“You’ve come back, but I no longer need you,” King Wyck said.

“But your Highness. I can see your distress. Why, your whole body is shaking. Please lay back and allow me to administer the leeches,” Baron Muckle, the Royal Healer, beseeched.

Bowing low, the nobleman held up an earthen water jug full of writhing wormy things. Face down on a lounge, the king continued to shake. When the healer touched his shoulder, King Wyck lifted up his head laughing. The healer shrank back in surprise, convinced his ruler had taken leave of his good senses. Sloshing leech water, he felt his regent’s forehead for signs of a fever. King Wyck pushed Muckle to the floor.

“Unhand me, fool. I called you to play for time, so I didn’t laugh in the ArchBishop’s face. I hope you’ll return with brandy. I cannot stop picturing all their faces with that magnificent creature walking down the aisle to marry me in funeral black. I thought well-bred young ladies were as dumb as newborn bunnies. But this one has fire. Did you see it? All the lord's and ladies' mouths lolling open like so many fish. I’ve never seen Mother speechless. I’d thought she’d have kittens,” Wyck said between laughs.

To think he had fought against this arranged marriage. After that lovely little Princess Lilliette had sicken and died shortly after her arrival Wyck had had enough of weddings. Let stability be won on the battlefield not the bedcovers, he thought. He could not believe his mother and the King and Queen of Pacha would send a second daughter. He had not known Lilliette, but the idea of a replacement bride seemed too cruel to him. Mother had insisted this was the only way to peace and prosperity for Altimora. And now for once he had met someone truly unpredictable.

“Your Highness I don’t understand. Are you not outraged? Three ladies in waiting fainted! The Dowager Queen has ordered the shameless baggage back to her carriage, back to her homeland. The treaty is off,” Muckle said.

“What!” Wyck roared.

The king torn from his room at Saint Furia’s Church back into the sanctuary. Pushing his guests aside, he ran up the aisle. At the church door the king saw his bride-to-be climbing unaided into her horse-drawn carriage. Without thinking Wyck leapt into the carriage behind her. With a thump, Princess Riella in her dark gown tumbled to the floor of the carriage. The traditional white wedding cloak lay on the floor beneath her. Clamour arose outside. Riella looked up to him with unbridled fury. Then like a heavy curtain dropping all emotion left her visage. The king offered her a hand. She scoffed in return.

Riella climbed to her feet and sat opposite her bethoned. Outside the carriage, angry voices were raised. Inside the carriage, the silence bloomed. Steely-eyed she crossed her arms and awaited his next move. Wyck chuckled.

“Driver, take me and my chosen back to the castle. Then return for a priest post haste. We are most anxious to begin our honeymoon.”