The all-penetrating sulphurous waft of smelling salts hit the Princess Kalasin’s nasal membranes with a punch, forcing her to gasp for air and sit up, her vision coming dizzyingly into focus.

“How long have I been out?” she coughed, as soon as she managed to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“Only a few minutes,” Buri, looking resplendent in her favourite (of two) formal red gown, pocketed the little vial, then looked around. “Well, at least we now know the quickest way to clear a room.”

Most of the guests had somehow vanished while Kally was unconscious. The only ones remaining appeared to be the delegation of Imperials who had come to the wedding ceremony, the guards, and Kally’s family and close friends. She tried to stand up, and Buri rushed over to assist her as she winced from the bruises she’d received from her hard landing on the stone floor. There was still blood on her hand and arm, but she couldn’t feel any cuts or wounds.

“The blood’s Yevgen’s” Buri said in answer to Kally’s unspoken question. “One of the crossbow bolts grazed his shoulder. Baird says that it looks worse than it is, just messy….” Buri trailed off as she noticed that Kally was no longer listening, having turned to face the little crowd around her husband.

He’d taken off his shirt and tunic for Duke Baird to examine the injury. With a start, Kally realised that it was the first time she’d seen Yevgen in any state of undress – even in the Healer’s tents on the Scanran border, he’d always at least been in shirtsleeves. Perhaps it was an inappropriate time, but Kally noted that her previous musings on the subject of Yevgen without his shirt were fairly accurate – muscled without seeming bulky, with a compactness that was somewhat at odds with his tall frame. With a little noise of satisfaction, Baird cleaned the last of the blood away – there was a bloodstained cloth in a little bowl of bloody water – and then set his hands on the prince. The myriad of little cuts vanished, as though they had never been there.

A little further away were two bodies, both dressed in nondescript clothes, near standard crossbows, of the sort impossible to trace to any specific land or manufacturer. Several of the Own and the Imperial Knights were stripping them down in order to see if there were any clues as to their identities.

“Well,” said Queen Thayet, unflappable in any crisis, “I think that a more low key celebratory meal would be more appropriate.”

There was still the feast in the Great Hall, of course, and it was presided over by Sir Gareth the Younger and Lady Cythera, and most of the guests took the opportunity to eat fine food and gossip about the incident during the wedding ceremony earlier in the afternoon. Every theory became more spectacular than the last, ranging from Conté cousins to other noble families, to Scanra, Galla, Maren, Cathark, Tyra – even the Empire, though that was only spoken of softly, with the bulk of the Imperial guards in the Great Hall with the Tortallan nobles. The real wedding feast, however, took place in the royal family’s private dining room, with only family and friends of the two principals (who had hastily found changes of clothing) present.

Princess Berenice changed her plans and stayed with her brother, promising to see the Imperial investigation started before she departed for Bersone. Kally had a very good idea of how she was going to do that, especially considering Yevgen’s own talents in the shape-changing area, and his off-hand admission that such skills were generally more developed in female than in male members of the Imperial family.

Predictably enough, there was a subdued tone in the meal, that nobody’s skills in well-bred conversation could quite elevate. However, all things considered, nobody had ever imagined that this celebration would ever be the sort overflowing with cloying sweetness and joyful bliss anyway, so the politeness seemed to take on an almost surreal quality.

Kally only picked at her food, only dimly aware that the chefs had taken care to prepare all her favourite dishes, but everything seemed to have a heavy tastelessness. Her parents had brought out the best in the cellars, but, again, for all she recalled of them later, they might as well have served bilge water.

She caught a significant look between some of the members of the Imperial delegation and the prince after the desert course was removed. Yevgen gave a tight, barely perceptible nod.

With a rustle of silk, Kay stood and offered the first toast to the newly married couple. She was followed by various others, including Kally’s father. Kally had the uneasy feeling that both sides wanted Yevgen and herself out of the room so that everybody else could discuss the assassination attempt. She didn’t particularly want to be in a room where people were discussing who was trying to kill her, but she was even more uncomfortable with the idea of where she and her new husband would be while all the discussions were taking place.

Outside, the first stars had begun to appear, and the sky darkened to a deep blue-violet. They could hear the less honoured guests spill out from the feast in the main hall to laugh in the gardens.

There was a very uncomfortable silence after everyone who could legitimately have a reason to make a toast did so. A ridiculous part of Kally thought that if anyone had drunk an entire glass at each toast, as they were meant to, they would probably be suffering from a case of liver poisoning. However, that ridiculous part was rapidly being overcome by her nervous part, as they all rose to depart from the table. Yevgen bowed over her hand before leaving with his friends, while Kally was spirited off by mother and female friends.

