The Four Kings of Bremia--Chapter Three: Getting Situated

Chapter Three: Getting Situated

Lenia turned around once more, her feet sinking inches into the fluffy carpet. “I really couldn’t stay here, it’s much too fine.” But even as she said it, her heart sank. She didn’t think she was going to make any decisions for herself anymore. His Majesty Prince Rignald had made it all too clear. Once they reached the palace, he had dragged her off the horse and into the palace. Almost instantly she was turned over to a short, very thin woman who had brought her here, where she was afraid to touch anything for fear it would break.

“If you need anything, ring that bell.” The woman’s voice lilted up and down, as though she was trying not to sing.

“Yes,” said Lenia despairingly. Then the woman left. Lenia scrutinized her room. It was large by her standards, but compared to some of the rooms she had seen on the way through the palace halls, ‘twas quite small. It had a very large bed with dark silk curtains hung all around, and the one window had curtains the same. There was a dark red chair with wooden arms that looked very uncomfortable, and a wardrobe in cherry wood nearly in front of the window. And then of course, there was the carpet. When she stepped on it, it oozed up over her feet, making her feel as though she was being sucked into quicksand. Despite this, she sloshed over to the wardrobe and flung it open. It was full of rich dresses that matched the room, and had such low necks that Lenia blushed in shame.

There was a knock at the door. Lenia started and slammed the wardrobe closed. “Come in?”

A man peeked his head into the room, and then his body followed. He was very thin, but he looked as though he had once been generously proportioned. He looked like he had just recovered from a long illness. His graying dark hair was in the process of leaving his scalp. “Mra Lenia?”

“I am Lenia.”

“Excellent, excellent. I am Belshar. I’ve come to speak with you. You see, to tell you why you are here.”

“Alright.” Lenia sat in the red chair.

“Perhaps you have heard that King Midrah is dead.”

Lenia nodded.

“He named you his heir.”

She started to her feet, her hands trembling within each other. “I don’t understand. I don’t know the king; I am not of royal blood. You must be mistaken, you must be thinking of a different Lenia.”

“We are quite sure that he meant you. Now, just because you have been named heir, it doesn’t mean that you shall be queen. There are several men who would like very much to kill you if it meant gaining the crown.”

“I don’t want this. Please, just take me back to my home. They can have the crown!” She knelt at his feet in supplication. “Please.”

“That is not possible at the current moment. I just wanted to warn you. Remember, I am your friend. I will do my best to protect you, but these men are quite desperate. Be wary of Rignald, Prince of Bulima. He—“

“The man who brought me here?”

“Yes. He is a very cruel man. Also, Vloman. You should not speak to him or deal with him, in any way shape or form.” Belshar twitched his hands nervously.

“I will do my best. I thank you, Mro Belshar, for helping me. It is good to know that I have a friend.” She stood and curtseyed.

“Excellent, excellent,” said Belshar, as he left.

Lenia had scarce time to think on what she had heard before there was another knock. “Come in.”

This time there was no peeking around the door. The man flung it open and strode in as if he owned the place. “You are Lenia?”

A nod.

“I am Vloman. I have come to see if you are comfortable.”

“I would appreciate it if you would leave, immediately.”

Vloman blinked. “Why, my apple cheeked maiden?”

“Belshar has told me of your cruelty. I will have nothing to do with you.” Lenia’s heart thumped uncomfortably.

Vloman walked to her with a fluidity that reminded Lenia of a snake. He grasped her hands and slowly pushed her to the chair. He sat her down, then knelt at her feet. “I have come to swear fealty to you, as our future queen. I will serve no one else, I will protect you to the death, you will be my sole thought day and night. If this be a lie, let fire and brimstone fall upon me.” He stood. “Please, my Queen, if you need anything, if you need protection from anyone, please call me, anytime, any day. You are my sole thought. You know Lisina?”

“Who?”

“The woman who brought you here.”

Lenia nodded, feeling dizzy.

“She will be our mediator. If you have any need for me, tell her and she will pass it on. Do not be too friendly to me in public, for if our enemies suspect that I am your protector, they will try even harder to hurt you.”

“Alright.”

“Beware of Prince Rignald of Bulima. He will stop at nothing to get at the throne. He will even kill you.”

Lenia flinched.

“I will try to protect you, but please make it easy for me. Do not ever be alone with him, nor his adviser Belshar. I must go. If I am here to long, people will suspect. My queen, this road will not be an easy one. Many people want Rignald on the throne. Many people are against a peasant girl from the hills. But I am not.” He smiled at her, then turned and left the room.

“What a pleasant man,” said Lenia aloud.


(Note: In Bremia, the terms of respect are 'Mro' and 'Mra'. They are much like our 'Mr.' and Mrs.' of today, but there is no 'Miss'.)

The Four Kings of Bremia--Chapter Two: Lenia is Surprised

There was a knock at the door of the small stone cabin. Lenia looked up, surprised. She had asked for some eggs to be sent over from Poultry Farms, but they shouldn’t be so soon, it was half a day’s ride away.

“Delivery is getting better and better these days,” she said aloud. She wiped her white hands on her whiter apron and went to open the door. She was in the midst of making a pie and she was coated in flour.

She swung the door open to reveal a tall, handsome young man. He stepped inside without permission.

“Oh!” began Lenia. She had never had a stranger visit her before.

Rignald interrupted. “Are you Lenia of the hills of Bremia?”

“Some call me that. Who are you?” It wasn’t respectful, but Lenia was flustered, and she never thought when she was flustered. Her brown curls hung close to her head as if they were shy as well. Rignald failed to recognize their appeal.

