The Loneliest Ballad

21 September, 1368. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten.

Celia sat on a bench seat in one of the garden pavilions, looking forlornly at the greenery and its slowly changing colours. The leaves would soon be ablaze in shades of russet and yellow.

Her second autumn in Havietten was about to begin and she was so, so painfully bored with her life.

She missed her daily visits to the ambassadors' quarters, spending mornings chatting and laughing with so many learned men.

She missed having a purpose she could cherish. When it had been taken away from her by Tobin banning her from having any contact with the diplomats, the self doubt had begun to creep into her thoughts again.

Who was she? What purpose did she serve? Or was she really just for breeding?

Every day after the midday meal, Celia had fallen into the habit of wandering aimlessly through the gardens and trying to imagine what freedom would feel like.

Sabine had noticed her low spirits and often tried to provide comfort, patting her back and whispering, "Don't fret, my lady. Just keep praying and your womb will be filled when the time is right."

Celia would just shake her head. What was the point of telling her sweet, simple friend that she was grieving for the lack of something else? That a woman could crave a purpose beyond motherhood?

"What are you doing here alone?" A warm, deep voice suddenly called out from nearby.

Celia rolled her eyes and huffed in frustration. The Viscount of Nadrim's beautiful son was certainly a persistent creature.

Ever since the time they'd first crossed paths, he'd continued to seek her out, wanting to make conversation. Celia however, always made great efforts to avoid him as much as possible.

She'd refused every one of his invitations to walk in the gardens during the day or to dance at dinner. She didn't care for his lively conversation or his charm.

No good ever comes from a man who looks like that, she'd tell herself over and over.

What she really disliked about him was that in a moment of weakness and sheer stupidity, she'd confessed to him that Tobin hit her. Hell, she'd even shown him her scarred palm.

So now Celia hated the man for knowing her shame, for knowing how pathetic she was for allowing herself to be whipped like a misbehaving filly. Even though she'd been the one to reveal her scars to him in the first place.

His presence always caused such a jumble of confusing feelings inside her…ugh! It was maddening. She'd determined she was better off avoiding him completely.

Lucas Nadrim bowed his head respectfully, then dropped gracefully into the seat beside her. "Why are you always avoiding me, Your Grace?"

"What? I mean…I don't owe you a reason! A lady shouldn't have to explain who she does and doesn't want to spend time with." Celia gave him an irritated frown. "Why are you always trying to talk to me, anyway?"

"Because I have no one else to discuss ancient poetry with at court."

She couldn't help but give a small laugh at his quick witted reply. "Look harder. I'm sure you could find someone else if you searched hard enough."

The young lord always seemed to have fawning ladies around him, Celia sneered silently. I'm sure one or two of the silly creatures would appeal to him.

Lucas shook his head. "I doubt that. Most of the ladies here are barely literate, let alone know anything about poetry or historic literature. They all tend to be so…well, vapid."

"More's the pity. I thought all you men here liked vapid." she muttered. "A pretty face with not a single useful thought behind it. Isn't that what the local preference is?"

"Not for all men, no. Some of us actually like wit and intelligence."

"Well, congratulations then for being more open minded than most of your countrymen, Lord Nadrim. Your kind must be few and far between here."

"Tell me, Your Grace. Are all noble ladies highly educated in your country?" he asked.

Celia was about to rise from the seat and start walking away, but Lucas's question made her stop to think. In truth, Celia knew her level of education was far beyond what was typical for girls in Islia, even the highborn ones.

"No. Not really." she admitted reluctantly. "I was educated alongside my brothers but it isn't common for a girl to receive a king's education. I'm sorry to say it's actually quite rare."

"How fortunate that you did, at least." Lucas grinned at her endearingly, making her breath catch in her throat a little. "You can tell me what your favourite ballad, then. My favourite is "To Wander in the Quiet." Are you familiar with it?"

"By Clovis Eyre?"

His smile grew. "Yes, clever girl. I mean, Your Grace. Do you like Eyre's works?"

"I do, though he's not my favourite." Celia replied, despite herself. "His writings tend to run a little melancholy for my tastes."

"Whose works do you admire most then?"

It was disturbingly easy to fall into conversation with him, Celia quickly realised.

They were soon talking about the books they'd read and the stage plays they'd seen at court. It was a conversation that quickly rang with their laughter. Lucas even told her of one time when as a youth, when he'd snuck into a town theatre and watched a play amongst an audience of common folk.

"Was it scandalous?" Celia asked, agog. Public theatres in Islia were considered dens of sin and professional actresses no better than prostituties.

Lucas shrugged and chuckled. "Not especially. I realised the common people aren't very different to us. Their clothing is plainer and their talk more forthright, but everything else is similar. And at least the more humble folk will just tell you outright if they don't like you. Unlike a good courtier, who'll praise you to your face and then tear you to strips out of earshot."

Celia had to grin at that. "I'll have to take your word for it. It's not like I'll ever set foot in a public theatre."

"Why not? It doesn't tickle your curiosity at all? The calibre of the actors tends to be very good."

She gave him a flat look. "Really? Well, that settles it. I'll just have to go, won't I? I'm sure I can stroll unnoticed out of the palace one of these nights and be on my way."

Lucas started laughing at her petulant reply. "My, my. Someone's got a prickly temper. But seriously. If you ever have a desire to go and a sense of adventure, I have allies in the palace that could help you slip away unnoticed one night for a few hours."

Celia let herself be carried away for the briefest of moments by his words. A respite, however brief, from this cursed palace and its stifling occupants-

She came back to her senses a second later. Sitting up straight backed, she gave Lucas a sidelong stare full of suspicion. "Why are you even talking about this? Are you trying to get me into trouble?"

"No. You just seemed so animated when I told you about the theatre-"

"Are you trying to get me to confess to wanting to do something that Tobin wouldn't approve of? That's what you're doing, isn't it? So that you can go to him afterwards and report on me."

"No! Of course not!" Lucas looked rather stunned by her sudden change in mood. "Why the hell would I go do something like that?"

"Why wouldn't you? Aren't you his friend?" Celia rose to her feet abruptly. "Why are you even talking to me?"

"Because I find your company enjoyable, Princess. Isn't that the reason most people talk to each other?"

"I'll be on my way now. Have a pleasant day, Lord Nadrim." Her voice crackled with ice as she started striding away.

"Wait!" she heard him call out behind her. Ignoring him, she kept moving down a shady path that led back to the palace.

A moment later, she felt a hand grab hers from behind.

Celia gasped sharply at the touch, turning to face Lucas.

As a married woman and a royal princess, she was forbidden to be touched by anyone who wasn't her husband or in her service, like her maids.

He looked down at his fingers locked around her wrist as if he couldn't believe that he'd reached for her. But he didn't let go.

Instead, he slowly turned her hand in his grip until her palm faced upwards.

Of course he had to go and choose my left hand, didn't he, Celia despaired? She watched his face blanch white when he saw the scars on her flesh. Then his thumb began tracing a slow, gentle line along a recently healed stripe of skin.

The delicate touch made her shiver and her mouth turn dry. She jerked her hand from his grip with force.

"I'm sorry for what you've endured, Your Grace." Lucas said in a quiet voice.

"Why? What's it to you?" Celia bit back harshly. "I would've thought you'd be on your friend's side, supporting his right to beat a disobedient wife into submission."

"I don't support cruelty, no matter what the reason. Especially not towards women."

"Never mind. You don't have to worry about me. I can survive this and worse. So long as I learn to keep my mouth shut, I'll manage alright." Celia made an effort to smile. "As my husband has said more than once, my beauty is at its most perfect when it's silent."