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The Beauty and the Throne

By Sara Nicole

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There once was a great king who reigned over many lands. This king had seven sons, and when the king grew old, he divided his kingdom into seven regions and set each of his sons over each of the regions. Each of his seven sons ruled their portion of the kingdom well, establishing justice and resolving disputes to the best of their wisdom.
Years passed, and the king grew older still. One thing he longed to see before his death was each of his sons married and with heirs of their own. The first six sons, Judah, Joel, James, Jacob, Jesse, and Joshua, fulfilled their father’s wishes as the time came. They married good wives and had several children each.
But the youngest son, Jonathan, tarried. His age was a score and five, and he believed his life was only just beginning. He was opposed to fettering himself to a wife and children so early in his rule. He enjoyed being a bachelor and was loathe to end his years of independence.
Yet the king had other ideas. He wanted to see all of his sons married and settled, and he was determined to see it done. When Jonathan could not - or would not - find a wife on his own, the king decided to find one for him. To accomplish this goal, the king held a contest to find the wisest and most beautiful, accomplished, and gracious woman in all Aurelia, the region Jonathan ruled. All this, naturally, was much to Prince Jonathan’s chagrin.

~ ❋ ~

“Mother, you must convince Father to stop this nonsense,” Jonathan pleaded with Queen Rachelle. Desperation flickered in his dark, almost black, eyes. He raked his hand through his auburn hair as he paced in the library of his manor.
“I’ve already tried, Jonathan,” Rachelle replied, raising her delicate hands. “He will not be dissuaded.”
She clasped her hands in her lap once more, sitting on the edge of an armchair that dwarfed her. Her slight, girlish figure belied the fact that she had borne seven sons and one daughter. Age hardly dared touch a woman of such poise and regality. There was not one grey hair amongst her cocoa-colored tresses. The laugh lines at her brown eyes were slight, as if embarrassed to admit the queen had passed her half-centurial birthday some years ago.
Jonathan put his fists on his hips and strode to the window, peering out at the chaos in the courtyard. Women as far as the eye could see. His courtyard had never been so colorful. He gestured angrily. “Look at them! Allowing themselves to be herded and judged as if they were nothing more than cattle.” He glared at his mother. “And I am to be offered to them like some kind of prized bull.”
“Jonathan,” Rachelle began soothingly. She laughed when he glanced out once more then immediately jumped back into the shadows. By the excited cries she heard below, a few of the women had spotted him through the window. “What is it about marriage that frightens you so?” she asked, tempering her mirth.
It was a wonder that Jonathan had not already wed. His sturdy frame, solid jaw, and piercing eyes had attracted many young women. But he ran from them like they were the plague. The youngest of seven boys, older only than his sister Diane, he had always preferred the company of men to women, preferred hunting and fighting to attending picnics and balls.
“Why,” Queen Rachelle continued, “Joel was married as soon as he came of age!”
“Joel was chasing women before he could walk,” Jonathan muttered.
The queen buried her smile. “All your brothers are married, Jonathan. And are they unhappy with their arrangements? Of course not! They have discovered the joys of wedlock, the privilege of having a companion always beside you to love and support you. And the blessing of parenthood as well.” She studied her son, whose face had grown darker the more she spoke. She arched an eyebrow. “Do you intend to remain a bachelor to the end of your days?”
“Of course not, Mother,” Jonathan sighed, leaning against a mahogany bookcase. “I do plan to get married. But someday, not right now.” He gave her a mischievous grin, lightening the mood. “I’m having much more fun being a bachelor.”
Queen Rachelle shook her head in despair, sighing. He was hopeless. “How did I ever raise such a son?”
But Jonathan saw the glint of teasing in her eyes as he came and knelt before her. “You raised me to live with honor, Mother,” he said. “To make my own way in life and to defend what’s right, regardless of what others may say or do.” She placed one of her hands on his cheek, her gaze softening. He grasped her other hand lightly. “One day I will wed, Mother. But on that day, I will wed for love. I will wed for myself, not for anyone else.”
Rachelle gave another quiet sigh. “I do not know what good it will do,” she said, smiling gently at her youngest son, “but I will again try to convince your father to grant you more time.”
He kissed her hand. “Thank you, Mother!”