When Roald and Shinko had married, this had seemed so different, Kally thought. Then, Shinko had been uncharacteristically giggly, and there had been a great deal of laughter as they escorted her to the chambers prepared for her and Roald on their wedding night. Though many of the women and girls who escorted Kally on the seemingly endless journey to her dressing room were the same, the mood could not possibly have been more different. She felt curiously detached to the whole business, as she had since that morning. It was as though she was watching another woman in the mirror as Shinko helped her remove the (slightly dented) diamond tiara and brush out her hair. She watched her own movements, as she mechanically changed out of her hastily found dinner dress and into a nightgown and wrapper of her favourite blue.

It was not until everyone had left her room, and the door closed with a final click, that the finality of her situation really sunk in. She was alone in a small dressing room, in her nightgown, with her husband of a few hours in the next room, and probably equally as uneasy about the whole business as she was. True, they had spoken a number of times in the last few weeks, and true, he had saved her life on more than one occasion – but that didn’t make what was to come any easier.

A noise on the other side of the door, where their bedroom was, caught her attention. She wondered how long he had been there. Reminding herself that knights had to face far more formidable enemies that a rather pleasant, handsome young man, she steeled her courage and placed a hand on the doorknob.

“We’ve identified one.” Justinia lay a sketch on the table. “He is somewhat familiar to us, if in a very different capacity. A former aide to Duxa Zytasi Nheqtl.”

It evidently meant something to the Imperials, but to the Tortallans, the knight might just as well have been spouting gibberish. There were glances exchanged between some of them and several knowing looks.

“A self-appointed, rather paranoid supporter of my sister.” Princess Berenice explained at last. “She has, in the past, cast some fairly unwelcome and inaccurate aspersions as to our – that is, Yevgen and my – long term ambitions.” It was delicately put, but everyone knew what she was talking about. There were significant looks of disapproval among the Tortallans. While no one denied that there was no shortage of heirs in any monarchical system wanting to move up the chain of succession, there was something inherently distasteful about suggestions that they were.

There was a pause. “The timing may be significant. The engagement of the Imperial Heir, coupled with the wedding of his Highness, could very well have convinced her that it was time to begin her self-appointed task of securing the Diadem for Princess Rislyn.”

Kay rolled her eyes in a very unprincess-like way. “Who is more than welcome to it. Anyone…and, no offence meant, Majesty, who takes a crown when they could avoid it, is mad, in my opinion. But I can see your point, Ambassador,” she turned to her brother’s new in-laws to explain. “A fear among the more…traditional…is that my brother may now begin a cadet line eligible for the Diadem. No,” she stopped the questions before they came, “it’s not an objection to her Highness, either personal or political. In most Houses, females lines of succession are very much favoured over male, being more…shall we say, reliable? However, neither males, nor male lines are technically barred, and that presents a problem for the more rabid of those who are currently currying favour with my sister. Since my sister is to wed before the end of next year, it is anticipated that there will no longer be such a need for so many…ancillary heirs…before long.”

More nervous exchanged glances from all present, whether Tortallan or Imperial. Most of the Imperials here, Sir Myles gathered, were those who had staked themselves with the military-minded second Princess, hoping for the safer reflected light, rather than the direct glare of the Diadem.

“Although,” she threw up her hands. “I expect that this is an isolated incident, and is unlikely to be repeated, certainly after I go back to Bersone and have a few words with a few people. However, Ambassador, I do expect security to be increased.”

Nods.

Lord Raoul coughed, “Sirs, Madames, we’ve also information on the second assailant. A Saren dissident, and supporter of the former Warlord zhir Anduo. Doubtless a last attempt to sabotage the foundation of a new Sarain. We’ve found no sign of any sort of co-ordinated plot or plan of any kind.”

“Let’s hope so, Lord Raoul,” Queen Thayet sounded very weary.

“A Saren who supported zhir Anduo, and had the means to come to Tortall would be in very sparse company,” Buri observed. “If there were such a group, they would be very small, but, from today, I think we an safely say that we cannot possibly dismiss anyone.”

“True.” Duke Gareth stood up with noticeable creaking of joints and unfurled another chart. “Here are some other groups…”

Kally lay beside her husband, listening to the soft sounds of his even breathing, feeling that soon, she too would drift off into sleep. She supposed that she should be pleased that Yevgen was a quiet sleeper, not inclined to snore or to hog the blankets, though after only a few minutes it was hard to tell.

