The war had left more scars on the nation than it had Umbra’s body, so she wasn’t surprised that the airship came in 6 hours later than the schedule had claimed. She was more surprised that she was still standing on the platform, bold-lettered sign locked in her fists at either corner, when it arrived. No one had told her she needed to be at the port when Prince Waylon arrived in Graybourne, only that he was to be her lifelong charge forever after. She probably should have left a soldier here in her place and enjoyed her last few hours of freedom at home.
A bit of guilt pricked her insides. That was unfair. No one had forced her into this marriage arrangement. She’d accepted it–maybe only for the promises that came along with it, but still an acceptance. If she was uncomfortable now, it was her fault.
Several men leaped from the ship deck, ropes coiled under their arms. They rushed to knot the tethers to the docking posts as their feet touched the ground. It was complicated to get a ship back in the air once grounded, so most docks were constructed on cliff faces or in Greybourne’s case on towers. This allowed the ship to remain airborne yet steady for boarding and exiting; the same went for inspections and refueling. The only real reason for a ship to land was in case of major repairs.
The plank dropped, and a surge of people rushed onto the platform. Umbra scanned the crowd, with rapid scrutiny. She wished she’d asked for a photograph of her potential husband before the royal family shipped him here. The monarch probably wouldn’t grant her another reward if she lost him on the very first day.
Her gaze shot to the deck where a man with long silvery hair braided crownlike around his forehead and then draped loosely over one shoulder waved over the crowd. Another man, hair-slicked and face creased with a long-suffering frown, reached out to grab him, but the prince was already bounding down the plank. He was more petite than she had expected, his head bobbing in and out of sight as he weaved clumsily through the crowd, bumping shoulders every few steps. As he darted around the last mozying couple, he nearly barreled straight into her chest, but he managed to catch himself just short, tipping up onto his toes in the process.
“Ser Umbra,” he repeated, panting up at her with a broad smile. “I-it’s really you! You came yourself! I really wasn’t expecting to see you straight off the ship! Ryann told me I probably wouldn’t see you until tomorrow morning because of your duties!”
Umbra blinked at him. Her heart felt like it had been seized and clutched hard in her chest.
She’d wondered why the King had suggested Prince Waylon as her groom. It had seemed a very quick choice. She’d figured it was because he was fifth in line for the throne—the royal family wouldn’t marry a soldier to someone who could one day take the crown, no matter how much she’d done for her country. Now, looking at his peeking canines, golden eyes, and long, curling tail, it was abundantly clear this had been a careful act of strategy.
King Esmond had never been shy about taking wives, and as a result, many of his children came from foreign royalty, a way of securing many alliances at once. Not so with the Auskeran princess. Umbra had not yet been born when the marriage took place, but everyone knew that was where the tensions between the two countries had started. With the princess's death.
But now, with the war ended and Auskeran firmly independent from the rest of the world, no foreign alliances were waiting for a half-Auskerian prince. And keeping him around the capital was a liability in itself. His very appearance was a reminder of the recent horrors and a symbol of shame to the King. But he was still of royal blood, and banishments–no matter how merciful–had a habit of coming back to bite. So what did they do? They gave him to a local. Someone high enough to merit such a match but low enough that she couldn’t refuse. Someone who would take all the perks of having a royal spouse as appeasement for the inconvenience of his half-bloodedness.
Still, they had to have known her feelings about such a thing. The war had not ended so many months ago that an Auskerian, even half of one, didn’t bother her. Perhaps that was the very reason they’d said nothing. They wouldn’t want to risk her denial.
“How did you know what I look like?” Umbra said, forcing her clenched jaw apart. He’d picked her out from the crowd on sight. He couldn’t have seen the sign from that distance, could he?
The prince flushed a little. “Father showed me a photograph of the Greybourne division as soon as he told me about the marriage arrangement. He said you’re a general of high standing. You held the eastern front steady for two years before scouting over the border. You won us the war practically singlehanded!”
Umbra was about to explain that it was far more complex than that but Prince Waylon carried on without pause.
“And to think, of all the prestigious matches you could have received, Father chose me! I’ve been showing that photo to everyone for the last month! But it got sort of crumpled from carrying it around too much, so my sister painted your portrait for me as a wedding gift. See?”
He pried open the locket around his neck and leaned forward to show her a very accurate, stoic miniature of her own face. She was dressed in her military uniform, her medal of honor–a medal that she’d really only worn twice, once when it was bestowed and again for a newspaper photo–pinned bold and gleaming to her chest.
