In The Name of Love
3: Presentation

By the time the sun rises over Adelhyod on the morning of her Quest for Favor, a bright, clear dawn characteristic of glorious spring days, Minna has already been up for hours. Anticipation thrums through her taut nerves as she makes her way to the sumptuous seating on a dais at one end of the Great Hall, accompanied by her parents, brother, and sister. Daylight filtered through arrow slits and multicolored stained glass windows above mingles with the warm blaze of torches and candles in the hall, making the large open room with its stone walls and floor seem festive instead of cold.

For Minna, though, this makes no difference. The comfortable chairs lining the walls on the main floor fill her with dread—these are designated for her suitors. Members of the nobility are settling in plush seats in the galleries overlooking the Great Hall, chattering excitedly amongst themselves about the festivities they soon will witness. Their presence reminds Minna that she has an audience, that she must be a perfect princess every moment. As if the nobles didn’t create pressure enough, King Ansgar sits at her left, in the center of the royal dais, straight and tall as a knight’s lance in his throne. Silver mixes with gold in his hair and beard, making his regal bearing all the more imposing. I must not disappoint him. I must do what is best for Aethyrozia, Minna reminds herself, but the reminder does nothing to keep her insides from quaking.

From King Ansgar’s other side, Queen Ingrid smiles at Minna, which brings her some small reassurance. At least I do not face this alone, Minna smiles slightly in return. Mother will not let anything terrible happen. Queen Ingrid is elegance incarnate in her flattering emerald gown, a stark contrast with Prince Emrik, who is slumped in the seat to her left looking, despite his resplendent attire, as though he could fall asleep at any moment. I am glad they are here with me, though I can’t imagine either of them will take much pleasure in it.

“Relax,” Fifi whispers on Minna’s other side, even though she knows that speaking is against protocol. “Today’s the fun part. All we have to decide today is who doesn’t get to come back for the Questioning.”

“Hush, Fifi,” Minna breathes, but she’s smiling still. Fifi’s presence at this event is the greatest comfort of all for her. She envies Fifi’s effortless composure, as well as how lovely she looks in her pink gown. Much as Minna loves pink, it has never been her best color, and so she wears pale blue instead.

In response, Fifi nudges Minna, directing her attention to the Chief Royal Steward, who is idling conspicuously near one of the Great Hall’s many pillars. His impatient gaze is directed towards King Ansgar, as though he is trying to will the monarch into starting the day’s festivities. A pit of dread settles in Minna’s stomach. Protocol dictates that he cannot initiate a conversation with any of us unless it’s a matter of life and death, she tells herself. Just a few minutes more, Father, please. Let me have just a few minutes more—

“Well, Wilhelmina?” King Ansgar prompts, his stony impassive gaze falling heavily on his eldest daughter.

Minna, already stiff as a statue, tightens every muscle further to keep from flinching at her father’s words. Like it or not, you are a Princess of Aethyrozia. You must do your duty. And so, despite her dread and her nerves, she offers the king a deep nod of assent, not trusting herself to speak.

“Let us begin the presentation of the suitors,” King Ansgar directs the Chief Royal Steward with a small, satisfied smile.

The Chief Royal Steward wastes no time in producing a slim silver trumpet from a sort of holster at his side and making three long, shrill blasts. The immense doors at the far end of the Great Hall swing open before the echoes of the trumpet calls fade. Between them marches a processional, led by the Royal Drummers and Royal Bagpipers of Aethyrozia in their sharp red and white uniforms. Behind them stride the men who’ve come to compete for a princess’s hand in marriage. Minna suspects that they are ordered by rank and their favor in King Ansgar’s eyes, because the five Syazonian princes enter directly after the musicians. All five are arrayed in golden livery and have hair in varying shades of red, and Minna guesses they are arranged eldest to youngest; certainly their leader seems the most mature, with an unspeakable sadness in his eyes and a bearing not unlike that of King Ansgar. The second Syazonian prince struts like a peacock with his chest puffed out. Ridiculous, Minna observes. No wonder Mother didn’t mention him. The third of the brothers seems shy and earnest, the fourth wild and impatient, and the fifth bookish and rather too young for Minna. All five give a courtesy half-bow to the Royal Family of Aethyrozia and move to one side, that the other suitors may do the same.

