Moon Drunk: Origins

The Feast of Silence

"You will wear burgundy, the color of his house, your future house," Anjolique says. "It will please him."

"It is the Feast of Silence," Margrithe disagrees, moving more gowns from the dressing cabinet. "She must wear the color of her own house."

"Your silver," Dulce says with a dreamy smile as she removes the silver gown, trimmed with dainty pearl beads from the Narrow Sea. "You are such a beautiful wolf, Felicite. When will I get my silver coat, Lady Margrithe?"

"When you are sixteen," Margrithe replies with a smile. "Every Agincourt female changes on her sixteenth birthday."

"And you will be even more beautiful, Sister," Felicite promises as Dulce throws her arms around her in a gleeful embrace. 

"Will I marry a king?"

"With any luck," Anjolique says, at the same time that Felicite says:

"I pray you do not."

Gabriel lifts Felicite into the saddle of her chestnut hunter, and she hooks her leg around the pommel. Margrithe adjusts the gown so that it cascades attractively nearly to the ground, and Felicite dons her riding hat and gloves. 

"Are you ready?" Gabriel asks as he holds the horse steady. 

"No," she says. "But let us go, anyway."

"His Grace, the King!" a herald calls, startling everyone in the courtyard as the young man bustles through the gate, bending at the waist to catch his breath. He must have run hard to stay ahead of Julien just to announce him.

"Why is he here?" Felicite leans down to ask Gabriel. "I am coming to him, as he commanded."

Julien rides into the courtyard mere seconds after the herald, and he casts a sidelong glance at the boy, as if he does not understand the point to announcing his arrival. Perhaps he does not. It is possible that things are done quite differently where Julien is from, the bitter, dark Norselands.

"You are ready," Julien says, looking her up and down from atop his own bay hunter. The horse stamps his foot impatiently and tosses his head. "Good. Let us be on our way."

"I will escort the princess," Gabriel says with a frown. He does not bow or lower his head, only meets Julien's scrutiny with a matching glare of his own. "No need to trouble yourself."

"I will escort my betrothed," Julien replies, staring icily at Gabriel. 

"I am certainly safe escorted by the king," Felicite assures him before Gabriel has a chance to earn himself a trip to the scaffold. "Truly, Gabriel."

They ride toward the castle, the king and his future queen, an awkward silence hanging in the air between them. People gather on the streets to gape and gawk, and she focuses her attention on them as they call out to her. The do not dare call out her family name or that of her house, but they do shout for their beloved princess. 

"Your gown is lovely," he remarks, but she does not acknowledge his compliment, nor does she thank him. 

After more silence, he attempts to speak to her again.

"It is good for the people to see their king and future queen together, don't you agree?"

She nods politely. 

"Do you intend to speak to me at all this evening?"

"I do not intend to exchange more words than the basic pleasantries your station requires of me. Your Grace. Forgive me, but pleasant conversation, with the man who waged war upon my kingdom, destroyed the unification of three kingdoms, killed my betrothed and left him to rot on a battlefield, executed my father, reduced my family to poverty, and then, to add insult to his grievous injuries already inflicted upon me, attempted to rape me, will not flow freely from my tongue."