Chapter 2

King Gustav of Christonfer was at the end of his rope! The boy was late, again. How he had raised such a lazy, irresponsible young man he did not know. He had done everything he knew to instill his only son with values and pride. Pride in this kingdom and what it meant to be a ruler.

"Might as well have been talking to a donkey," he growled. He stalked to the window. He felt a swell of pride as he surveyed his land. On a day like this one could gaze over the kingdom and feel as though they were in heaven. Blue skies unblemished by even a whisp of cloud, golden fields of wheat, barley, rye and oats as far as he could see and deep blue rivers that wound through the land nourishing it and its people. Christonfer's wealth lay in grain. The other kingdoms depended on Christonfer for their bread. The rivers divided the island into four provinces. Each province was overseen by one of the four Lords of Christonfer, honorable men who had proven their loyalty to the throne. Each province contributed to its kingdom and her way of life. Lord Montclare, a tall lanky man of fifty odd years who had served as Steward under Gustav's father, ruled over the southern province which consisted of wheat fields. Montclare was good man and those who worked for him respected him. Being a nobleman had never prevented the man from rolling up his sleeves and working alongside his people. He would often find the man with a sickle in his hand, working the fields. On planting day he walked the fields with a sack over his shoulder side by side with his planters. The eastern province was responsible for rye and overseen by Lord Fontleroy. Fontleroy, had been a good and wise man in his youth. Sadly, the man preferred the whiskey over the bread his rye produced and beautiful women over a hard days work these days. Fortunately, one of the many women the man had rolled in the sheets with had begotten him a fine son who was as sharp and hardworking as his father had been in his youth. The boy, Wallace would become of age this fall and Gustav would retire Fontleroy and put Wallace in charge. Fontleroy would not put up a fuss. He would be only too glad to retire to his booze and his mistresses. The northern province was where the barley fields of Christonfer lay. Lord Downing, a large burly man, oversaw the barley fields. The man was skilled and crafty which made up for what he lacked in social graces. It always pained Gustav that formalities required him to invite Downing to all gatherings at the castle. The man rarely bathed and it was disgusting to watch him eat. But it would not do to anger him. The man was as skilled at boxing as he was at farming. The western province was where the royal palace lay. It was by no means the most scenic as the weather was often cold and damp as was needed for growing oats. Why his ancestors had chosen to make their home amongst the oats he did not know. There were many stories. Some said the first king loved his horse more than his own wife and wanted to be certain a ready food source was available for the animal. For whatever reasons, this was where his home was and he had entrusted his oldest and closest friend Lord Rosings, to oversee it. He loved the man like a brother, there was no one he trusted more. Like himself, Rosings had visions for Christonfer's future. He also had visions of seeing his daughter and only child wed to the future king of Christonfer. It was a vision that Gustav shared. His only son married to the only daughter of his most trusted lord. It was a perfect match. Now, he had but to make his son see that. He turned as the chamber doors opened to reveal Harold, the prince's valet.

"Where is he?" Gustav demanded of the younger man. Harold looked uncomfortable.

"Prince Elliott," he said hesitantly, "has been detained. He sent me to beg your pardon my King."

"You are neither one forgiven," Gustav growled. "Fear not Harold, it is not you I'm after." The king strode purposefully out of the castle to where he knew his son would be.

He found his quarry in the tiltyard clashing swords with Villion, Master at Arms. He couldn't deny the boy was skilled with a blade. He'd started training almost as soon as he could walk. As angry as he was he couldn't help but feel a swell of pride as Elliott expertly parried Villion's attack. Like all those who lived in Christonfer he had pale blonde hair, the same shade that Gustav's own hair had once been before it had turned gray, and eyes the color of bluebells. He'd been a beautiful child, and now on the verge of manhood he had the height and the muscles to make all the farmers' daughters swoon. His mother, may her soul rest, would be so proud. If only he took his education in agriculture and economics as seriously as he did his lessons in the sword.

He held back his temper so as not to distract Elliott from the spar he was currently engaged in. A distraction could lead to Elliott being careless and wounding Villion. Or worse, a distraction could lead to Villion wounding his son. The old swordmaster was a valuable member of the household and Gustav would hate to retire him should he be seriously wounded and he would certainly not want to put the man to death for wounding the prince. So he waited impatiently tapping his foot as the session came to it dramatic conclusion with Elliott disarming Villion.