Wait a moment. Who is that? Minna wonders, her attention captured by a handsome young man in an emerald doublet that exactly matches his eyes. The Royal Crest of Vyrunia marks him as the prince of that prosperous country. He bows elaborately to Minna and her family. He walks with confidence and grace, and his smile makes Minna’s heart skip a beat. Appearances aren’t everything. Wait and see what he reveals today before you judge him, Minna scolds herself, but she can’t keep from following him with her eyes as he joins the Syazonian princes at the side of the Great Hall. Fifi’s elbow in her side brings her gaze back to center, where a tall, lanky young man in vibrant orange livery, wearing the Imperial Crest of Khandazar, is bowing shakily. This must be the Grand Duke of Khandazar Mother mentioned, Minna deduces. He looks as nervous as I feel. Poor thing. Did his parents force him to come here?

Beyond the Grand Duke of Khandazar walks a sea of Aethyrozian noblemen and noble sons of all shapes and sizes: Lord Felix, the pompous and potbellied Viscount of Donthur; Lord Rolf, the Viscount of Senthior, a veritable mountain of a man; Duke Gustav of Punthar, tall and thin as a blade with a dark cloak and a harrowing smile; and several others who seem more plausible as suitors for Minna. She relaxes slightly, seeing these more familiar faces, men she’s seen at court from time to time, even a few she’s danced with at balls in years past. Except that one. I haven’t seen him before, Minna observes a young man with dark hair long enough to be tied in a low ponytail. He wears the crest of Lyrnola, an Aethyrozian region. Father complains of the Earl of Lyrnola’s avarice somewhat frequently. But this isn’t the Earl, looking as uncomfortable and hyperaware as a startled rabbit. This might well be his first time ever coming to court. His father must be monstrous indeed, to feed him to the wolves like this. Minna would have liked to observe him more—a side glance at her sister reveals that Fifi, too, is intrigued by the newcomer—but he is eclipsed by the portly and balding Baron of Nunsingham, and then she can no longer pick him out of the crowd of suitors.

All too soon and yet not soon enough for Minna, the presentation of suitors concludes with an elaborate, earsplitting fanfare. Minna stiffens to keep from wincing as the sound reverberates through the unforgiving stone of the hall. As the noise fades, King Ansgar rises from his throne while the suitors sit in their chairs.

“Thank you all for coming, and for pledging to compete in Princess Wilhelmina’s Quest for Favor,” the king says grandly. “We are most pleased to have so many and such a variety of contenders for our eldest daughter’s hand in marriage. Of course, the question of who prevails in this contest is up to the princess alone to answer. As you know, the Quest for Favor takes place in three rounds, and today we will have the first round, a showcase of your talents. Each of you has chosen to compete in one of four categories: Visual Arts, Athletics, Music, or Performance. We will begin with Visual Arts in this hall, then move outside for the Athletics presentations, then break for dinner. After dinner the Music and Performance contenders will present in this room. Princess Wilhelmina will announce which suitors will move on to the second round of the Quest for Favor at the conclusion of our evening repast.”

A few smatterings of polite applause circulate the Great Hall in acknowledgment of the proposed schedule of events. The suitors mostly look eager to get started, and Minna cannot blame them. Their fates are also on the line, she realizes, and what hell it must be to wait until the Performance category, through so many other contestants’ efforts, to show off one’s skills! Were their positions reversed, Minna would be competing right after dinner, performing with either her harp or her violin. Fifi would have a harder task, trying to demonstrate her considerable talent for drawing in a mere fifteen minutes.

“The first to compete will be Lord Ulrik of Sulthir!” the Chief Royal Steward announces, prompting a nervous, scrawny youth to rise from his seat. A servant hands him a block of wood and a small knife as he approaches the center of the Great Hall. The Earl of Sulthir is at least twenty-five years my senior, and much more self-assured. This must be his son, Minna deduces. “Your time begins now, Young Lord.”

