Chapter 14: A grand procession

Just in time for the deadline imposed by King Evert, the preparations were complete.

As her escort traveled through the streets of Dovelan, Annalise waved from her carriage at the people lining the street. They cheered when they saw her and threw dried flowers and sweet-smelling herbs. The mood was genuinely cheerful and a welcome contrast to the forced cheer and stiff goodbyes that had occurred earlier as she said farewell to her father and the Dovean court. 

There, in the castle courtyard, Annalise had gotten the sense that her father and courtiers were more relieved to see her go than actually wishing her well. She suspected that the pomp and circumstance of the procession was also for the benefit of the Rhinneans traveling with them—so they could report back on the Dovean might and perhaps make their king think twice about any potential future aggression between the kingdoms.

Up ahead, Soren led a company of fifty men on horseback, riding at the front of the column on a great chestnut mare with a brilliant white blaze. The gear and trappings of the soldiers and their horses were oiled and polished to a high sheen. In the middle of the mass of men was Annalise’s carriage, followed by several wagons laden with her trousseau—everything she would need to start life as the new queen of Rhinnea, as well as a dowry her father insisted on sending as well. King Evert was many things, and while prideful was one of his top qualities, cunning was another, and he never passed up the chance to flaunt his kingdom’s wealth and might. 

To call her dowry and trousseau substantial would be a gross understatement. King Evert doubled the value of the Rhinneans’ bride price for her dowry, and as she’d watched the jewels, furs, and expensive fabrics packed away, Annalise had tried not to flinch at the great expense being lavished on her. 

After a quick mental calculation, she estimated that the money spent on her things could have fed all the orphans and poor in Dovea for several months, if not years, and the fact that the entire production was more to soothe her father’s pride than anything else made her skin itch. Nevertheless, she continued waving from her carriage, a smile pasted on her unmasked face so her people could see her one last time. “If they knew how much the items in this procession were really worth, they’d surely swap those flowers for rotten food and handkerchiefs for pitchforks,” she said through clenched teeth. 

“We’ve already discussed this, Your Highness, but need I remind you that you’re the Crown Princess? Don’t you dare feel bad. If anything, it’s shameful that your father married you off with hardly any protest, especially when he doesn’t have another heir, and with Larken so early in her pregnancy that she’s barely showing. Your birthright should be your own kingdom, not some foreign crown a man deigns to bestow on your head,” Priscilla huffed as she continued her embroidery.  

“It’s just a frightful expense.” 

“And rightfully so. Surely your governess told you about the role of the trousseau when you were younger. It’s your things and your money, meant to keep you in comfort and wealth even if the man you marry keeps a tight purse. It’s a sign of the esteem of your people. Your dowry is the same. Anything less than the best could put you in a precarious position in your new home.” 

“In that case, I’m surprised my father didn’t send me off with a moldy crust of bread and a few ripped blankets.” Annalise bit her tongue when Priscilla’s hands stilled; she hadn’t meant to sound so bitter, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself. After so many years of living behind a mask and being treated like a furnishing, albeit a mysterious and dangerous one, occasionally the anger at her mistreatment bubbled up too fast for her to keep it tamped down. She braced herself for Priscilla to speak the reproachful words that she deserved to hear.

“Your Highness, your people love you. Surely you know that,” Priscilla said. Annalise leaned back in her chair for a moment as the carriage passed through the city gates, surprised at the softness in her maid’s tone. “The Dovean court may be one thing—the people who hang around your father seem to be all too willing to accept his mercurial degrees and prejudices as if it were their own, but your kingdom’s people sing your praises far and wide. How many times have we received bouquets of wildflowers, or fresh farmers’ honey, or other gifts from your subjects when we leave the castle for town?” 

“I don’t see how; I’m poisonous. Dangerous to everyone around me. My father may fancy himself the Serpent King, but everyone knows that I’m the real snake.” 

“Perhaps you are, but you are also kind and loving and compassionate to anyone whose path you cross. It’s no wonder your father wants to get rid of you; if he were to lock you up any more I fear there would be a revolt.” 

“Revolt?” Annalise snorted. “The people can hardly feed themselves with the taxes levied on them to fund his court and keep his army strong despite the years of peace. I’ve been into town and seen their sunken eyes and thin faces; it takes energy to revolt, and they barely have energy to live.” Her father had never liked her visits, but had fortunately never forbidden them. As long as she was willing to weather his bad temper for a few days she could go, and the warmth she felt at seeing the faces of her fellow Doveans light up as she handed out food baskets, and the gratefulness of the guilds when she dropped off herbs and fabrics more than made up for a few evenings of extra iciness and cutting words from the king. 

“Anger also gives people energy, as does hope.” Priscilla looked up from her embroidery and pinned Annalise with her dark eyes. “Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but this is something you must hear. Your presence gives them hope, Your Highness. If something happened to you, I think their anger would burn far brighter than you give them credit for. The castle is one thing, but your presence in Dovelan will be greatly missed. The people may fear your father, but they love you. I know you don’t want a war; none of us do, but your father is a fool if he hasn’t thought of this or considered how marrying you off to a rival kingdom might make it harder to maintain his grip on the throne when aggression breaks out again… or how if something happens to you, it may be like a spark on dry kindling, a fire to direct towards whoever was at fault.” 

Priscilla returned her focus to her embroidery and started to hum, and Annalise didn’t make any further conversation, keeping gaze on the crowd lining the country road as they exited the city gates. She was still on edge, but at least her hands had steadied as she waved. It felt odd to know that people cared about what happened to her. For so long she’d lived assuming that beyond Priscilla, no one cared if she lived or died. 

To think otherwise was nearly impossible.