wore.
Sárait, one of the palace tailors, had come to deliver the dress, but as Clía’s eyes swept over the material, her heart dropped in her chest.
All she saw was wrong. It was too tight, too stiff. The more she looked at her reflection in the mirror, the more the fabric seemed to scratch at her skin, until she couldn’t bear to have it on a second longer.
“I knew we shouldn’t have trusted Maura with this design,” Sárait said with disgust as she helped Clía out of the gown.
“What about one of your other dresses?” Draping the abandoned gown over the back of a chair, Sárait walked to the closet.
Clía slid a soft robe over her chemise and joined her.
“There’s the yellow silk dress you wore to the Aotaine feast. You looked gorgeous in that one. ”
Clía shook her head. “The sleeves are too short.”
Sárait pulled out an ice-blue silk gown with swirls of glittering jewels surrounded by loops of intricate embroidery. “How about this one? The sleeves are the perfect length.”
“It’s too . . . much.”
The tailor moved to the linen dress next to it.
“That one’s not enough.” Clía sighed before Sárait could speak.
It was useless. Each dress had some flaw, some detail that stood out mockingly to her.
It wasn’t until they had been through every closet, every drawer, that it dawned on her.
She eyed the gown draped over the chair, its fabric shining in the light from the window.
Maybe she had the dress she needed after all.
Clía grabbed her shears. “We’ll need more fabric—about two yards matching the skirt and bodice. And a bolt of pale pink silk. And whalebone.”
An eager excitement bubbled in Sárait’s eyes. “I’ll see what I can find.”
Clía nodded her thanks then plucked up the discarded gown and began ripping through the seams of the skirt.
As the newest palace tailor, Sárait and Clía hadn’t known each other long, but there was a mutual respect between them.
The first time Clía had seen the girl, Sárait had been wearing a lavender dress that glowed against her golden beige skin, with floral embroidery on the sleeves, detailed and precise enough to have been done by a master.
When Clía complimented it, Sárait simply smiled and said, “You have a good eye for talent. I did it myself.”
Every so often, Sárait would visit Clía’s rooms on some errand or another from the head tailor and would stay a little longer than necessary. Sometimes they would talk, but mostly they sewed.
When Sárait returned, they fell into an easy rhythm, with only the sound of shears slicing through fabric breaking the silence.
For years, fashion had been the one thing Clía understood.
The one thing she could control. Each stitch of the needle helped slow Clía’s heart and calm her mind.
Focused on the task in front of her, she could forget the expectations bearing down on her, all the problems the future could bring, and the ways tomorrow could go wrong.
It didn’t take long before they had let out the dress ever so slightly, added a silk lining to help the drape of the skirt, and reattached the bodice after replacing the steel boning with the more flexible whalebone.
Clía put the gown back on.
The soft pink fabric glowed in the late morning light, the golden sunbeams dancing through the sheer trumpet sleeves that hung just off her shoulders.
The bodice molded perfectly to her torso, hugging every curve, before the skirt fell in a gentle cascade of frothy silk.
Full and luxurious but not too dramatic.
She wouldn’t demand attention, but it would be given all the same.
“It’s perfect,” Clía whispered, in a voice too low to be heard by Sárait. Her mouth softened into the slightest hint of a smile. “Everything will be perfect.”
***
“IS THE DRESS READY?” HER MOTHER ASKED, SIMULTANEOUSLY directing a page carrying a large floral centerpiece.
Clía stood with her mother in the throne room as people filtered in and out, decorating and cleaning and planning all for tomorrow.
“Sárait dropped it off this morning,” she replied. The queen didn’t need to know the state in which it had arrived.
“Good. I’ve made sure the flowers in the eastern courtyard are in full bloom.
When Prince Domhnall arrives, he will be greeted by a small gathering—only the highest-ranking nobles and a few musicians.
After a suitable amount of time, the two of you will split from the party, and you will lead him there. It’ll make the perfect backdrop.”
Clía had to keep herself from mouthing the words in unison. She had heard her mother repeat the plan for tomorrow more than a dozen times in the past week.
