Earning the Love of a Princess-Chapter 121: No Match for a Vixen

23 July, 1359. Magdaline Castle, Islia.

William stood alongside his cousins in the grand reception hall, flanking King Edward’s gilded throne upon its dais. Another bout of endless standing around and waiting for the arrival of yet another honoured guest.

The last time he’d been forced to stand like this was when the court had been awaiting Princess Sarai of Havietten. William recalled with grim humour how he had dreaded her visit. And yet, he now found himself dreading this guest just as much, if not more.

King Kenneth of Moraigth was visiting, without his queen, as an honoured participant of his niece’s upcoming wedding. Some said it was because the queen was expecting another child and couldn’t travel, others said it was because the king wanted to indulge his numerous appetites without a wife wringing complaints over his head.

Camilla had been dismayed when King Edward had confirmed her uncle would be spending several weeks, not days, at the Islian court. But, like many other things about the wedding, this was out of her control. The bride and groom were expected to simply play their parts without question. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

At last, King Kenneth’s arrival was announced with a blast of trumpets. The man himself marched into the hall and up to the dais, his ornate fur lined cloak sweeping behind him. King Edward stood and the two monarchs locked stares, each nodding their heads in the same precise amounts to show their equal status as anointed kings.

"My brother of Moraigth, a pleasure to welcome you back after so many years of absence." King Edward’s deep voice almost sounded sincere.

"Indeed, brother. I am glad to return, especially for such a blessed occasion." King Kenneth replied, his eyes scouring the men standing next to the throne.

William was standing next to Princes Leo and Rufus, both Tom and James having been struck down by illness. Both of his cousins inched away from him slightly.

Bastards, William thought to himself.

"So then, who is the boy willing to marry my niece, that I’ll soon be embracing as kin?" Kenneth gravelled, placing heavy emphasis on the word ’boy’.

"That would be William here, son of my late brother Johan." William felt his uncle clap him lightly on the shoulder. "I believe he visited your court some years ago, when Johan was my greatest diplomatic negotiator."

William duly bowed to King Kenneth, who was staring back at him as one might stare at mud on his shoe.

"Ah yes, I remember. Back then, the lad barely looked old enough to be separated from his mother’s breast. I see little has changed." Kenneth’s gaze was dismissive. "How old are you now, boy?"

"Nineteen, Sire." William replied stonily.

Kenneth snorted and commented to Edward, "Poor boy. My niece will run rings around him."

William felt his face flushing at the insult but bit his tongue. Instead, he studied the lumbering giant in front of him.

The years hadn’t been kind to the Moraigthian king. Kenneth’s bloodshot eyes and ruddy complexion spoke of a man who enjoyed his cups too much. His reddish beard was heavily streaked with grey and deep hollows marred his cheeks.

Kenneth leaned forward towards William and his voice dropped conspiratorially, as if he wanted to share a secret with the young man.

"It’s not your fault, boy. My niece is devious little vixen. How could she be anything else when she has her father’s treacherous blood in her veins? So I advise you to watch your back around her. Give her no power beyond being your broodmare." Kenneth bared his jagged yellow teeth in a smile.

William nodded stiffly, trying to hide his distaste for the man.

"And where is my niece now? I’d like to speak with the little bride-to-be." Kenneth rumbled as he was settled into a gilded chair draped in furs and silks at King Edward’s right hand. The three princes weren’t invited by Kenneth to sit down and so had to remain awkwardly on their feet.

"The princess will meet you at tonight’s dinner as previously planned, Sire." William murmured, knowing Camilla had no wish to cross paths with her uncle more than the bare minimum.

"No, she will meet with me now." King Kenneth snapped as he swiped a wine goblet from a tray being meekly presented by a servant. Draining the contents in a single gulp as if it were water, Kenneth grabbed a second goblet. "I haven’t seen the girl for at least five years. It would be good for us to become reacquainted."

With a flick of his hand and a few short words, King Edward sent one of the servants with a message for Princess Camilla, letting her know her presence was urgently required.

William gritted his teeth when he saw her enter the room a few minutes later and bow before the two kings. Camilla’s face was placid but William could see the tension in the set of her shoulders.

It was Kenneth’s reaction, however, that was the most confounding. The man’s face blanched white when he saw his niece and the goblet he’d been holding clattered to the floor noisily. He bolted upright in his chair.

"Isabella?" he rasped, his eyes widening and a shocked, almost hopeful smile spreading across his face. "You’re back. Is it really you?" He half lifted his burly frame from his seat.

William gaped at the Moraigthian king, holding his breath. What the hell was the man imagining? Was his sanity gone?

Everyone around him seemed equally frozen with shock. Even King Edward seemed unsure of what to say at the mention of a long dead woman.

"No, uncle. It is I, Camilla." the princess replied flatly as she rose from her bow, seemingly the only person in the room unphased by Kenneth’s reaction. She met her uncle’s gaze, her face expressionless.

The strange gleam in Kenneth’s eyes slowly died as he stared harder at the girl before him. "Yes, so it is." His face clouded in disappointment and he slumped back in his seat, hands folded across his protruding belly.

- - -

The dinner banquet that night was a spectacular affair. An army of servants attended to the visiting king’s every whim. A gilded chair identical to King Edward’s had been set up at the royal high table so that both kings could dine side by side.

William watched in disgust as King Kenneth emptied cup after cup of wine during the meal, his manners coarse and his speech vulgar even in the presence of royal ladies.

In the end however, he wasn’t much bothered by the presence of an uncouth boor at court for the next few weeks.

It was Kenneth’s later actions however, that sent a chill down William’s spine.

As the plates were eventually cleared and the musicians began to play, Kenneth sat back and watched the activity as couples danced, his eyes skimming over various court ladies.

Nothing unexpected from a famous lecher, thought William. The king’s hungry eye however, was soon fixed on a single lady in a cream coloured gown. He continued to stare at her as if he’d ravish her on the spot.

His own niece.

William swallowed in revulsion, trying to tell himself Kenneth was probably just suffering from muddled thoughts due to being drunk.

The king’s next words erased all doubt.

Kenneth leaned over and casually whispered to William, "You realise she’s not actually my niece, don’t you?"

"Sire?"

"Camilla. We share no kinship. Not a drop of the Stephenson royal blood runs through her veins." Kenneth took another gulp of wine and waved for a refill.

"I don’t understand..." William choked out.

"Her father wasn’t my brother at all. Robert’s mother was my father’s second wife, she was both a witch and a whore. Robert was some bastard baby she foisted onto my poor unsuspecting father."

William almost burst out laughing at the ridiculous claim. Anyone who had met the late duke would instantly know him as the king’s brother. The two men had the same red hair and angular features. There was no way that the duke hadn’t been a Stephenson through and through.

Yet King Kenneth’s tone was deadly serious.

"My lord, surely you jest. I met the duke and the resemblance between the two of you is extraordinary-" William’s protests were cut off.

"She’s not my niece!" Kenneth smiled as he watched Camilla being led across the dance floor by Robin Sainsbury. "She’s a pretty thing, though. And she must miss her homeland. I’m sure she’d be very appreciative if I allowed her to come home instead of having to live the rest of her life in exile."

"I’m sorry Sire, but she’s my betrothed. She belongs here." William hissed, dread rising in his belly.

"Betrothals can be broken, especially if the lady is discovered to be...unchaste." Kenneth’s smile was predatory. "For now, she remains my subject. I command her, body and soul. Perhaps she just needs to be shown the benefits of having a man, a real man, in her life. Not a mere child."

William felt his head pound with fear. He needed to warn Camilla urgently.