Earning the Love of a Princess-Chapter 58: Constant Change
11 January, 1359. Westerhaven Palace, Islia
The men started to chuckle at Thomas’s statement that he should’ve instead married the Princess of Moraigth.
"Are you serious, Tom?" Rufus scoffed. "Or just blind drunk?"
Thomas shrugged, took another large gulp of sweet wine and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, not caring about staining his exquisitely embroidered velvet outer robe.
"Why ever not?" he mumbled. "It couldn’t have been a worse outcome than where I find myself in now. Father told me to bind myself to a wife for wealth, didn’t he? Seems like Princess Camilla would’ve likely brought me an impressive dowry. She’s also sweet tempered and a beauty. I think we can all agree Eleanor has neither of those qualities." He waved his empty goblet at a passing servant.
All of the men inevitably looked in the direction of the bride, who was now considered a princess of the Royal House of Islia. With her heavyset build and thick dark eyebrows permanently pulled together into a frown, she wasn’t considered at all pleasing to the eye. The new princess’s volatile rages were also infamous.
"I can’t believe I’ll soon have to lie with that creature." Thomas muttered, more to himself than his friends.
"You’d better slow down with the wine or you’ll be incapable of laying anything." Rufus tried to swipe Thomas’s goblet out of his reach and off the table but wasn’t quite fast enough. Thomas managed to grab the wine first and tip the remains down his throat.
"If you had to do what I have to do tonight, you’d drink too, brother."
Thomas then sat up straight and stared right at William with the clarity of a sober man. "Don’t let Father choose your wife, whatever you do. Unless you want to end up as wretched as me. He thinks only with his purse. Nothing else matters to him."
"William will marry where he’s bid, like the rest of us had to. He’s not special." Rufus snapped across the table.
After much pleading and cajoling, the group of young men managed to convince Thomas to stand up and take part in the celebrations at least a little.
However, watching the groom lurch drunkenly to his feet and stagger to the dance floor, William wondered if they wouldn’t have been better off just leaving him alone to finish drowning his sorrows. At least he could cause less damage sitting down.
William’s instincts proved right. He was forced to intervene when he saw Thomas stumbling around and trying to dance with Princess Camilla. Thomas looked red faced and foolish, Camilla looked embarrassed and the bride looked as if she wanted to choke both of them.
"Tom. Come on, brother. You should sit down again." William spoke softly to the drunk man, who looked close to ending up sprawled on the floor and bringing the princess down with him.
"My life is a tragedy." Thomas sobbed almost incoherently, slinging a heavy arm across William’s shoulders. "I’ll give you my entire fortune to trade places with me tonight, Will. You can have Eleanor’s dowry. Just spare me the agony of bedding my wife, I’m begging you."
Camilla’s eyes went wide at Thomas’s scandalous words. "Shhh, my lord!" she whispered, looking around anxiously.
Thomas was past caring. He kept bellowing his woes in a belligerent voice, drawing the attention of several guests. He suddenly lurched forward and after letting go of William, grabbed Camilla around the waist again. The shocked girl gave a little scream.
"I shoulda...married you, Your Grace!" Thomas slurred, pressing her against him. "You woulda...made me happy? Woulda been a...good obe-obe-obedient wife?"
"William, do something!" Camilla hissed in desperation as she tried to pull away.
"Tom. You’re embarrassing us all, including yourself." William’s voice was low but deadly serious. "Have some respect on your wedding day unless you want the full force of the king’s rage."
The mere mention of the king seemed to sober Thomas up a little. He reluctantly loosened his arms around Camilla.
William mouthed an apology to her and she quickly nodded. With effort, William managed to half guide, half drag the groom back to his seat.
He helped Thomas sit at least reasonably upright in the chair and instructed the nearest servant that the groom was only to be served watered wine from then on.
As he walked away, he saw the Princess Eleanor marching towards the bridal high table, looking enraged. He quickly grabbed her by the elbow and steered her away firmly. "Let him be. You have the rest of your life to torment him."
- - -
Queen Celia watched Wlliam lead a stumbling Thomas back to his seat. She slowly stood up to bid her husband good night.
King Edward looked up at her is surprise. "You’re leaving, wife? It’s still early."
"I can’t bear to watch our son’s unhappiness. It breaks my heart."
The king took another look at his wife - her brown hair and forthright expression almost identical to Thomas’s. "Don’t fuss. The lad will be alright, once he sobers up and stops making himself a laughingstock. It’s time for him to assume some responsibility instead of spending all his days hunting and wenching. By the time I was Tom’s age, I was already married and a father. Remember that?"
Queen Celia smiled faintly. "Of course I remember. But it was different between us. We didn’t start our lives together already hating each other."
She could still remember the giddiness of being young and beloved by her dashing husband, thinking the bond between them would never change. She was too naive then to understand that change is a constant. That their love would be changed by the passing of time, illness and the monotony of daily life.
Perhaps Tom is better off this way, she thought grimly. You can’t mourn the loss of something if you never truly had it.
Queen Celia nodded to her husband and headed for the banquet room doors, the train of her rich gown trailing behind her. Head held high, she turned a blind eye to the young red haired lady who was already heading towards the king.
