Banished: Book 1 of The Grimm Laws (15 page)

A bugle sounded, announcing that The Parade of Maidens would be beginning soon, shortly after the ringing of the midday bell. Rushton’s heart picked up a notch as he thought of Cinderella. She would offer her scarf, which he would wear as a tribute to her.

Edward caught his arm, a stricken look on his face. “Don’t make me beg.”

A man hurried towards them. When he reached them, he paused just long enough to give a hurried bow before rushing into conversation. “My Prince, I’ve been searching all over for thee. The Parade of Maidens is about to begin, and thou must take thy honored placed beside the King and Queen.” His disapproving eyes trailed over Edward. “And Sire … thou art not yet dressed in thy Royal Robes.”

Edward looked him over with an expression of part amusement and part disdain. “Methinks my mother sent the steward after me.”

The man’s face colored slightly. “Aye.”

Edward lifted his chin, a stubborn glint in his eyes. He cast a sidelong glance at Rushton and muttered. “The mouse hath been sent to fetch the cat.”

Rushton chuckled despite himself.

“Inform my mother and father that I’ll be riding with the squires and knights this go around.” Edward flicked his hand as a form of dismissal.

The man’s face paled. “But, your lordship, the Queen, she gavest me express orders to fetch thee.”

“Did she now?” His mouth twitched. “I’m not a dog to be fetched, Bentley. Give that message to my mother, prithee.”

Rushton bit back a smile. He felt a little sorry for the feather of a man that looked like he might faint into the dust, but he understood where Edward was coming from.

The man kept standing there, wringing his hands. “That will be all, Bentley.” He kept standing there, his eyes pleading with Edward’s, his lower lip dangling. “Thou mayst go now, Bentley.” Edward’s eyes narrowed. “’Tis an order.”

Bentley offered a curt bow before scampering off.

Rushton chuckled. “You nearly gave that poor man a heart attack.”

A smile played on Edward’s lips. “Nay, the heart attack will come when he has to face my mother and tell her that I’ll be riding in the line of squires and knights, choosing my own maiden.”

“Good for you,” Rushton said, giving him an appraising look.

Edward’s eyes met his. “About the sorceress.”

Rushton groaned. “Let it go, Edward. I prithee, let it go!”

“I’ll make thee a wager.”

Rushton lifted an eyebrow. He never could resist a good wager, and Edward knew it.

“If you win the joust, then I’ll never ask again.” His eyes cut into Rushton’s. “But if I win, you will take me to the sorceress.”

Rushton gave him a calculated look. “The joust? Not the sword?” Edward and Rushton were evenly matched with the sword, but the joust? Not once had Edward even come close to beating Rushton in the joust. No one had. To think that he would beat him now was either madness or desperation.

“The joust,” Edward said evenly.

He had to hand it to Edward. He was fair-minded to a fault, always choosing wisdom and practicality over passion and sentiment. In that regard, he was the perfect Crown Prince. Any other man would’ve made the wager contingent upon his strength rather than his weakness, but not Edward. Edward had to be fair above all, always doing the right thing, regardless of what it cost him personally. Edward thrust out his hand. “Deal?”

What could it hurt to make the deal? At the very least it would pacify Edward and give him time to assess the situation. There had to be some other way he could help him without putting them both in mortal danger. “Okay, deal,” he said, clasping Edward’s hand.

Edward looked toward the grandstand that was starting to fill with royals and nobles. “We’d better get suited up in our armor.” He offered a fleeting smile. “‘Tid be a shame to keep the maidens waiting.”

“Or thy mother.”

A look of surprise flickered over Edward’s features, and then he laughed. “Certainly not my mother,” he said, shaking his head.

“
L
adies
, come hither, step right this way. ‘Tis time for the parade.” The Clothier with the worm of a mustache nearly came out of his surcoat when Josselyn stumbled and narrowly missed a patch of manure in trying to catch herself. “Nay, nay!” He lifted his hands in the air, an indignant expression on his soft face. “Didst they not teach thee anything in the castle? Methinks not! Grace! Take light and graceful steps. Thou art a delicate deer, picking thy way through the forest.” He glared at Josselyn. “Not a cow, tromping through the field.”

