Free Ruins of Camelot by G. Norman Lippert Page A

sky.  Finally, Sigrid stood back and touched Gabriella's elbow.  Gabriella nodded down at the celebrating crowd below her and then drew herself up and smoothed her gown.  It was, of course, an extremely impressive gown, embroidered with pearls and white ribbons, shimmering with what felt like acres of heavy silk.  It was beautiful, and yet, like so many other adult things, it almost seemed to be wearing her rather than the other way around.  She sighed once more.  Silently, she turned and followed Sigrid back into the yellow warmth of her rooms.
    They passed through, out into the upper castle corridor and the main stairway.  Hundreds of candles lit the way, their flames lining the walls and hanging from iron chandeliers.  As the two women descended the staircase, Gabriella saw that a small, waiting crowd had gathered on the floor below.  Unlike the crowd outside, however, these were nobles and ladies, resplendent in their colourful, formal best.  They smiled and looked up at her, and Gabriella saw that, above their ruffed collars and tasseled shoulders, their faces were exactly the same as the ones in the square outside.  Here, like there, were the regal and the rogue, valiants and villains, all mingling together and looking up at her expectantly.
    Near the back of the hall, flanking the entrance to the grand ballroom, stood her father and his entourage.  He wore his crown, but for once, this did not make him the centre of attention.  He seemed pleased by this.  Near him, looking less comfortable in his formal attire, stood Rufus Barth, the academy Battle Master, in his role as chief of security for the castle wedding.  His black eyes roved endlessly over the crowd, flicking from face to face with nearly mechanical precision.
    Gabriella was halfway down the curving staircase when someone called the traditional question.
    "Has the young lady chosen a groom from the men of the world?"  The speaker was a young man, Jakar, a former classmate and a friend of Darrick.  He smiled up at her from where he stood next to his father, an archduke with a very impressive, grey moustache.
    "The young lady has," Sigrid replied loudly.
    Half a dozen voices picked up the traditional response.  "Is he amongst us this night?"
    Sigrid stopped and turned expectantly back to Gabriella, smiling and raising one eyebrow.
    "He is," Gabriella answered.  "He shall meet me in the ballroom, and there, we shall be wed."
    A small cheer went up from the gathering of nobles and ladies, mingled with laughter and jostling as everyone turned towards the doors at the far end of the hall.  The King preceded them through, and Barth moved aside, taking up his post next to the doors and making room for the throng.  Gabriella could see that the grand ballroom was already quite full.  Brightly coloured coats and gowns filled the space, competing with the frescoes that covered the walls and ceiling.  Fire roared in the monstrous hearth that fronted the room, illuminating the small dais and altar that had been erected there.  Bishop Tremaine stood before the altar in his vestments, glowing white and gold in the candlelight.  Next to him, turned to face the crowd, was Darrick.  Gabriella saw him, but he did not see her.  He nodded and smiled as the room filled up with faces, some familiar, most not.  Even now, he seemed completely at ease.  It was remarkable, Gabriella thought, and not for the first time, how perfectly suited he was for the role of Viceroy and husband of the future Queen.  It was as if he were made for the Kingdom, and the Kingdom did indeed seem to need him.  But he belonged to her first, and this pleased her immensely.
    The entrance hall's marble floor slowly emptied, and Gabriella was joined there by Rhyss and Constance, her attendants.  They wore yellow silk gowns, Rhyss with understated confidence and Constance with overt delight, examining herself obsessively in the mirrors that lined the paneled walls.
    "Are you ready?"