Lady Claret of Dunhall

“Where she would then meet King Skarl!”

“Please don’t recite that to his Majesty when we get there, Claret,” a silver-haired royal Scorchio pleaded as she inspected the Pink Skeith’s dress sleeves and bodice. Then she straightened up and called for a Lupe maid, who had a large basket of hair accessories and pins with her. “You have to make a good impression for him.”

“Look, I can’t help it, Mother,” said Claret as she sat down somewhat roughly and allowed the Scorchio and the Lupe to begin styling her curly blonde tresses. “Inspiration strikes when you least expect it! And I still need to finish my poetry collection, so every verse counts!” She let out a small yelp when her mother tugged at her hair.

“Hold still! Drusilla, give me the ivory one, that will go great with her dress.”

“Of course, Baroness Dunhall.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Claret groaned as Drusilla and Baroness Dunhall teased and clipped her hair away from her face.

“I’m only doing this for our family, okay? And Drusilla’s family, and everyone who lives in Barony Dunhall. I’ll show up and be a nice lady-in-waiting until the king has had enough of my face – or at least until Colliet gets his big break if King Skarl wants a Royal Playwright or something.”

“Thank you, my lady,” the Lupe whispered gratefully.

“I know, I know,” the Baroness said, breathing out a sigh accompanied by a small plume of smoke. “And we’re very glad you said yes.”

“Only because I can still do my poetry. Maybe I don’t want to be a fancy Royal Poet, but I still want to write. And you’ll get me a new shelf for all my new books, like we discussed.”

“Yes, you can even have a design carved into it. Drusilla’s father is the best woodworker in all of Barony Dunhall.” At the Baroness’ words, the Lupe beamed.

“Fine.” The Skeith remained perfectly still and shut her eyes as Drusilla brought out the makeup kit. “Well, King Skarl at least knows how to throw a good banquet. That’s something I can look forward to. Besides the new bookshelf, of course.”

* * *

Meridell Castle’s largest banquet hall was decked out in gold, blue and red streamers and banners, as well as tables almost sagging under the weight of Meridell’s best meat, produce and desserts. Musicians played tunes on lyres and fiddles and flutes that were lost in conversation and the busy barter of delicious morsels of castle gossip.

Claret stood in the middle of a queue of ladies clad in gowns of various shades and styles, dripping in jewellery, accessories, lace and frills that made the Pink Skeith’s own dress, with its bodice, flowing sleeves and moderately flared skirt, look spartan in comparison. She reached up to touch her hair and smiled; Drusilla had suggested a new potion that had begun to make its rounds among young nobles, which could be sprayed onto the unruliest locks and hold them in place for a few hours.

As she shifted from foot to foot, Claret thought of Drusilla and her family, and their friends and the other residents of their barony. It’s not like they asked to serve Barony Dunhall, but at the same time we can’t just turn them away and say they’re free to go wherever they want…the place has been their home, even before my parents were placed over it. So, we’ll just have to make it the best home they’ll ever have, once we get in the king’s good graces. And stuff.

One of the chief ladies-in-waiting had signalled for the queue to move. Each one in line would present themselves before King Skarl, who slouched in his throne with his own personal banquet table alongside his older brother Hagan while hearing them out. So far, all he had done was shake his head and wave other ladies away.

What was I supposed to say again? “Your Majesty, I am Lady Claret of Dunhall, second born of the Baron and Baroness Dunhall…and I hope it would please you, to join your court.” Or something like that?

“Your Majesty, I am Lady Arlena Wincott, and I would be honoured, if you would choose me as courtier,” said the White Cybunny in front of Claret, curtsying with such precision that the Pink Skeith made a discreet gagging noise.

Arlena’s probably the type to turn being courtier into her whole personality and then she won’t stop there, she’ll want to be queen. The kind who’ll keep reminding you that they’re queen, and therefore, the boss of you. Hmm, “There once was the Lady Wincott, who was kind of a little brat – “

“Ow!”