“I wonder what conclusion they’ve come to.” His low tenor voice started her, and she sat up suddenly.

“I thought you were asleep.” She said weakly as soon as she recovered.

“No,” she could just make out his smile in the soft candlelight as he turned on his side and leant his head on his hand. “That would be unforgivably ill-mannered – from an Imperial perspective, anyway.” His grin grew wider, and it was only then that Kally remembered to pull the sheet up to cover her front. Yevgen raised his eyebrows expressively, as though to remind her of the absurdity of that act in the circumstances, and Kally laughed and lay down again, this time facing him.

His eyes were very dark, and in the flickering light, she couldn’t make out the difference between pupil and iris. He really was terribly good-looking, and if she wasn’t careful, Kally would find herself falling in love with him, which she knew would be a very bad idea. Despite the physical evidence, she knew very well that his heart was already given – and even though he had given her his oath, and she knew that he could keep it, with body and with mind – the heart didn’t obey such things.

“Well,” he said lightly, trying to break the tension, “if I know my twin well, she should be careering back home right about now to try and strangle as many members of our eldest sister’s circle of self-appointed cronies as possible.”

“Why?”

A raised eyebrow. “Well, that they might have tried to kill you and I today, and will probably go after her in a few years is a fairly good reason. Succession wars are always a pain, particularly when the people who are actually involved have absolutely no intention of changing the succession. I believe that Kay and I are rather a disappointment to most of the Court. If not for you,” he kissed her lightly, unexpectedly on the lips, much to Kally’s surprise, “I would have been perfectly happy in some obscure post, far from the capital. Kay, of course, distresses them a great deal. She’s army-mad, and the military higher-ups adore her, but she’s far more likely to take herself out of the succession in some obscure border war than even consider trying to mount a coup de etat.”

Kally noticed that he did not mention Sarain, and was grateful for it. After all the…physical…had been awkward enough, if not at all unpleasant, and this could potentially have been far, far worse.

She was about to put in her fair share of the conversation, when there was a hesitant knock at the door, and then a piece of paper pushed under it. Yevgen slid out of the bed with a slightly annoyed look on his face, and found his discarded silk robe on the floor, knotting it around his waist as he went to the door.

Kally found herself admiring the way he moved, with a sort of easy, economical grace, as he bent and retrieved the note, conjuring a light to read by with an ease that suggested his abilities in the magical department were not quite as modest as he made them out to be.

He sat back on the bed, still looking mildly irritated. “She must be jittery. It could have waited until morning, but it seems that she just left.” He handed Kally the note. It was from his sister, apologising for any interruptions (with a slight darkening of ink for ‘interruptions’) and stating that so far evidence pointed to an Imperial politician whose name Kally had no idea how to pronounce, and a Saren as being responsible for the attack in the chapel.

“She’ll have started back to Bersone to confront Nhqetl. I swear, that woman gets more paranoid every year. One of the nuts at Court,” he explained. “She has a very unreasonable attitude to spare heirs running around.”

Kally didn’t quite know what to say about that. While she could not honestly deny that any monarchy would have difficulties should there be multiple claimants to power, the opposite would be just as bad.

“Humm…” he appeared to be thinking. “I wonder, would you have any great objections to ...er...leaving a day or two earlier than planned? I say it because if someone wants to finish the job they tried to start today, the next opportunity will be on the road to Port Caynn. We’ve made no secret of our plans, and an unexpected departure should put them off balance.”

He seemed extraordinarily composed about the idea of several people actively trying to kill him, and Kally mentioned it. He blushed slightly and ducked his head. “I’m used to it. There have been half-hearted attempts before, so I have been taught how to foil them before it gets to the fist-fight stage.” He sighed. “Assassination is considered a perfectly ordinary, if slightly impolite way to express a political opinion in Bersone. I confess that I’ll be very glad to leave it behind.” A grin. “From what I’ve heard of most of the K’mir and Saren lowlanders, they’ll at least come at me directly with steel instead of skulking around in dark corners.”

Kally couldn’t really imagine being glad to leave her home behind. She had always known that she would have to do it, for the good of Tortall, and had been resigned to it. “Will you miss any of it?” she asked him, moving over so he could get back under the covers.