When Clía didn’t speak, Queen Eithne continued. “Remember, álainndore needs this alliance. We need this alliance. The Draoi already doubt our leadership, and our devotion to Inismian and the gods.”
The Draoi were the druidic order that maintained the balance of Inismian, channeling energy from the land of the gods, Tír Síoraí, into the kingdoms. They held no allegiance to any one of the five kingdoms that made up Inismian, welcoming anyone who swore loyalty to the land and the gods.
Their connection to the Druidry at the heart of the land helped the kingdoms prosper.
To lose their support could be ruinous.
As if hearing her thoughts, her mother muttered, “Tinelann has fallen out of favor, and look what’s happened to them.
” The kingdom of Tinelann shared álainndore’s northern border, the two separated by the vast chain of the Diamhair Mountains.
No one knew the reason, but something had caused the Draoi to channel less energy into Tinelann over the past year, and the kingdom was suffering for it.
Harvests were failing, and the seas grew restless.
“Marrying Prince Domhnall is the symbolic gesture we need. Him, the heir of Ríoghain’s kingdom, and you, the heir of Tara’s—tying the kingdoms together as the two divine lovers once did.
It’s poetic, a story for the ages. And it will be the perfect show of dedication to keep us from sharing Tinelann’s fate. ”
The more her mother spoke, the more Clía’s fears seemed to grow. The glow of delight in perfecting her dress faded and thoughts that had been lurking in the back of her mind swirled forward, reminding her of all the ways that she could disappoint her parents and her kingdom.
When Queen Eithne turned to her, she held her daughter’s gaze firmly. “Tomorrow will go wonderfully. It must.”
Clía wasn’t sure if the statement was supposed to be reassuring, but she knew she couldn’t show her fears. With a quiet breath, she molded her face into a smile. “Of course. I’ll make sure of it.”
***
CLíA LEFT THE THRONE ROOM THE FIRST CHANCE SHE could.
The hallways of the palace were full of movement and sound.
Painters, maids, and gardeners bustled about in frenzied excitement, dusting tapestries, trimming foliage, and making sure everything was in place for the next day.
The chatter of layered conversations filled the space, and the smell of freshly baked bread and spiced meat wafted from the kitchens as the chefs prepared for tomorrow’s celebration.
Everyone was eager for the Scáilcan prince’s visit.
Clía wove through the chaotic main hall, turning the corner into a quieter corridor, when she heard a conversation that caught her attention.
“Yes, all of the supplies were stolen. And there are rumors that Tinelann might be involved.” A warrior stood a few feet away, arms behind her back as she spoke to Chief ó Connor.
Clía paused, tucking herself into an alcove to avoid being seen.
“I was supposed to report this to Chief Barra, but no one has seen him.”
“I’m sure he’s simply overwhelmed with the preparations for tomorrow—a royal visit requires tight security.
However, I’ll discuss this with Barra next time I see him.
Thank you for your report.” ó Connor smiled at the young warrior, but Clía could hear the dismissal in his tone.
The woman must have as well, leaving with a stiff nod.
Clía moved out from her hiding place to stand beside ó Connor. “You ended that conversation rather quickly.”
“You need to stop your habit of eavesdropping on conversations that aren’t meant for you.”
“Then what conversations can I eavesdrop on?” she said, a smile sneaking past her lips.
ó Connor sighed, but there was affection behind it. “I don’t know why I put up with you sometimes. I should leave you for the sídhe.”
He had made that threat ever since she was a child, but the Otherworld creatures that roamed the woods didn’t scare her anymore.
“You put up with me because you have no choice.” Her smile widened.
Even if he wasn’t her father’s best friend, she had no doubt that he would stay in her life.
ó Connor had practically raised her, with her parents being too focused on their duties.
And their parties. “So, whose supplies were stolen?”
“It’s nothing you need to bother yourself with, my lady. Merely a report from one of the northern villages. Your parents are too busy to be bothered with such trivial matters, so I’m happy to lend a hand while Chief Barra is otherwise occupied.”