"Well done my prince," Villion said laying down his sword. Once Elliott had set down his sword Gustav strode forward.

"Why are you out here when you should be dressing for dinner? Lord Rosings and his daughter will be here soon?"

"Question asked and answered," Elliott said, giving not a notice to his father's glare or furious tone.

"Well done father," he said picking up the water pitcher from the table where he had laid his sword and taking a long drink.

"Get your arse up to the castle and get cleaned up," Gustav ordered. "Now!"

"As my king commands," Elliott said sarcastically giving his father a mock bow. "Good day to you Villion."

"Good luck my prince," Villion said. Gustav glared at the retreating back of his only son.

"You shouldn't encourage him," Gustav scolded Villion.

"My apologies my king," Villion said. "He insisted. I could hardly refuse him."

"Yes, yes," Gustav said waving off the apology. "If you'll excuse me. I must go throttle my son."

"Don't be too hard on him my king. He's still young.

"Ai," Gustav said. "But he can't stay young forever."

With some relief he found Elliott in his room being dressed by Harold.

"I hate that one," Elliott said as Harold held out a blue dinner jacket. "It itches."

"I'm sorry my prince. I'm afraid your other one is still being cleaned."

"Oh, how long does it take to get grass stains out of a jacket," Elliott frumped.

"Well perhaps next time you'll remember to change out of your dinner clothes before going hawking, my prince."

"How was I to know that the colt was so skittish," Elliott whined.

"By listening to Prewt. The man is your stable master for a reason." Elliott had to concede.

"I suppose you have a point, Harold."

"Nice to know you listen to someone around here," Gustav said making his entrance known.

"My king," Harold said, respectfully bowing out.

"I did not dismiss you Harold," Elliott said weakly.

"You are dismissed, Harold." Gustav said. Harold gave Elliott an apologetic look before leaving him to his father's mercy.

"No where to hide," Gustav growled. Elliott rolled his eyes and buttoned up the itchy dinner jacket. Gustav took Elliott shoulders and looked him up and down, appraising his appearance.

"You'll do, I suppose. Comb your hair," he said. Elliott glowered but picked up a comb to run through his tangled hair.

"I'll expect you to be on your best behavior tonight," Gustav said. "Tonight's dinner is very important. We cannot offend Lord Rosings."

"Lord Rosings or Margitte," Elliott said. "Let's be honest father. Lord Rosings wants his fat cow of a daughter married into the royal family no matter who that may be to. I could dump my wine over the girl's head and shove a pie in her face and he'd still demand the marriage go through."

"Don't be vulgar," Gustav snapped. "Margitte is a perfectly lovely girl and she'll make you a fine queen."

"That's just it father!" Elliott said. "I don't want a queen! I want a wife, a partner, a companion. Someone who excites me and makes me happy just to be alive! Someone who see more than just the crown on my head. Someone who's not afraid to tell me when I'm being an idiot."

"By that standard, you may as well marry Harold," Gustav snorted. Elliott groaned.

"Father," Elliott said. "Please just listen to me. I'm not ready for my life to be over. I'm not ready to be King." Gustav felt a small wave of sympathy.

"I do understand my son. I wasn't ready either. But I didn't have a choice."

"Grandfather died, father. You're not going to die. Why do I have to be a king before your even luke warm in your grave."

"Son," Gustav said patiently. "It's because I wasn't ready that I want you to be. I don't want you to have to learn how to be a king after the crown is already on your head. I'm not going to live forever, one day it's going to be up to you and when that day comes, I want you to be as prepared as you can be. Part of that is having a queen at your side to help you. I...I wouldn't have gotten through that first month if I hadn't had your mother at my side."

"Margitte, is not mother," Elliott said. Gustav could not argue with that. His beloved wife had been an extraordinary woman. Strong, wise, and yet so extraordinarily kind. Lord Rosings daughter for all her many excellent qualities lacked the attribute which had made his beloved what she was.

"I know it's not fair," Gustav said. "But you're not a child anymore, son. You're twenty-one and a man grown. It's time for you to prepare to take over for me someday." Elliott sighed.

"Very well father," Elliott said. "I'll come to this dinner and smile and be charming. But I'm not going to agree to marry anyone till I'm ready."

"Fair enough," Gustav said. Elliott pasted a phony smile on his face and left the room.

"You'll be ready when I say you're ready," Gustav said quietly under his breath once Elliott was out of earshot.