“She made one for you too, here!” He fished into his breast pocket and held out a matching bronze locket by its chain.
Umbra watched it swing for a couple moments before she tentatively accepted it. “I, um…” He was staring at her so expectantly what was she supposed to do? She slipped the chain over her head, and the locket settled in the hollow of her chest. “Thank you.”
He continued to stare. Gaze flicking to the locket and back to her face again. He definitely wasn’t subtle.
She picked open the latch and looked vaguely at the companion miniature. “Ah.”
It wasn’t much of a reaction but the prince immediately pounced on it.
“I hope it's ok. I wanted it to be more interesting or at least be smiling, but Isabeau said portraits are supposed to be serious. I’m lucky she let me be as expressive as that.”
“No, no, it’s very nice,” Umbra said. Lied. She hadn’t even noticed whether the portrait had been straight-faced or smiling. She should probably be more excited, or at least appreciative. Princess Isabeau was supposedly a real artistic talent—from the accuracy of her own portrait she had to agree—and her skill mixed with her status, made her paintings some of the most saught after in the kingdom. Now she had one around her neck and she couldn’t even give it a proper enough to look to give a specific detail of praise.
Luckily, Prince Waylon took her words at face value. He noticeably relaxed, and she snapped the locket shut again.
“Prince Waylon!” The other man from the ship shoved out from the crowd, a little more disheveled than he’d been moments ago and lugging two large suitcases. He let the cases drop heavily to the planks and tugged sharply on the ends of his black suit. “A member of the royal family does not fly off like that! You must conduct yourself with decorum! And that means staying with your escort!”
“I was with Ser Umbra, so it was fine,” Prince Waylon said.
The man’s attention flicked toward her, scanning her up and down with an unimpressed expression. As an employee to the royal family why would he be?
“This is Ryann, my escort to Greybourne,” Prince Waylon said. “He’s supposed to return to Ashborough once he sees me settled.
“Ser,” Ryann said with a short bow. “Unfortunately, the royal officiant was delayed, so the wedding will have to be postponed at least a couple weeks. I’m to stay until that point to be another witness.”
Great. The last thing she wanted was time to start overthinking things. She’d wanted this done as quickly as possible. And now, with the prince’s Auskerian features to unsettle her, she wanted it done even faster.
“You both must be tired,” she said, hefting up one of the suitcases. “My car is at the base of the tower. I’ll take you to the house so you can rest.”
“Oh, I’m not that tired–” Waylon began
“You drive?” Ryann interrupted as he grabbed the remaining case. “You don’t have a chauffeur?”
“I have drivers,” Umbra clarified. “For shopping and other errands. I simply prefer the autonomy of driving myself. Don’t worry, I don’t expect Prince Waylon to get along without a chauffeur.”
“Oh, maybe I could learn too?”
“Absolutely not,” Ryann snapped. “You’ll get yourself killed. Besides, who ever heard of royalty driving themselves? You’re not one of the working class.”
Umbra started down the first tower ramp, letting them fall into step beside her. Should she say something? Tell the prince he could try driving if he liked? But her drivers didn’t have time to keep an eye on him and she hadn’t planned on engaging in any extra responsibilities. She also didn’t think there was much point in ruffling the escort further. So she remained quiet.
Prince Waylon didn’t seem to take the denial too hard. He chatted a bit on the way down, pointing out the landscape and buildings as they went. Umbra nodded along, but didn’t listen much; she was more focused on the many glances the prince received from passersby, ranging from curiosity to outright disgust. Ryann must have been aware as well because he kept a protective hand on the prince’s arm the entire way down.
The car waited at the curb for them. A sleek green thing with three steam valves that she’d purchased shortly after the war’s end. It was easier traveling back and forth to the military headquarters this way.
“Here we are.” Umbra popped the door to the trunk, putting away the first suitcase and then taking the second from Ryann.
The escort dusted off his hands, as if the meanialness of the task were a visible smudge on his station. He then stepped back to survey the car’s body. “This is a handsome vehicle.”
Umbra expected it was one of the only words of praise she was going to receive during his stay, but she still couldn’t find it in herself to use it to her advantage. “It does the job.”
“Ser Umbra, can I sit up front with you?” Prince Waylon chirped from the side.
“You’re not going to address me as Ser Umbra our entire marriage, are you?”
His face washed a hot pink. “I wasn’t sure what you preferred.”
“You’re not a part of my regiment. Umbra is fine.”
