The princess’s first understanding of the matter came after a playfellow’s innocent question: “Why don’t you have any cousins?”
Her nurse, upon the repetition of the question that evening, cupped her charge’s face in her soft hand and stared into the princess’s eyes for a long moment. It was difficult, explaining the weight of it to a girl who was barely old enough to understand. “Come with me, Tali.” Her other hand stayed around the girl’s as they went to the study, where she pointed to an embroidered wall hanging beside the fireplace. “You see?” Her wrinkled finger caressed the stitching, tracing down the names of Talianna’s forebears until she came to a long, unbroken line—a tree with no branches, ending in a single name.
Talianna Victoria Marie. Princess of the house of Emrys.
“You, little one, are the only daughter of an only son.” The nurse knelt beside Talianna and hugged her shoulders. “The only child of your line. And one day, sweet,”—she raised the child’s hand to her lips, little realizing how well her charge was listening—“you’ll be queen.”
That night, after her nursemaid had put her to bed, Talianna lay awake for hours, the burden of expectations and responsibility settling on her eight-year-old shoulders.
She finally whispered her promise into the darkness, the creaking trees beyond her windows the only witnesses to the vow. If this is to be my life, I will study hard and listen well to become the queen they all expect me to be.
“So do I swear.”
Ten years later, Talianna stood atop the dais on a darkened spring evening. By then, the lonely years had acquainted her with the particulars of the matter—with no siblings and a mother long bereft of strength, the weight of the crown would fall upon her head, and hers alone. It was a fact not lost on the enemies of the realm, and the last few years had seen increasing threats to her safety. On this night, a week after an assassination attempt had claimed the lives of both her history tutor and guard captain, the faces of the few advisors around the dais were drawn with worry.
The young man who now knelt before the king had been the subject of much discussion by the court, the ink of his appointment not even dry before the gossips began whispering.
A knight, recently reassigned from a border posting.
Second son of a baron—barely nobility at all.
Hardly worthy of the position, but not many would accept a role that equated to well-paid servitude and a constant threat of death.
Young. Too young, this ‘Gavin of Andel’.
Once Talianna had heard the name, memory sketched in the remainder with painful clarity. She’d once known Gavin’s laugh, green eyes, and companionable nature as well as she knew her own reflection, before duty and study had driven them both from childhood games. His hair had once been the color of sunlight, but the years had tarnished it to a dull blond, made darker by the shadows creeping through the edges of the hall as he swore his oath.
“I, Sir Gavin of Andel, do solemnly swear to guard the princess Talianna to the fullest of my ability. May the blows of those who seek to cause her harm fall upon my head. May her enemies be my enemies, her danger my danger, and her life my life.” The knight raised his head to look her in the eye, and a flicker of a smile crossed his face before retreating behind solemnity. “This do I swear, until my king releases me from my oath or I perish in the fulfillment of my duty.”
Talianna extended her hand for her new protector to kiss, the last words of his oath settling around them in the stillness of the hall.
Both of us are bound to our oaths of duty, me as surely as him. The dreams of childhood will have to stay where I left them.
Get the rest of the story December 1, 2023 in ‘Crowns’ from Quill & Flame Publishing!
Brigitte Cromey 
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