The War of Queens

Chapter 7

Sybil

 Caterina stayed in Brightsnow for a long time after she had declared her wish to make Sybil Queen – for a while at least.

 Never had Sybil been so adorned with attention. Several seamstresses were appointed to her, to make the dresses she would be wearing when Christian came to take her South. Some of them were fetched all the way from the Breaches, while others had the dark skin of the Tiberans. But they were all of her, and the dresses they made were all for her.

 Some of them were light dresses in light colours, made for her to wear during the day as she read and stitched and attended court, while others were darker, more provocative in their design and meant for the nights she would be spending dancing with the lords of Etheron.

 Brightsnow would be awash with lords, she smilingly thought to herself one afternoon, and the entire royal family would be there to see her engagement. Then they would go south together, and get married, and she would wear her crown.

 Her life had changed so much. Where before rain and darkness would make her sad, the happiness that filled her chest and threatened to explode washed away any remnant of such emotion. Her mind was filled with her fantasies of the handsome Prince of the Crown who would soon be her husband.

 The night before the royal family were bound to arrive, Sybil curled up beside Anne and asked, “Could you tell me the story of Eric?”

 Anne looked down at her. “Soon, you will be Queen. You should better get used to falling asleep without bedtime stories.”

 “Just this one last time?” Sybil begged.

 Isabella rolled around to look at them. “Come now, Anne. Soon she will have something quite different to tire her before bed.”

 Sybil’s stomach clenched together in excitement and fear and she felt pleasant warmth between her thighs and in her cheeks as blood flushed her cheeks. “I would like to hear it, just once before I leave.”

 Anne sighed and slowly began telling the story. Sometimes, it varied in detail, and sometimes the details changed, but the ending was always fixed. “We are the descendants of his sister, and it is with the right and strength of her bloodline that we prevail, never backing down, not now, not ever, not until the halls of Brightsnow are alight with the riches fit for a King and our fathers and brothers can once more call themselves Kings of the North.”

 “Thank you,” Sybil muttered, close to sleep.

 Just as she was drifting of, she heard Anne mumble, “And now you abandon us.”

 The next day, Sybil spent waiting above the gates in the gatehouse. Her hands were clutching the flute she sometimes remembered to pretend she was rehearsing. One of the commanders, an old, kind man she remembered from her childhood, smiled at her. “He’ll be here soon enough, don’t you worry, m’lady. He won’t be able to keep away.”

 She beamed at him and fidgeted some more. But when they called for lunch and there had still been no signs of him – them, she corrected herself – she began to feel slightly unnerved. She went to lunch feeling frigid and was incapable of eating.

 She was just forcing down some dried meet when Caterina entered the solar. They did not eat in the Great Hall, as it was being prepared for the royal visit. “They are arriving,” she said.

 At once, everyone in the room stood up. Everything was planned; how they would stand, where they would stand, what they would do. Sybil stood at the very front, right beside her brother who stood her mother who stood beside her father. Third in line, she thought proudly and looked smilingly down the row to Anne and Helena. Behind her stood Caterina, breathing heavily.