“My friends, of course – but most of them are stationed all around the Empire, so I wouldn’t have seen them very often even if I was in Bersone. My family – well, my sisters, at least, can go where they please, and far quicker than almost anyone else can. (Kally knew that he wasn’t talking about simply having the best horses and boats) No matter how much I like them though, I think I’ll be happy to be my own person, no longer just the Empress’s son, playing a very poor third to Rislyn-the-Heir and Kay-the-soldier.”

Kally could feel, even beneath his light tone and his obvious affection for both his older sisters, his desire to prove himself, his need to get away from where he was in the company of those familiar with the rest of his family. Where Kally saw Sarain as exile and obligation, he saw an opportunity to forge his own path, away from the intrigue of court. Perhaps that was better, to look to what might be, rather than what might was.

They left for Sarain a few days later, much to the consternation of the Palace seamstresses and tailors, who had anticipated more time to make Kally’s clothes. It was, as Yevgen had predicted, an incident-free ride to Port Caynn and the Imperial fleet that had come to escort their Prince and his bride to his new kingdom. However, a more cynical observer might have remarked that was equally due to the large numbers of the King’s Own and various other military units keeping a wary eye on anyone who so much as looked suspicious. After the incident in the Palace Chapel itself, no one was taking any chances.

The voyage to Sarain was calm and uneventful, and they were met at the remaining Saren port for their journey inland to the capital. Kally was unnerved at the way some of the older K’mir in their escort darted sideways glances in her direction, until Yevgen showed her some portraits of her grandmother that they’d found hidden away in a secret room in the burned out Old Palace. The resemblance wasn’t really physical, as far as Kally could see, but her husband assured her that her impact was the same as that of her fabled grandmother.

They were crowned at the beginning of winter, in a ceremony that drew primarily on old Saren and K’mir traditions, from the days before the Warlords, with slight touches of Tortallan pageantry and Imperial directness. Both of Yevgen’s sisters were there – Kally was somewhat relieved to meet the slightly imperious Rislyn at last, and even more relieved to find that she was a confident, pleasant young woman with no intentions to influence the chains of succession. Kay did not speak much regarding the Imperial part of the assassination attempts, but there was a definite air of satisfaction around her.

Though unexpectedly early winter storms had seemed to prevent Roald, Shinko and Lianne from travelling to the coronation as they had planned, the Imperials obviously had another way to travel. Kally never found out what it was, and her husband either did not know, or (more likely) was not permitted to tell her, but since both Roald and Lianne were sick for days afterwards, she hoped that she never would.

The Empress Vanaria died the following year, just after the wedding of her elder daughter and heir. The Empress Rislyn took the Diadem, and afterwards, there was quite a dramatic change among the courtiers and power-players in the capital. A few who had counted themselves supporters of the new Empress had rather unpleasant surprises. Not only did she fail to remove her brother and sister even after she had daughters of her own, she made no attempt to hinder their own ambitions. They repaid her trust and more. Princess Berenice was one of the greatest generals even the Empire’s long history had ever seen, and with her two chief lieutenants, Justinia Ferox and Felara Eriel, made an already formidable Empire all but invincible from exterior threat. Rislyn also extended the territory of Sarain, giving her brother the King governance not only of the original Kingdom, but incorporating many of the smaller principalities that lay along the Roof of the World, thus stabilising the traditionally difficult western front. For what it was worth, Sarain’s new borders extended over and past the Roof to the plains on the other side, but neither King Yevgen nor Queen Kalasin were ever such fools to feel that they had to enforce it.

As for King Yevgen and Queen Kalasin, their reign in Sarain was long and peaceful, a new Golden Age for that war-torn land, which became rich not only with its own produce, but also the trade that flourished between the lands either side of the Roof. After them, their daughter Queen Lillias (both Yevgen and Kally felt it was time to stop recycling names), an Imperial knight, continued their work, and her sons and daughters after her.

Did they ever fall in love? Well, the great Imperial stateswoman Radanae Gavrillian, dictating her memoirs long after everyone in them was dead and gone, declared that they had been in love long before they, or anyone else, for that matter, had even so much as considered the possibility.

But then again, she was always a romantic.

Not.

THE END

Well, thanks for reading my first TP fanfic everyone! All the reviews were really encouraging, and please feel free to email with any further comments, etc. I am thinking of writing a sequel of sorts, but since I don’t want to pre-empt future TP storylines (in case I get them horribly wrong), it would probably be set within another fantasy world. Would anyone be interested in a story set in Katherine Kurtz’s Deryni world, with some of the original characters here?