Earning the Love of a Princess-Chapter 32: Lap of the Gods

8 June, 1358. Magdaline Castle, Islia

William lay back on the soft grass, one arm tucked behind his head. He squinted his eyes against the bright afternoon sunlight, feeling pleasantly drowsy. He and a few of his friends were in the middle of an impromptu picnic in the western gardens. They were accompanied by a handful of ladies, most who William vaguely knew and none of which interested him in the slightest. Their chatter was lulling him to sleep.

He heard Robin’s merry laugh as well as his cousin Tom’s voice teasing one of the ladies about something. Ever since Tom’s betrothal had been announced, the young man had thrown himself headlong into carousing with the ladies, as if trying to deny his upcoming reality. William felt sorry for him, being forced to marry a woman he fiercely disliked. He dreaded the day King Edward started scouting around for his bride. William hated the idea of being shackled by marriage.

Just as he felt himself starting to drift off, he was jolted awake by Richard’s deep voice curtly ordering one of the ladies to slice a pear into wedges for him to eat.

"Are you incapable of cutting your own fruit, Rich?" William’s voice was low and sleepy and he opened one eye to glance at his friend. "You won’t be much good on the battlefield with a sword if you struggle with a knife at a picnic."

All the ladies giggled. Richard however, didn’t seem to find the jest funny. William shrugged. Richard had always treated women as if they should be honoured by his rough attentions. William didn’t agree with that approach and he didn’t think most women did either. He noticed that many of the ladies seemed to spend time around Richard only reluctantly.

Oh well, he thought to himself. It’s not my job to school Rich on how to handle the gentler sex. If he wants to be a boor, good luck to him. William’s eyes drifted closed again.

Muddled half-thoughts floated through his sleep addled mind. Minutes ticked by or it could’ve been hours, William had lost track of time. He felt fingers running through his hair, relaxing him. He vaguely wondered if they belonged to the Moraigthian girl and sighed in contentment at the thought.

His pleasant reverie was interrupted by a woman’s voice, the tone sharp and rude. He blinked, startled.

"Who knows what she spends her time reading? Why does a royal lady even know how to read?" The woman’s voice jolted him fully awake.

Another lady spoke, her voice equally catty. "I heard from Lord Michal that she was was caught in His Majesty’s private library at least once, searching for books on spells."

The first lady replied, her voice annoyingly loud to William. "It wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe she wants to find a spell to raise her rebel father from the dead so he can rescue her from here. I don’t even know why our king wants her at our court. He should hang her as a witch and a traitor."

William shifted, realising his head was resting on something soft. Looking up, he realised his head was on a lady’s lap. How had that happened? It was that lady’s voice that had awoken him. He started to raise his head but the lady’s voice immediately softened to a sickly sweet purr as she rubbed his hair and tried to soothe him. "Apologies for disturbing you, my prince. Go back to resting."

He ignored her and swatted her hand away, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows. Looking around, he saw Princess Camilla walking in the distance while carrying several books, her long wavy hair loose. He remembered Tession mentioning how he’d been letting her borrow his books. The old man had said he was impressed with how quickly she seemed to devour them.

The two ladies nearest him continued their conversation, their hostile eyes focused on the princess. "Look at her, the way she walks and dresses." seethed one of them, "Always trying to draw men’s gazes."

William almost laughed out loud when he saw Camilla’s simple green silk gown. The princess was probably the only lady at court who didn’t deck herself like a peacock in lace and jewels and who barely set foot on the dance floor. She was always courteous to anyone who crossed her path, despite knowing people were suspicious of her because of her father’s actions and because she wasn’t Islian. She did everything to stay quietly in the background and yet these women couldn’t hide their jealousy. Beauty is a curse to some women, he supposed.

As Camilla walked closer, she suddenly looked in his direction. William realised she had just seen him with his head practically buried in another lady’s lap.

Goddamn. Why was his luck so terrible?

Her eyes flicked over him briefly but she kept walking at the same pace. Her expression was untroubled, as if seeing him laying his head on another woman was exactly what she expected from him. She gave him a brief nod, then turned to give a quick friendly smile to Robin and Prince Thomas. Turning a corner into one of the galleries, she was gone.

Richard overheard the ladies and said, "Why are you spending time thinking about that princess? She’s a penniless stray. She’s not even particularly attractive."

Well, we both know that’s a lie, William thought to himself.

The ladies, however, seemed mollified by Richard’s comments. "I agree, Sir Richard. Those eyes of her are so dark and frightening. I much prefer lighter coloured eyes. And it’s indecent how she wears her hair."

William stood up and lazily stretched. The ladies looked up at him in alarm. "Where are you going, Your Grace?"

"I don’t know. Perhaps somewhere I don’t have to hear your bitchy voices criticising a poor girl you haven’t even bothered to get to know." He walked away languidly, not bothering to look back at their stunned faces.