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They sat at a stone table on a terrace on the castle’s south side. It wasn’t exactly concealed, but it was in an out of the way spot where no one was likely to stumble over them. Leeana suspected that Marthya would have been officially horrified at the thought of her creeping off all alone for an “assignation,” but her maid’s reaction was the last thing on her mind.
She felt horribly embarrassed—not at finding herself alone with Bahzell, but for having so little control that she’d been unable to hide her distress from him in the first place. Now she gazed out over the terrace, studying the formal garden below it, and prayed he didn’t think she was as foolish and fluttering as she felt.
He simply sat there, on the far side of the table from her, looming like some sort of ogre, but with a calm, unjudging expression and patient brown eyes. He seemed prepared to wait until high summer, if that was how long it took, and she managed to smile more naturally at him as he neither pressed her to begin nor filled her silence with assurances that “everything will be all right, little girl.”
“I’m sorry, Prince Bahzell,” she said finally. “I’m afraid I must seem pretty silly, carrying on this way.”
“I’ll not say someone as I have to be prying every word out of with a crowbar is ’carrying on,’ “ he told her, with a slow, answering smile. “Upset and unhappy, aye, that I’ll grant. But as for the rest—”
He shrugged.
“I think we have different definitions of ’carrying on,’ “ she said, but she felt herself relax further, even so. “I don’t usually get this upset,” she continued. “But Father’s had some news that … took me by surprise.” She felt her lips tremble again and forced them to be still.
“Aye, I thought as much,” he said as she paused once more.
“It’s just that I always thought there’d be more … warning,” she said. “I never expected it to just come out of nowhere this way.”
“What, lass?” he asked quietly.
“A formal offer of marriage,” she told him. She looked away as she spoke and so missed the flicker in his eyes and the brief twitch of his ears.
“Marriage, is it?” he said after a moment, his deep, rumbling voice no more than merely thoughtful. “I’m thinking you’re a mite young for such as that.”
“Young?” She turned back to him, her expression surprised. “Half of the noble girls I know were betrothed by the time they were eleven or twelve years old, Prince Bahzell. It’s not unheard of for us to be betrothed before we’re out of our cradles, for that matter! And at least half of us are married by the time we’re fifteen or sixteen.”
Bahzell started to say something, then visibly made himself stop. He gazed at her for a few seconds, then shook his head.
“I suppose I should be remembering the difference betwixt humans and hradani,” he said slowly. “I hope you’ll not take this wrongly, but amongst my folk a lass your age would be little more than a babe.” Something besides distress flashed in her jade eyes at that, and he shook his head quickly. “I’m not so very much more than that myself,” he told her. “I’m but thirty-nine, and that’s no more than a warrior of eighteen or nineteen years—your cousin Trianal’s age—amongst your folk.”
Leeana blinked, then cocked her head.
“Really?” she asked.
“Oh, aye.” He nodded, then chuckled. “Or were you thinking a man as had come to what you might be calling mature judgment would be after flinging himself into all the harebrained, never-a-thought scrapes Brandark keeps putting into that curst song of his?”
The question surprised a giggle out of her even through her misery, and she shook her head.
“I … hadn’t thought about it that way.”
“Aye, and my da would be saying as I hadn’t, either—thought about it, I mean. Which, as he’d be pointing out, is by the way of explaining how I come to keep ending up in ’em.”
She giggled again, louder, and he nodded in approval.
“Better, lass,” he approved. “And now that we’ve established, in a ma
“I don’t even know him,” Leeana said. “Not personally, at any rate. Not that that’s so unusual in cases like this.” She paused, then continued in the voice of one determined to be as dispassionately accurate as possible. “Actually, it is unusual. Normally, a man would at least want to meet his potential fiancee before he asks for her hand. And to be fair, most parents would at least insist that their daughter meet him before they even considered accepting the offer.”
“But you’ve not met this fellow?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, I’m naught but a poor, simple hradani, but it’s in my mind that a man as hasn’t even met a lass has no business proposing marriage to her.”
“Oh, I couldn’t agree more!” she said forcefully. “And neither, for that matter, could Father and Mother. Unfortunately, it’s not quite that simple, Prince Bahzell.”
“And why not?” he asked.
“Oh, for dozens of reasons,” she sighed, sitting back on the bench across the table from him. “The fact that Father has no male heir. The fact that Mother can’t have more children. The fact that the entire Royal Council hates the thought that the succession hasn’t yet been secured by a male heir … which would have to be a son of mine. And,” she looked at him very levelly, “by the fact that this is one more weapon for his political enemies to use against him.”
“Aye?” It was his turn to lean back on the bench, his expression thoughtful, and she nodded.
“I … think I know who’s really behind this offer,” she said, “and he’s no friend of Father’s.”
“So you’re thinking as how he’s after pushing an offer as he knows your father won’t accept so very happily as a way to be putting still more pressure on him before the Council?”
“That’s exactly what I think, Prince Bahzell,” Leeana said flatly.
“Well,” he said after a moment, “I can see where such as that might be in his mind. Mind you, I’d not like to have a mind like that, but that’s not to say as how I can’t be seeing how it works. But I’ve come to know your father pretty well, too, lass.” He shook his head. “That’s not a man as gives in under pressure, and especially not where those as hold his heart in their hands are concerned.”
Leeana blinked again on sudden tears, then gave him a misty smile.
“No, he isn’t,” she agreed. “But sometimes that’s a dangerous quality in a nobleman. One enemies can use against him.”
“I can see as how those who’re thinking as how this marriage would be a good thing could be pressing him to say aye to it,” Bahzell said. “But surely the decision’s after being his, not theirs, when all’s said.”
“Normally,” she said, and her smile turned bitter. “But you’re forgetting whose daughter—whose only daughter—I am. As Father’s liege lord, the King has the power to require him to secure the succession.” Bahzell stiffened, and she shrugged. “I don’t like it, but I have to admit I can understand why the law gives His Majesty that prerogative. The King literally can’t afford to have the titles and lands of such a powerful noble fall into dispute.” She managed a chuckle that sounded almost genuine. “It can be a bit hard on the occasional only daughter, I suppose. But in the final analysis, one or two unhappy marriages are a small price to pay for the stability of the Kingdom.”
“That I didn’t know,” Bahzell admitted. He sat thinking for several seconds, then grimaced. “I’d no notion the law gave your King such power as that. Still and all, I’m thinking as how Markhos wouldn’t be so very happy to be pressuring your da on a matter such as this. There’s naught I can think of as would be more likely to drive your father into things the King wouldn’t care to see him driven to.”