Several things happened at once: King Skarl nodded and gestured for Arlena to leave, the herald announced Claret’s name, a lady-in-waiting gestured irritably for her to step forward, and Claret did step forward, right into a tile out of place on the floor, and found herself teetering and then falling into a magnificent heap of silk and lace and Skeith.

Right in front of Skarl and Hagan and their regal dining table.

At first, Claret froze in place, staring at the two Skeiths and listening to the hustle and bustle of the banquet die down as all eyes and whispers swivelled toward her. While Hagan raised a hand to his mouth and quickly turned a laugh into a cough, Skarl let out a snort before hurriedly trying to rearrange his face into something more dignified.

Way to make a first impression! I’ll never come back here, I reckon. Ooh, that rhymed. Claret found herself grinning and let out a chuckle.

Her chuckle became a fit of giggles. The Blue Skeith’s facade broke and gave way to poorly controlled guffawing. Their eyes met.

“I’m sorry, your Majesties, I had hoped to present myself to you…next fall,” she said with the straightest face she could manage as she waved the herald away and stood up, gathering her skirt and curtsying while discreetly glancing at her feet. “Still, I, Lady Claret of Dunhall, enjoyed my trip to Meridell Castle.”

King Hagan smiled and managed to answer, “You are quite witty, Lady Cla – “

“Fall? Trip?” Skarl interrupted, slapping his thigh and laughing loudly – so loudly that not a few nobles paused and stared at him as though wondering whether they should laugh along with him or not. Eventually they settled for discreet, scattered laughter. “Surely you must have gotten it, brother!”

“Of course I did.” Hagan rolled his eyes, though his smile barely faded. “And while I appreciate Lady Claret’s sense of humour, isn’t there anything more important you should be doing? Or saying to her? There are still a few ladies who must present themselves to you today!”

Skarl leaned back in his seat and cleared his throat, taking a swig of a Fresh Fruit Goblet.

“Do you have any more jokes?” he asked. “Quips? Rhymes? Puns?”

“You…want more, your Highness?” asked Claret tentatively, her gaze flicking briefly into the crowd to look for her family; she couldn’t blame them if they had suddenly decided to leave in search of the little nobles’ room, so to speak.

“Are you a bard, Lady Claret?”

“No, milord, just a novice poet, still learning the trade. Hoping to finish a book, or two.”

“Then tell me a poem!” Skarl’s face lit up with interest. “A poem you’ve made!”

Hagan glanced at him in askance. “Er, only if the lady is – “

Again, Claret curtsied and declared, in a clarion voice that carried throughout the almost silent hall,

“What a first impression!

“I’ll never come back here, I reckon.

“Such fine form, tripping

“Before where the kings are sitting,

“My parents, what’ll they say,

“’Our daughter’s humiliated us this day!’”

Even Hagan let out a laugh, but Skarl was in hysterics, wiggling in his seat and clutching his stomach. In between gasps for breath, he said, “More…more! What else do you have, Lady Claret?”

She stroked her chin. Mother told me not to say it, but…it’s not like it’s offensive or anything. King Skarl seems like the type to take a joke well, probably.

“There once was a lady of Dunhall,

“Who had to put on a shawl,

“Lace up her corset,

“And head for the banquet,

“Where she would then meet King Skarl!”

This time, Skarl didn’t just laugh. He clapped loudly, while Hagan followed suit in a more dignified fashion. “You!” the Blue Skeith exclaimed, in between chortles. “You shall have a place among my ladies-in-waiting!”

Claret felt as though she had suddenly put one foot into the Symol Hole, and was, for once, at a loss for words.

“M-Milord?”

As the audience clapped politely, Skarl added, “Lady Claret of Dunhall, it would please me if you would grace our court with your presence – and your wit.” His eyes twinkled, and he smiled. “You must share with me, every day, your jokes and your verses.”

I wonder if it’s good etiquette to return a king’s smile like that?

Nevertheless, Claret smiled back, and just barely kept herself from tripping all over her feet to curtsy one last time.

“It would be my honour, Your Majesty.”

I guess I really will be able to work on my poetry in court, after all.

     The End.