Clía knew, for the king and queen, “too busy” meant they would be simply uninterested. They were often “too busy” for any small, daily matters of the kingdom, and left such things for the chiefs—most frequently, ó Connor—to handle.
ó Connor had to know Clía would want more information; rumors were currency at court. Still, he changed the subject. “You know, your father still owes me five screppals after our fidchell game last week. I might as well take your money too, if you are in the mood for a game.”
He took her arm and led her farther away from the main hall, toward the eastern wing.
“Who said you would win?”
He laughed. “I guess we’ll have to see.”
The busy sounds of the palace began to fade, and Clía’s shoulders finally relaxed. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the furry tip of a tail. “Murphy?”
A small otter-like creature peeked around the corner. His nails tapped against the floor as he bounded toward her, tail twitching behind him. She knelt, and he jumped into her arms.
“I don’t know why you keep that thing,” ó Connor muttered. “Four people were killed by dobhar-chús last month!”
She nuzzled her nose into the beast’s soft brown fur. Her heart warmed as his head pressed against hers. “Murphy wouldn’t hurt a fly. Besides, the kitchen gives me enough meat to keep him more than happy.”
“You know, he won’t stay that small forever.”
“And he will be just as cute when he’s fully grown.” She smiled at the creature, scratching his ear.
It was true, when she first took Murphy in a few weeks earlier, his future size hadn’t been her most pressing concern.
When Clía had been warned to avoid the lake right outside the palace grounds before her usual morning walk—álainndoran warriors had just killed a mated pair of dobhar-chús that had attacked a villager a few days before.
However, she didn’t change her path, and when she arrived at the water, she noticed Murphy huddled by the rocks on the shore.
His small form shook with the waves that crashed into him; he was nothing like the ferocious monsters she had been warned about.
He was all alone, and his big black eyes seemed so sad. She couldn’t leave him there.
ó Connor shook his head, brushing his thin, pale hair off his forehead. “Now, what were you up to before you decided to listen to my confidential report?”
“A conversation with the queen.” She sighed and turned down a corridor. “She wanted to go through the plan for Domhnall’s arrival once more.”
He paused, angling his head. “Are you not excited for his visit?”
“I enjoy seeing Domhnall. I am, however, less excited about everything else,” she admitted.
Spending time with anyone except ó Connor, and maybe Sárait, was a challenge for her.
But she had known Domhnall for so long that things felt .
. . not exactly easy, but certainly less exhausting.
She didn’t have to pretend so much. She played along with his foolish games in court and, in return, had found a trustworthy ally with a dedication to his kingdom to match her own.
“Do you not wish for the engagement?” ó Connor asked.
Clía shook her head. “Domhnall is a good friend; marrying him is more than I could ever want for myself. We would be happy, even if not in love. And who knows what time would bring us. I’m more worried about tomorrow—Mother said it must go ‘wonderfully,’ but there are so many opportunities for something to go wrong.
” The words she had kept clamped inside started pouring out of her, and she didn’t know how to make them stop.
But this was ó Connor. More than anyone, she could trust him with her fears.
“I could ruin this for them. For everyone, if it’s not perfect. ”
“You couldn’t ruin anything. Not truly.” It was said with a blind support that only family could have, but Clía desperately wanted to believe him. “Besides, your mother said it must go wonderfully, not that it has to be perfect.”
“I don’t see how one could be possible without the other,” Clía confessed.
His hand fell on her shoulder, turning her toward him.
“Perfection isn’t something you can plan, but instead what happens when you accept what you can’t control.
” A gentle smile graced his face, the same smile he would always give her when it seemed like the world was too much.
It was calm and reassuring, a reminder that she wasn’t alone.
“You can’t force a moment to be something it doesn’t want to be, and you should never risk ruining what you can have by constantly striving for something that will always remain out of your grasp. ”
His words made sense, even if her mind was insisting they were wrong. She nodded. “I understand.”
He shook his head, but the motion held no judgment. “I’m not quite sure that you do, but in the spirit of the upcoming celebration, I won’t push you. For now, you should rest. You have an important day ahead of you.”