“Prince Rignald of Bulima.” He looked regal with a wine-colored doublet and a purple cloak covering his shoulders. Lenia had never realized how short she was.

She dropped to her knees. “Your Majesty,” she whispered. “Please forgive my…disarray.” She was painfully aware of the flour coating her, and the interior of the cabin. She was not much of a cook.

Rignald rolled his eyes and pulled her sharply to her feet. He dragged her out the door roughly.

He had no need to be either sharp or rough, because Lenia followed him willingly enough. “Do you have need of my assistance?”

“No. You are to come with me to Richardo Castle.” He glanced down at her, then added as an afterthought. “I never need assistance from peasants.” He curled his lip.

“Are you sure you mean me?”

“Yes. Now climb on my horse.”

“Your Majesty, if you will forgive me to question you, why?”

“I do not give you permission to speak! Now climb on!” Rignald swung heartily onto the dancing stallion’s back.

Lenia hesitated. “May I first pack my belongings?”

“You will have no need of them in Richardo.” Sensing her timidness, Rignald added, “I am high above you. If duty didn’t ask for it, I would never even speak to you. I order you as your future ruler, to climb on this horse!”

Lenia came forward then and gripped the hand he offered. He jerked her on, and before she could even get comfortable, he kicked the black horse in the ribs and it galloped away.

Lenia looked back once at her little cottage. Daisy was still tied out front, and the door was swinging back and forth in the wind.

ξ

This silly girl has been humming for three hours, thought Rignald irritably. There was no denying that she was comely—she did have rosy cheeks, and her hair was pretty. She had a shapely little figure clothed in a worn blue dress, but that wasn’t enough to forgive the humming. It was the same song—the Ballad of the Battle Lost—the same lilting melody over, and over, and over, and over. Only an hour more and then we will never have to ride together again…I hope.

They pressed onward.

The Four Kings of Bremia--Chapter One: Death of a King

Chapter One: The Death of a King

In the mist that never lifted from the Bremian hills, things began to happen.

Midrah, an elderly man lay dying. His wive had died years before. He was childless. And he was king. Three men watched him anxiously, waiting to hear which one of them would be named king.

Midrah coughed, shaking his thin body mercilessly. “I name my heir,” he said with finality. Three men leaned forward.

One was Belshar, the king’s adviser. He had had the assurance the crown, but he had fallen out of favor with the king in the past months of the illness and now was not as sure. He patted the thin claw tenderly hoping that in the last minutes of the king’s life, all his hard work would be remembered.

One was the young, turbulent Prince Rignald from the neighboring country of Bulima. He had no doubt about who would become king. Not only was he of royal blood, but his mother was the late queen’s niece. He glared at Belshar harshly.

The third was almost as thin as the king, and twice as cruel. He was Vloman, a man of great power but unknown parentage. And he knew he would be king. Even if he was not named, a vial of poison was hidden in his sleeve. He smiled with a hint of the malice that was never quite hidden.

“I name…I name young Lenia of the rosy cheeks, Lenia of wisdom unmeasured. Lenia, of the hills of Bremia.” And the king breathed his last.

Belshar slumped, upset and broken. Rignald stamped his foot in an angry passion. Vloman smiled at his companions. “Gentlemen, we need not find this Lenia of the rosy cheeks. If we never find her, she will never rule. Instead let us draw lots for the crown.”

Belshar shook his head, faithful to the king, even to the death. “No, Lenia must be found.”

Rignald stamped his foot again. “I will find the girl. I will find her, and when I do, she will be regretful that the king knew her name. She will not be queen. She will never rule Bremia.”

Belshar looked at him, amazed. “You wouldn’t kill the girl?”

“I would indeed.”

Belshar’s face turned alternating shades of white and red. “That is not fair to her. The poor girl has no say in the matter. No, we should try to convince her to give up the crown in favor of one of us.”

Vloman smiled, again with malice. “I think both ideas are right. You Rignald, shall go find her, and bring her back alive. You Belshar, shall find out everything you can about her, as well as arrange King Midrah’s funeral pyre. I will take care of the final details of his estate. We will let the girl decide who will rule in her place.”

Rignald and Belshar exchanged uneasy glances. Neither liked Vloman. Neither trusted him not to snatch the kingdom when their backs were turned. But there was no alternative.

“I believe it is wise.” Belshar looked like he disagreed with himself.

“I believe it will work.” Rignald looked fiercely upset. “I will set out at once for Lenia of the rosy cheeks.” He bowed stiffly and left the room even more so.

Vloman turned to Belshar. “Mro Belshar, be very careful what you do. I am going to rule this kingdom. I will not let anything get in my way. If you try, you will be gotten rid of, and so will young Rignald. I warn you, stay out of my rule.” Then Vloman left the room with a great sweep of his blue cloak.

Belshar shook his head. Bad times were in line for the country of Bremia.

ξ


In the north of Bremia a small man with a large mind was gathering army strength. He had heard much about the king’s illness, and he thought that attacking and gaining control would be easy. He did not know that three men were already in a fierce struggle for the throne, one of which was his own twin. But even if he had known, he would not give up his dreams of the crown. No, that deserved to him and to him it would go, as soon as his warriors were fearless and trained within an inch of their lives.

Cloban smiled, looking much like a darker version of Belshar.

ξ

High in the hills Lenia of the rosy cheeks sang as she milked a cow named Daisy. She knew nothing of politics, of palace intrigue. She knew nothing of the handsome, vicious young man galloping his horse towards her. Yet her sweet ignorance would not last long.

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