Cinderella wanted to throttle the man when she saw the horrified look on Josselyn’s face. She looked as though she were about to burst into tears. For days now, the clothier had been hovering over the Ladies in Waiting, teaching them the proper way to parade across the stage at the foot of the Grandstand. He taught them how to give a proper curtsy, demonstrating how a lady should lower her eyes demurely and bat her eyelashes just so, in order to make a lasting impression. How to cock your head a certain direction in order to look coy, or how to offer a mysterious smile that was sure to send the knights clamoring. It was all so tedious and exhausting! As hard as the new lifestyle was on her, it was much harder on Josselyn. When Cinderella left for the palace, Seraphina insisted that Josselyn go with her. “You may go on the condition that Josselyn goest with thee,” Seraphina said, her expression rigid and final. Cinderella had despaired. It had been hard enough for Rushton’s mother to secure one slot, much less two. By some miracle, Rushton had managed to work it out, and here they were. But try as she might, Cinderella couldn’t bequeath grace to Josselyn anymore than one could turn a duck into a swan. On Cinderella, the gowns looked elegant. On Josselyn they looked bulky and awkward. Josselyn’s sturdy fame drew undo attention from the Clothier, making her the target of his condescending remarks. Nothing she did was good enough to please him. In a strange turn of events, Cinderella felt the need to defend her. In Seraphina’s house, Cinderella had been the poor relation, the outsider. But here, in the splendor of the palace, Cinderella was the shining star and Josselyn the dowdy stepsister.

As Cinderella walked past the Clothier, he eyed her critically and then broke into a large grin. “Thou art indeed exquisite,” he said, adjusting the puff on her sleeves, “a shining jewel amongst grains of sand.” He gave Josselyn a pointed look, as if to say
thou art certainly no jewel
, which she returned with a haughty look of her own. She lifted her chin in the air and walked past the little man with such indifference that he might’ve been a peasant groveling at her feet. The Clothier looked surprised, and then a flicker of admiration shone in his eyes.

Cinderella bit back a smile. At least Josselyn was learning to stand up to him. Cinderella lifted the hem of her gown as she walked up the steps leading to the stage. She intentionally kept her steps light as the Clothier had instructed.
Breathe
, she commanded herself.
Breathe.
Her heart was hammering in her chest, and her gown was so tight that it was making her light-headed. She prayed she wouldn’t faint. Regardless of how she felt on the inside, she could at least take consolation in the fact that she looked the part of a true lady. Thanks to the skills of her dutiful maid. (It had taken the maid the better part of the morning to get her ready.) Her hair was artfully woven with silver and blue ribbons and an ivory comb encrusted with sapphires. The gown she wore was deep blue and had an intricately woven bodice that was trimmed in silver. Even she had to admit that it was breathtaking. She would’ve loved it were it not for the fact that it fit so tightly around her waist that it was hard to draw in a good breath. The one bright spot in the ordeal would be the look on Rushton’s face when he saw her in it.

“Look at all of these people,” Josselyn said, her voice tinged with awe. Cinderella nodded and looked up at the royals and nobility that were crowded into the Grandstand. From a distance, their brightly colored clothes reminded her of a field of flowers. A bugle sounded, and all eyes turned upward to see the King and Queen making their grand entrance to their places of honor. When they were seated, the King gave the nod for the tournament to begin.

A large herald in a green velvet surcoat, trimmed in gold, walked to the center of the stage and looked up. He seemed to gather strength from somewhere deep within his barrel chest, his booming voice carrying effortlessly through the crowd. “Noble King Aalexander de Moncier the Great and Queen Loreena Maria de Gussalen of our beloved Aandover Peaks … Royal Gents and Ladies … greetings!” A roar of approval issued forth from the crowd, and the herald returned the gesture with a low bow at the waist. “On this hallowed day of our Lord, we are assembled hither in this place to honor our benevolent and wise King, who so diligently strives to protect our liberties as he interprets and upholds our revered Grimm Laws. Additionally, we acknowledge our valiant knights and squires, those to whom we owe a great debt of gratitude for their chivalry in defense of our beloved kingdom and our King.” He punched a fist in the air. “Long live the King! Long live the King!”

