Read Online Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy by Ethan Risso - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ethan Risso
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have ever met, yet I somehow remember you from childhood. Why?”
“You do not remember me?”
“So then, we have met before?”
Before Ceridwen could answer, Rodric opened the door. “Gawain, I need to speak with you.”
Ceridwen covered Connor’s wound with the blanket and stood from his bedside. “Rodric, you do not enter into a room in this castle without announcing your presence.”
“And you do not speak to me in such a manner. I am Duke of Gweliwch. What are you? You are a servant.”
“I may be a servant, but I have no Hume master. I serve She and She alone. Leave this room now before I have the guards escort you.”
“You do not have such authority,” Rodric scoffed.
“You have no comprehension of my authority.”
“Come, Father.” Gawain stood between them. “We are needed in the main hall for the ceremony.”
“Yes, let us take our leave.”
As Gawain and his father walked, he could not help but feel angry. He wanted to hear Ceridwen’s answer, and if his father had not burst into the room, he would have received it. He only vaguely remembered her, but he had assumed that it was a false memory. Ceridwen’s response dictated otherwise.
Bronwen looked down at the courtyard from her bedroom window as Lady Rhiannon and her party left through the main gate. Before her father informed her of the marriage to the high king, she never thought she would lay eyes upon the Meïnir. They stayed far from the borders of Annwyd, hidden away in their forests. The horrible tales of their heathen ways terrified her, and she found it hard to forget the images her young mind painted. She turned her eyes away, lest they cast some spell upon her. She had no desire to be stolen away to the land of the faeries.
Dressed only in her shift, she wrapped a blanket around herself to keep warm as she surveyed her room. Cærwyn was hardly a suitable place for her to call home. And this room…so plain. It was far different from Castle Rotham. There, she had a lavish dwelling and many servants. She had been led to believe she would have the same appurtenances here, but she found few.
Bronwen shuddered at the thought of her wedding night. Her nursemaid, Mara, told her awful tales of the pain she would experience. A pious girl, Bronwen did not speak of such things, and had no knowledge of them. Mara had given her a small vile of blood from the slaughterhouse and explained if her new husband could not consummate the marriage, the blame would fall upon Bronwen. Such a thing could render the marriage invalid. If that were the case, she was to sprinkle the blood over the sheets to provide evidence of consummation for the morning, when Father Andras would inspect the bed.
“She is to marry the high king?”
Bronwen felt a chill dance up her spine as she recalled, all too well, her brother’s shrill question. Though nearing manhood, now in his thirteenth year, Madoc was still full of childish inclinations.
Again, she gazed wistfully out the window at the sprawling landscape. Several days ago, when they first landed near the abbey at the Northfeld docks, it looked somewhat promising. The landscape was filled with quaint but lively villages surrounded by rolling plains and lush green trees. The promise that initial view provided was short-lived, however. As they traveled south to Castle Cærwyn, they rode through several villages comprised of hovels, at best, that smelled of sewage and the stench of poverty. It was not until they were two days ride to the south that the appearance of larger towns became more frequent.
And this was with which Alric expected to impress his high queen? No, she would only be queen consort and nothing more. To have any power of her own, she must learn, and learn quickly, how to bend the king to her will.
She once again grimaced at the thought of her future husband. He was not an attractive man. In his youth, he may have been quite handsome, but now, his battle-worn face was haggard and
“You do not remember me?”
“So then, we have met before?”
Before Ceridwen could answer, Rodric opened the door. “Gawain, I need to speak with you.”
Ceridwen covered Connor’s wound with the blanket and stood from his bedside. “Rodric, you do not enter into a room in this castle without announcing your presence.”
“And you do not speak to me in such a manner. I am Duke of Gweliwch. What are you? You are a servant.”
“I may be a servant, but I have no Hume master. I serve She and She alone. Leave this room now before I have the guards escort you.”
“You do not have such authority,” Rodric scoffed.
“You have no comprehension of my authority.”
“Come, Father.” Gawain stood between them. “We are needed in the main hall for the ceremony.”
“Yes, let us take our leave.”
As Gawain and his father walked, he could not help but feel angry. He wanted to hear Ceridwen’s answer, and if his father had not burst into the room, he would have received it. He only vaguely remembered her, but he had assumed that it was a false memory. Ceridwen’s response dictated otherwise.
Bronwen looked down at the courtyard from her bedroom window as Lady Rhiannon and her party left through the main gate. Before her father informed her of the marriage to the high king, she never thought she would lay eyes upon the Meïnir. They stayed far from the borders of Annwyd, hidden away in their forests. The horrible tales of their heathen ways terrified her, and she found it hard to forget the images her young mind painted. She turned her eyes away, lest they cast some spell upon her. She had no desire to be stolen away to the land of the faeries.
Dressed only in her shift, she wrapped a blanket around herself to keep warm as she surveyed her room. Cærwyn was hardly a suitable place for her to call home. And this room…so plain. It was far different from Castle Rotham. There, she had a lavish dwelling and many servants. She had been led to believe she would have the same appurtenances here, but she found few.
Bronwen shuddered at the thought of her wedding night. Her nursemaid, Mara, told her awful tales of the pain she would experience. A pious girl, Bronwen did not speak of such things, and had no knowledge of them. Mara had given her a small vile of blood from the slaughterhouse and explained if her new husband could not consummate the marriage, the blame would fall upon Bronwen. Such a thing could render the marriage invalid. If that were the case, she was to sprinkle the blood over the sheets to provide evidence of consummation for the morning, when Father Andras would inspect the bed.
“She is to marry the high king?”
Bronwen felt a chill dance up her spine as she recalled, all too well, her brother’s shrill question. Though nearing manhood, now in his thirteenth year, Madoc was still full of childish inclinations.
Again, she gazed wistfully out the window at the sprawling landscape. Several days ago, when they first landed near the abbey at the Northfeld docks, it looked somewhat promising. The landscape was filled with quaint but lively villages surrounded by rolling plains and lush green trees. The promise that initial view provided was short-lived, however. As they traveled south to Castle Cærwyn, they rode through several villages comprised of hovels, at best, that smelled of sewage and the stench of poverty. It was not until they were two days ride to the south that the appearance of larger towns became more frequent.
And this was with which Alric expected to impress his high queen? No, she would only be queen consort and nothing more. To have any power of her own, she must learn, and learn quickly, how to bend the king to her will.
She once again grimaced at the thought of her future husband. He was not an attractive man. In his youth, he may have been quite handsome, but now, his battle-worn face was haggard and
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