Free Betrothal by Mande Matthews

voice. Morning dew wore through my slippers, numbing my toes. Mother had not taken time to put on my leather overshoes when she dragged me from my bed, threw on my clothes, and rushed me to the meadow before dawn so Father would not notice our departure.
    Though I followed the line of her finger as she pointed toward the hillside, nothing came into view; a gray mist clung over the fields.
    "No, mamma, I cannot."
    Mother's tresses dangled around her ermine-lined mantle as she knelt next to me, her skirts soiling in the moist grass as she slunk down to my height. I took comfort in the fact that the strands of her hair matched my own in color—brown, like the lighter shades of bark.
    "Close your eyes little one, and think of nothing."
    "But—"
    "Quiet, child, and count to ten. Then open your eyes and tell me what you see."
    I obeyed, counting to myself. When I reached ten, I opened my eyes and focused on the hillside.
    "Oh!" A squeal escaped me. "I see him!"
    Emerging from the haze, an enormous white hart lifted his head and turned toward us. His antlers razed the sky like a storm of tree branches, a dark tangle against the mist. A snort blew from his nostrils sending a puff of white to mingle with the cool morning air; his muscles rippled underneath his hide.
    “Sometimes you can see beyond your normal vision—into the Otherworld, and other times, into the hearts of men. But most importantly, you must learn to see into the corners of your own soul.”
    I didn’t know what Mamma meant, but I quivered, mesmerized by the majesty of the creature as if I had been captured by a fey. My childish mind scrambled with sightings of deer—all red or tawny, never shimmering like beads of fresh snow.
    "Why is his fur white, Mamma?"
    "Do you know who he is, Guinevere?" Her tone remained hushed and reminded me to lower mine as well.
    I shook my head.
    "The old ones called him the Lord of the Wild Things, and the new God heralds him the messenger of peace. It does not matter what he is called. What matters is we understand his essence—that he is immortal. He is goodness and light. When he appears, he reminds you a challenge is at hand, and in order to overcome the ordeal, you must stay pure of heart."
    I thought for a moment, furrowing my brow. "Why would he remind us of such a thing, Mamma? Are our hearts bad?"
    A knowingness flicked in her blue-gray eyes. She placed her hand over my heart and smiled—a sad but tender smile. The white hart pawed the ground behind us, then jolted, springing over the meadow; he vanished into the mist. Mother lifted her gaze to meet my own.
    Elibel interrupted my mother’s reply with a sharp nudge of her elbow into my ribs, jarring me out of the long-ago memory.
    "You gawk, My Lady," scolded Elibel.
    "I do not—"
    "You might as well drool, My Lady."
    Then I understood: while the recollection had filled my mind, my gaze had wandered across the crowd to stare at one man—not my soon-to-be husband, but Sir Lancelot.
     
     

Quest, Chapter 2
     
     
    The knight ignored me, or perhaps he did not notice I ogled him. Instead, Lancelot watched King Arthur with all the intensity of a gargoyle while we milled near the door to Camelaird's granary at my father's request.
    "Straighten up and act your part, My Lady."
    I turned toward Elibel as she scolded me, breaking my line of sight to the knight.
    The largeness of my cousin's eyes narrowed into slits as she whispered, "I fear you will make an ill-suited queen if you can't restrain yourself and show a little decorum."
    My fingers continued to trace the triquetra, circling each loop of the charm as it hung around my neck.
    "I am sorry, Elibel. I didn't mean to stare. I was thinking about Father—"
    “About how he’d flay you like a disobedient hound if he caught you salivating over a man who is not your betrothed?”
    “No. About how clearly I can see events I could not remember before, as if something inside me seeks to find the truth.”
    “Perhaps you