~ ❋ ~

Elise stormed into the small cottage that she shared with her father and two younger sisters, discipline being the only thing that kept her from slamming the door.
“I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life!” she declared, tossing her golden hair. Fury made her sky blue eyes spark.
Her two sisters, Evelyn and Emily, looked up from the kitchen table. All three sisters had inherited their beloved mother’s soft curls, bright as the sunshine. Emily and Elise had inherited her eye color as well, but Evelyn shared their father’s chocolate-colored eyes.
“What’s wrong, Elise?” fourteen-year-old Emily asked, setting aside the book she had been reading to Evelyn.
“To be paraded around and examined and interrogated like… like… like I was some kind of horse or heifer for sale!” Elise pulled off her shawl and hung it on the hook by the door so violently she nearly ripped it.
“Surely it was not that bad,” Evelyn, seventeen years of age, soothed, calmly cutting fresh vegetables for dinner.
Elise joined them at the table with a huff. “It was that bad and worse.” She jumped up again and retrieved a knife before resuming her seat and chopping up a carrot with vengeance. “I cannot believe Father registered me for the contest without asking me!”
“He knew you’d decline,” Evelyn murmured.
Elise ignored her. “And the prince was not even present!” She shook her head and scowled. “What kind of man permits others to choose his bride for him and does not even take part in the proceedings?”
“That is pretty bad,” Emily admitted.
“Maybe he’s shy,” Evelyn suggested. She raised an eyebrow as Elise’s knife flew faster.
“Poppycock! Prince Jonathan shy?” Elise scoffed at the idea. “It seems every week we hear another tale of his recklessness in battle or of his winning another hunting contest.”
“Courage in battle,” Evelyn corrected. “And you know perfectly well that battle prowess has nothing to do with whether or not he knows how to woo a woman.”
Elise did not answer, but she ducked her head to hide the blush that tinged her cheeks. She chopped harder.
Emily giggled. “Elise, I think those vegetables are already dead.”
Elise stopped her movements and stared at the mess of mutilated carrots she had made. All three sisters burst out laughing.
Their laughter was interrupted by a sharp rapping on the door.
Wiping tears from her eyes, Elise rose and answered it. She was startled to see a messenger of the king standing there. His manner, like his uniform, was formal.
“Is this the residence of Gabriel the mason?” the messenger asked.
“It is,” Elise answered. “But he is not here right now. Is there a message I may deliver to him or would you prefer to return later? We expect him home from the quarry about sundown.”
“I have a message,” the man replied, pulling a crisp, white paper from his satchel. He glanced at her. “Are you Elise?”
Elise stiffened slightly. “I am.”
He handed her the folded and wax-sealed paper. “You are expected at the prince’s manor at noon tomorrow.” He gave a short bow and turned.
Elise stared as he mounted his horse and rode off. She blinked and hurriedly shut the door and returned to her sisters at the table.
“What is it?” Emily asked curiously.
“Elise,” Evelyn warned as her older sister began breaking the wax seal. “That’s addressed to father. And that’s the king’s own seal!”
Elise ignored her and broke open the missive. She read it quickly and dropped it on the table, her face paling.
“Elise, are you all right?” Emily asked.
Evelyn picked up the letter and also read it. “It says you have passed the first rounds of the contest. Tomorrow, you and nine others will be presented before the king. He will choose one of you to marry the prince.”
Elise shook her head. “I won’t be chosen. There are plenty of beautiful maidens who would be glad to marry the prince.” She shook her head again. “I won’t be chosen,” she repeated. Her sisters were quiet, and Emily bit her lip. Elise shook her head a final time and spun toward her room. She came back moments later, changed from her best dress to her riding clothes.
“Where are you going?” Emily wondered.
“Riding.”
Evelyn rose and hugged her sister. “Be careful.”
Elise gave a bitter laugh as she returned the hug and kissed her sister’s cheek. “I most certainly will not!” She smiled. “I’m going to ride as recklessly as I please,” she declared, crossing to Emily and planting a kiss on her golden head. “Perhaps I shall break my leg and be unable to attend tomorrow!” She winked at Emily, who laughed.
Without another word, Elise grabbed her riding crop and strode out the door. Evelyn shook her head and sat back down at the table. She pulled a piece of celery toward her and picked up her knife to chop it up.
“I don’t understand,” Emily said quietly, running her finger along the edge of her book. “It sounds terribly romantic to marry a prince.”
“It depends on the prince,” Evelyn answered.
Emily thought about that a few minutes in silence, then she nodded and picked up her book. She began to read to her sister while Evelyn chopped. For all appearances, everything was normal and a whirlwind named Elise had not just blown through.

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