Daphene and Lethea spent the entire ride to the royal hunting grounds trying to wheedle a few words from her, asking her what her parents wanted and what the status of her engagement was. But Adale merely pressed her lips together and refused to look any of them in the face until they grew bored and gave up.
The party met at the usual place just within the borders of the hunting grounds. The royal huntsman and his dogs were waiting to direct the nobles to their quarry, a stag that he had been tracking for the past few days. But Adale found that she could not focus on his words today. All that her parents had said to her was running through her mind.
The Ieflarian nobility was relatively new, for Ieflaria had been a territory of the Xytan Empire until a mere three hundred years ago, when the empire’s power had waned enough for its outermost territories to declare their independence. Adale’s ancestors had been the first regents of Ieflaria, and had sworn they would rule very differently from the Xytan emperors.
The result was the very philosophy that her parents had shared with her that morning. Adale had heard endless variations on it throughout her childhood, but it had always seemed so abstract, until today.
Theodoar seemed to notice her distraction and pulled his horse up alongside her to prod her boot with his own, which of course began a subtle kicking fight, but Adale was smiling by the end of it.
The hunt began, and for a while, all was leisurely and pleasant. Theodoar rode by her side, speaking of all the things Adale needed to hear—namely, everything that wasn’t a wedding or a princess.
But soon enough, the forest warmed under the slowly rising sun and the gossip began in earnest.
“Crown Princess!” sang out Lady Brigit, and Adale flinched at the sound of her new title. “Is it true that your fiancée gave ten thousand gold pieces to the temple yesterday?”
“I’ve no fiancée yet,” retorted Adale. Her chest suddenly felt odd, constricted. She was having difficulty breathing. “And what she does with her money is her own concern.”
“It was not ten thousand when you told it this morning, Brigit,” called Lord Baldric from somewhere in the rear.
“I forgot!” huffed Lady Brigit. “That’s why I was asking!”
“I’ve only spoken to her once,” said Adale, keeping her gaze locked upon the forest path ahead. Her breath was short and shallow, her palms drenching the leather reins in sweat. “She told me nothing of her plans to pay tribute.”
“Then what did you speak of?” Brigit called, prompting much laughter from the party. “Come, Adale, you have told us nothing! Do you wish us to go mad from wondering?”
Up until that moment, Adale had always enjoyed the openness and informality of the nobles she’d chosen to associate herself with, and the fact that such behavior would scandalize her parents had only been part of the appeal. Her social group was made up almost entirely of second-, third-, or even fourth-born children of the Ieflarian nobility. With no titles to inherit unless four or five people died in rapid succession and no significant obligations upon any given day of the year, they spent their time roaming from city to city, enjoying their parents’ wealth and accomplishing nothing of note. It was a life Adale had always loved, and the fact that she commanded little respect had never bothered her until this moment.
“I say nothing because there is nothing to say,” said Adale at last. “She is still a stranger to me.” Perhaps she always would be. Perhaps it would be easier that way.
“Did you not invite her today?” asked Gauslen. Gauslen was a neutroi and used the title “Noble” rather than Lord or Lady.
“I did,” said Adale. “But she has only just arrived, and declined the invitation.”
“That’s a pity,” sighed Brigit from somewhere nearby. “I think her figure would benefit from a day upon horseback.”
It was a relief to finally have something to yell about.
“Brigit!” snapped Adale. “I’ll tolerate your stupid questions because I know you lack the wit to keep them to yourself, but you have no right to insult Esofi! She has done more for the benefit of Ieflaria in these past three days than you have in your entire life!”
“I am only speaking the truth!” retorted Brigit. “Does she not remind you of a tiered cake?” There was some tittering from the back at these words. “Besides, even if she was Dayluue given mortal form, her temperament is not at all suited for yours. She will drive you mad! Perhaps you ought to leave her to one of your cousins.”
“And then abdicate entirely and live out my life with you ruffians?” asked Adale darkly. She had occasionally joked darkly about the possibility, before she had known her parents had objections to her cousins. Now it seemed she was even more trapped than ever before.
“Only if my princess wished it,” Brigit said with a dramatic toss of her braids. “And you do wish it, do you not?”
Adale looked at Theodoar for help. Besides Albion, there was no one who had ever known her mind as well as him. But he only shrugged.
“It would certainly be more satisfying than ruling Ieflaria,” he said. But before Adale could respond, the horns sounded and the chase began. In that moment, Adale forgot everything, save for the thrill of the gallop and the crying of the hounds.
Soon enough, the hunters had the stag at bay. The hounds were restrained to keep them from stealing the day’s kill, and Adale dismounted and drew her sword. As the highest-ranking member of the party, it was her right to make the kill or grant it to another. Today, there was nobody in the party that she didn’t feel like kicking in the head, and so she chose to keep it for herself.
Once the stag was dead, the huntsman came forward to help her finish cutting the carcass into pieces. The meat would be delivered to the kitchens, and the rest would be made into trophies. Adale fed a few small pieces of meat to the dogs as a reward for their help.
Adale remounted and let her thoughts wander as the others gossiped and shouted to one another. She wasn’t looking forward to returning home tonight and wished that she could make a rapid excursion to the countryside without her parents ordering her home to court Esofi properly.
It wasn’t that Adale disliked Esofi; she didn’t know her well enough for that. From the little she had seen, Esofi struck her as very formal but also very gentle. Yes, she was not as thin or as tall as the average Ieflarian, but Adale did not think that was a bad thing. She looked warm, Adale decided, for lack of a better descriptor. Warm and soft.
But Esofi seemed to represent everything Adale had never wanted. Her only consolation was that Esofi probably didn’t want her, either.
Maybe the princess could be convinced to marry one of her cousins. Her parents wouldn’t like it, but they just weren’t being reasonable. Yes, the twins could not be accused of being kind, but surely that was secondary to competence? Her parents claimed Adale was capable of rising to her station, but parents always overestimated the qualities of their children, didn’t they? Adale felt a twinge of confidence return. She knew herself better than anyone else. She knew her cousins would be better regents, if only by default.
Adale rode slowly on the way back to the castle, with only Theodoar beside her. At some point, someone broke out the flasks, but Adale found that she wasn’t inclined to drink that night. Her friends went on ahead, laughing and screeching into the dusk.
“What do you think?” asked Adale quietly.
“I think you’re already miserable,” said Theodoar. “Imagine how much worse it will be once you are married.”
“That is not helpful, Theodoar!” Adale snapped.