Lord Ulrik ducks his head, then begins carving the block of wood in his hands without so much as a glance toward the dais where the royal family sits. He clearly knows what he’s doing, Minna observes. She and Fifi glance sideways at each other while he works. Does he really mean to remain silent for the full fifteen minutes? He seems so fiercely focused. I don’t want to break his concentration and ruin his work…. Lord Ulrik continues to carve without speaking. The scraping of his knife on the wood seems unnaturally loud with no conversation to dull it, and every shuffle and sniffle in the Great Hall echoes. Fifi squirms slightly beside Minna. She must be as uncomfortable as I am. And has the freedom to express it, Minna muses, stifling a sigh. The Chief Royal Steward clears his throat, and Minna looks his way to find him glaring disdainfully at the growing pile of wood shavings at Lord Ulrik’s feet. Emrik snickers aloud, and Queen Ingrid hushes him with a touch on his wrist and a sideways glare. I must be a proper princess. I must not laugh. Another glance at Fifi reveals that she is also struggling to keep quiet.

Finally, the Chief Royal Steward declares that time is up, releasing a collective sigh of relief from nearly everyone in the Great Hall. Lord Ulrik presents a small wooden bunny to Minna with a cute, awkward smile. It’s actually adorable. Good craftsmanship, Minna observes as she accepts the new-made trinket, gracing Lord Ulrik with a smile of her own. The woodcarver then bows and retreats to his seat at the edge of the room. A servant emerges to sweep away his wood shavings. The Chief Royal Steward announces the Baron of Nunsingham, whose rotund bulk takes Lord Ulrik’s place in front of the Royal Family. Another servant brings him an easel, a sheet of parchment, and a variety of ink pens. When his time begins, the Baron starts to draw, his gaze fixed on King Ansgar rather than Minna. How unsettling. I’ll not have a suitor who’d prefer my father to me, Minna decides. As he draws, those seated behind the Baron with some view of his parchment begin to whisper to one another and shift uncomfortably. Emrik tries to get up to see the Baron’s work, but his mother pulls him back into his seat, and King Ansgar turns towards his son for a moment, no doubt with a disappointed scowl. What can this suitor possibly be drawing?

When his time ends, the Baron of Nunsingham presents his parchment to the Royal Family, revealing a most unflattering caricature of King Ansgar. Vashrua’s teeth, does he have a death wish? Minna wonders, biting back a gasp. Emrik actually gasps and starts coughing, Minna suspects to disguise laughter. Father has never tolerated such an egregious affront to himself or his authority—

“I hope it pleases you, Princess,” the Baron wheedles.

“Princess Wilhelmina’s pleasure is the least of your concerns, wretch,” King Ansgar declares before Minna can reply. “Your work has disqualified you from the Quest for Favor. The Hedersvakt will see you out.”

The king snaps his fingers, and soldiers wearing the royal crest of a golden swan on their breastplates emerge from behind the tapestries, advancing towards the Baron as one.

“Wait! Nonononono this is a misunderstanding! Mercy, Your Majesty, please have mercy!” he wails. The guards seize him and bodily remove him from the Great Hall despite his girth and his protests. The other competitors shuffle uncomfortably under King Ansgar’s iron gaze.

“Serves him right,” Emrik mutters.

“I sincerely hope none of the rest of you have anything so ill-advised prepared for today.” Minna nods her agreement with her father’s warning. If Father hadn’t disqualified him, I would have, she adds silently. Insults to such a wise and capable ruler are not to be borne, especially as he is my father as well as my sovereign. Even if he were in other ways appealing rather than repugnant, the result would be the same.

Despite her lack of pity, Minna does wonder what will become of the Baron, even as the Chief Royal Steward calls forth the next suitor. It seems there is some danger, beyond disappointed hopes, for those competing in the Quest for Favor, she observes. I hope the others have chosen their talents more wisely.

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