“Then I’m just Waylon.” He smiled. A sweet, bright-eyed expression that made Umbra’s insides churn like someone was trying to turn them inside out. The officator had better get there fast.
She nodded curtly and circled around to the passenger door, holding it for him as he picked up the ends of his traveling cloak and slid inside. As she closed it behind him, she caught a glimpse of Ryann’s expression before he entered the backseat. Silent approval. Seemed she’d passed whatever test the employee had in mind for vehicle etiquette. She wasn’t look forward to any similar tests. Her rise in the military had granted her a title and a fortune, but she certainly could claim to be as well-bred as anyone in the royal court. Which for many was a sin in itself.
The drive from the port to her small estate lasted only 20 minutes and was mainly quiet. Waylon ooed at every street and building they passed. Umbra couldn’t imagine anything here in Greybourne, a city on the very edge of the kingdom, could surpass Ashborough in all its capital glory. Perhaps he was only trying to be polite. However, as they pulled up the lane to the estate, his nose was almost pressed to the glass.
Now Umbra knew he was being polite. The estate was a sturdy, grey-stoned building with two stories and several acres of surrounding meadow. A garage hid humbly and strategically around the back so as not to ruin the aesthetic view of the front or boast the ownership of two cars. It may have been larger than many of the other homes in Graybourne, and yes, it was rather pretty in the golden hour of evening, but it was nothing compared to the manors in Ashborough let alone the palace. Umbra had been dragged into several parties and ceremonies in the capital after the war’s official end, and extravagant was an understatement.
Waylon clutched his locket and mumbled under his breath. “It’s like a dream.”
A dream? What did princes have to dream about?
Umbra circled the drive and parked directly in front of the large oak front doors. Arlin and Madeline must have been watching from inside–she was impressed they stayed at the ready for the entire 6 hours she had been gone–because they rushed out the front the moment she stepped out of the vehicle.
Arlin opened the passenger door before Umbra could make her way fully around, but to his credit, his surprise only lasted a moment. Raised eyebrows shot back down, parted lips promptly pinned shut, and he bowed his head as Waylon stepped down to the gravel drive.
“Your majesty,” Arlin said, then moved on to Ryann’s door.
In the meantime, Madeline had made quick work of unloading the luggage. The bags seemed oversized compared to her small frame, but she showed no struggle as she carried them around. Her reaction to the prince showed more in an exchange of glances with Arlin than a change of expression.
“Welcome back, Miss,” she said, “we were beginning to worry something had gone wrong.”
“Just a slight delay in the ship’s arrival,” Umbra said, passing the car keys to Arlin, who promptly took the car around to the garage. “Madeline, will you show the prince and his escort to their rooms? They’ve had a long trip, and it’s getting late.”
“Of course, Miss. I’ll let Henrietta and the others know that dinner will be served in the guests’ rooms tonight.”
“Thank you. Only tea for me tonight. Please have it brought to my office.” She didn’t think she could stomach anything else tonight. Maybe a cup of tea would settle some of her more turbulent emotions.
“Oh, Ser– I mean, Umbra,” Waylon said, the end of his tail flicking eagerly. “I’m really not tired, and I’d love to see more of the estate, and talk to you more. Maybe we can go for a walk–that meadow back there looks promising–and I can tell you–”
“My prince,” Ryann said firmly. The prince jolted, looking at Ryann with wide eyes. The escort gave him a subtle shake of his head.
Waylon looked down at the gravel, ears going slightly pink. “My apologies Ser Umbra. I overexcited.”
Oh no, she needed to say something didn’t she? Something smart and smooth that saved the prince’s feelings without backing down from her preference for a quiet night. She hated hosting. She especially the politics that came with it.
“I’d be happy to show you around the grounds tomorrow,” she said, hoping it didn’t sound forced. “The sun is about to go down soon and the view can’t be appreciated so well in the dark. Besides the meadow is riddled with rabbit holes; I wouldn’t want you to misstep and break an ankle.”
“Ah.” He raised his eyes toward her. Luminescence crept in at the corners. Once the sun had gone completely down, those eyes would be completely aglow. “That would be unfortunate. I…look forward to tomorrow then.” It was hard to read whether he believed her. His gaze showed some relief, but the wrap of his tail around his leg still spoke to some embarrassment. Nevertheless, some of his old exuberance slipped through the cracks in his politeness. “It was a joy–no, an honor–to begin making your acquaintance.”
Umbra forced eye contact until he turned away, prompted toward the house by Madeline’s beckoning. A cold feeling had lodged itself in the middle of her chest.
She hoped the officiator would come fast.
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