An Arranged Marriage - 1

   High in her castle, Princess Ilona of Hanadil leaned over the windowsill.  She gazed past the gardens and fields to the distant dark line that was the Great Forest.  Somehow it felt both ominous and welcoming.  For a moment, Ilona frowned in thought, but she was unable to decipher the strange flutter in her heart.

     Behind her stood her nursemaid, Cordula, smoothing Ilona’s golden hair. Ilona winced as the comb caught a tangle.  But Cordula only clucked her tongue, which meant “hold still and we’ll be done sooner.”  So Ilona shifted her focus to the gardens below her.  A warm breeze wafted up, carrying the rich scents of late summer blooms.   

    Cordula sighed contentedly, as her fat fingers deftly twisted Ilona’s long locks into a regal braid.  “Aye, Princess, you are as lovely as the old woman predicted.  And your temperament just as sweet.”

    Ilona smiled at the beginning of the familiar story.  Down below her, an old gardener caught sight of her and bowed.  Ilona waved to him before prompting Cordula with “What old woman?”

    Cordula shook her head, a shadow of mock apprehension covering her face, as it did every time she told the story.  “Perhaps I ought not to tell; I’d not like to give you nightmares.  I was there that day and it made my hair stand on end.  That it did!”

    Ilona laughed, the sound ringing merrily out her window and causing several more gardeners to look up and bow.  “I’m sixteen, Cordula…and not prone to nightmares.”  She waved at all the gardeners.  “I think it is safe to tell me…for the twelve-hundredth time.”

     “Who is this, bragging about her age?” the king’s booming voice intruded.

    Ilona leaped from her chair, ignoring Cordula’s cluck, and rushed headlong into her papa’s arms.  Her hair tumbled loose from the half-done braid, falling over her face as she wrapped her arms around his broad chest and breathed in the familiar scent of pine soap.

    “There now.”  He patted her hair with a smile in his voice.   “Sit for Cordula, and I will tell you my news.  It has somewhat to do with your age, after all.”

     Ilona obediently took her seat by the window, allowing Cordula’s skilled fingers to race through her hair.

    Her papa reached for her hand, entwining his fingers with hers.  “Your mother was sixteen when I married her.  And your grandmother was fifteen when she was promised to your grandfather.”  He smiled fondly.  “It’s high time we found you a husband.”

    Ilona’s heart leapt into her throat, beating against its cage like a frightened bird.  “Me?  Marry?”

    “Oh, hush, hush.” His big voice softened, almost to a croon.  “Marriage is nothing to fear.  It’s part of being royal.  It is your duty to marry, just as it was your duty to study under great tutors and to attend meetings of society.  Those were not scary, were they?”  He released her fingers and patted her hand.  “And marriage is the most wonderful of all of them.”

    Ilona was silent as Cordula swept her braid up and fastened it against her head.  The king nodded his approval and offered an arm to his daughter.  Moments later, they were strolling through marbled halls.

     “How will I find him?”

     A smile tugged at the corners of the king’s mouth.  “For that, my dear, we shall throw a ball – one that shall last for 7 days – in your honor.  Tournaments during the day, and dancing at night!  The council has already sent the invitations.”

    Her eyebrows drew together worriedly.  “Does it matter?  Who I choose?”

    “Indeed, it does.  He must be a man of noble character, kind, sincere, intelligent, strong.  And he must love you above everyone else.  And, as he may one day rule, he must be willing and able to do so with integrity.”

    “But what of his rank and country?  Must I choose a Hanadil man?  Or a foreign prince?  Must he be young or old?”

    The king patted her hand.  “Hush, hush.  You sound like our noble council, laying out their ridiculous demands.  I want you to marry the man you love and who loves you.”

    Ilona leaned against her papa’s shoulder, a contented feeling nestling inside of her.  “Like you and mother.”

     Her papa’s voice was deep and pleased.  “Yes, like your mother and me.”

(by Esther Brooksmith)