Chapter 2
When his mother shoved him and tore off his bed sheet, Riven startled awake.
“Riven Albert David Helmworthy. You are a disgrace to your crown and kingdom. Get up and get dressed.”
Riven wiped last night’s revelry from his eyes and tried to focus on his room in the brightness of day. “Where is Phillippe?”
“Nursing his head from too much ale.”
In answer to his unspoken question about who would help dress him, his mother the queen tossed his braise and tunic at him.
“You have an important guest downstairs—the enchantress. The bells have rung midday and yet here you are, abed with what I can only assume is also a headache from too much ale.”
The enchantress was here. That snapped him awake faster than anything else ever would.
But which one? Tilisandre, Goddess of River Waters and Spring Rains, whose hair held all the colors of sunrise?
Whose eyes were all the colors of springtime meadows?
Tilisandre, who giggled wondrously at his jokes and blushed furiously at his winks?
Beautiful, gentle, enchanting Tilisandre, who gifted him his magical mandolin in exchange for a mere kiss so that he might bring joy and music to the world?
Or Brumenhildr, her older sister, whose hair was the color of anger and whose eyes were the color of punishment? Brumenhildr, who insisted the mandolin come with conditions? Brumenhildr, who gave Riven but one month to complete an impossible task or pay the price?
The request had seemed ridiculous at the time—whether from being mesmerized by Tilisandre, overly plied with ale, or just outright unbelievable he was unsure. But the promise of another of Tilisandre’s kisses had been enough to distract him into agreeing.
It had not been a full month yet since Brumenhildr’s threat. It must be Tilisandre who visited him. Riven shook his head at his mother’s comment as he shoved his legs into his braise. “I was not drinking.”
She scoffed.
“I was merely playing music.” He spared a few joyful dance steps as he tugged on his royal tunic, then ran his fingers through his hair to unrumple it.
No time to summon a royal treasurer for his crown, so Riven opened the small chest on his desk and pinned a blue brooch at each shoulder, then grabbed his cape off a hook near the door and handed it to his mother, turning his back so she could fasten it to the loops on his tunic.
His mother tugged on his loops harder than the task required. Sarcasm filled her tone. “Of course you were. Thou art naught more than a wastrel like your brother. I should expect nothing less or more from you.”
“Half-brother,” he bristled, hating the despairing commentary regarding Luc that had plagued him his entire life.
“And I am nothing like him. I was out playing delightful music,” he insisted.
“At The Muddy Toad tavern. I was there all night.” He pointed his chin at the mandolin.
“Playing on that.” He pretended to strum the instrument in midair.
She gasped and flung him around to stare at him like she’d never seen his kind before. “For coin?”
He shook his head again as he dropped his hands.
“No, Mother. For pleasant diversion. I am told I have quite a talent for the mandolin.” Of course, playing on a magical instrument ensured he could only succeed in his endeavors.
And what success he claimed! By his second song, every foot in the tavern stomped rhythmically, every voice aided his chorus, and tankards of ale landed before him all the night long to wet his whistle.
Smiles and happiness filled the air until the walls nigh stretched to contain it all.
Bliss. Joy and bliss for hours without end.
“May the Lord save me from my irresponsible son,” she muttered as she roughly smoothed out the creases in his cape, but Riven heard her.
“I would be completely responsible if I were allowed to control but a single task!” Riven bellowed and locked his eyes on hers.
“You allow me no latitude to fill my role here. Whenever I broach the subject, Father tells me to wait my turn, though I am not next in line, Mother, am I? No, Father’s firstborn son is.
My head fills with ideas, yet I am forbidden to act upon them. ”
“You are not the head of this castle.”
“And at this rate, I never will be. So does that mean I am expected to sit in a corner with my nose in a book collecting dust until Father and Luc are both dead? I have more determination and imagination than that.”
“You could find much useful employment within these gates. Lead the guard. Study the stars in the heavens. Tutor more of your father’s squires.”
“To what end? I wish to build something to outlast me, but Father forbids me from spending royal coinage or getting dirt on my fingers. So instead, I play. I do no harm and bring nothing but happiness to our people. Is that not an admirable trait for nobility?” Considering how his father ruled and how cruel Luc was to everyone around him, Riven thought it a vast improvement.
Adding in the fact his parents spent their days at each other’s throats, a pursuit of inner peace and happiness was all that mattered to Riven.
The queen’s eyes narrowed. “Admirable is being ready for guests, expected or not. Admirable is finding a suitable wife from the dozens you have met this season. Admirable is showing this kingdom that you fully intend to honor your princely duties.”
“I will marry a suitable woman when I meet her, one who favors me for who I am and not for the position to which I can elevate her.”
His mother scoffed. “One marriage is the same as any other.”
“Only someone truly miserable in their arrangement would declare that.”
Now his mother’s eyes shot fire. “I shall inform the enchantress you will be down in precisely two minutes. Do not make a liar out of me.” She held his eyes another few seconds before departing his chambers.
He would not. Riven finished hastily, ensuring himself well decorated before he exited his chamber.
If only he knew which enchantress awaited him.