The crowd joined in and started chanting simultaneously. “Long live the King!” This continued until the man held up his hands to quiet the crowd. “As the valiant squires and knights are taking their honored places on the tournament field, let me also say …” A bugle sounded as the knights and squires rode onto the field. The herald’s words got drowned out in a chorus of thunderous applause. The colorful throng of knights and squires atop their horses proceeded across the field until all were positioned in a line directly facing the elevated platform. Each knight and squire held their lance so that the tip pointed upward in the sky. Colorful scarves were woven around the lances, flapping triumphantly in the wind.

At the herald’s signal, three minstrels stepped forward and began to play a festive tune. The herald signaled to the courtier, who roused the ladies to take their positions. A murmur of awe rustled through the crowd as the Ladies in Waiting made their way across the platform.

A
tremor
of excitement tingled through Rushton’s veins as he caught sight of Cinderella. Even from a distance, she was a vision in her flowing blue dress and corn silk hair. All of the other maidens paled in comparison to her. He glanced at Edward, sitting tall and stately on his horse. As the Crown Prince, Edward held the most honored position in the center of the line of squires and knights, and Rushton, earning the highest rankings in the practice tournament, held the place immediately to Edward’s right. This tournament, there would be two parades of maidens—the first for the squires, and the latter for the knights. Edward would choose his maiden first and Rushton his second. Providing that Edward didn’t select Cinderella, all would go according to plan. A shiver of foreboding slivered down his spine, and his suit of armor suddenly felt too heavy. Surely with all of those beautiful maidens, Edward wouldn’t choose Cinderella … would he? He shrugged off the thought. Fate wouldn’t be so cruel. On several occasions since Cinderella’s arrival at the castle, it had been on the tip of Rushton’s tongue to tell Edward about her. There were times when he felt his heart would burst if he couldn’t tell someone about her, and Edward was his closest friend. But he’d promised his mother that he wouldn’t tell a soul that he’d known Cinderella before. “My position in the castle is precarious,” she’d warned. “You must not tell anyone that I arranged for Cinderella to come here … especially not Edward.”

Rushton was confused. “But why, I prithee, why does it matter?”

“My enemies would use it against me, Rushton, and they would use it against Cinderella. You know how strict the selection process is for Ladies in Waiting. I had to call in favors to get her here. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”

The bugle sounded. It was time. One by one, the maidens began their walk across the platform. Each would pause when reaching the center. Some maidens did a dainty twirl before offering a curtsy. Others simply paused with resolute chins lifted upward, allowing all to admire their poise and beauty. Rushton watched the third maiden go, and then it was Cinderella’s turn. He clutched his lance a little tighter and held his breath. She’d only been a Lady in Waiting a few weeks; what if she stumbled or tripped?
You can do it
, he urged. Her every step was tortuous at first, but it only took a moment for him to realize that his fears were futile. The maiden gliding like a dream across the platform was so graceful and perfect that he could scarcely believe it was the same peasant girl that had climbed trees alongside him, had raced him through the fields, had milked the cows … had stolen his heart. She was mesmerizing—a vision. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He wondered if the other squires and knights were as taken with her as he was. The thought sent a stab of jealousy shooting through him.

Other maidens continued parading across the platform, but Rushton hardly noticed them. He was too consumed with the cold fear that was overtaking him. Edward was going to choose Cinderella. He was sure of it. How could he not? Any man with eyes in his head would choose her. His heart started hammering furiously, and his hands felt clammy inside of his gloves. If only there was time to talk to Edward, to explain how he felt, then perhaps disaster could be averted.

The maidens lined up on the platform, each of them holding a colorful scarf. Edward maneuvered his horse to the far right side of the platform. He would start there and work his way left, stopping in front of the maiden he selected. He would hold out his lance to the chosen maiden, and she would then remove the scarf from his lance and replace it with her own. Cinderella was the fourth maiden from the left. Rushton watched as Edward rode past the first group of maidens without so much as a glance. He neared the center of the platform and paused. He seemed to be considering the chestnut-haired maiden with the scarlet dress. She was a beauty in her own right with cascading curls and thick fringes of lashes fluttering against her dark eyes. She gave him a nod and a coy smile. Relief flooded through Rushton, leaving him weak. How foolish he’d been thinking that Edward would choose Cinderella.