Princess Celouise was embroiled in a bitter argument with her father, King Ranatil, revolving around her marriage to the then Prince Jarhine.
"Father it is absurd," the young princess complained to her father. "How am I supposed to be expected to marry this posturing dandy of a prince?"
She had been presented with a portrait of Jarhine that very morning, recoiling from the cruelly shaped eyes that glared from the canvas at her.
He wore a superior expression, caught with a sneer across his face. his high cheekbones making him look almost feminine.
He had been painted wearing the most outrageous clothes in an array of riotous mismatched and clashing colours. The only redeeming feature Celouise could see in the painting was the mass of thick black curls atop his head and even these were a source of irritation.
They had flopped over his forehead and all Celouise wanted to do was reach inside the painting and push them back.
"You are a princess of my house, Celouise, and as such will do what is best for our family's kingdom. You know our history, you have studied the wars we have fought against the Northland tribes.
"This alliance with Rothmury will ensure my people are safe. Jarhine's father has already agreed to restock our border garrisons with experienced soldiers, men and women who have fought and trained against the Northlanders before.
"Your marriage to Prince Jarhine will ensure the continued security of this kingdom and the citizens who live in it, especially when he takes the throne and you become queen."
Celouise tried a different approach.
"But where will your beloved people be, father, when Rothmury rules all? Where will your throne lie? Will this still be a kingdom? Or a duchy ruled over by some lackey Jarhine sends here to grind taxes from your people? What of your kingdom then?"
Her father sighed.
"It will be safe, Cel, my people will be safe and can live without the fear of constant attack from the barbarians from the North."
"But father..."
"Enough!" King Ranatil roared at his daughter, shocking her into silence. "You will marry Jarhine. Our kingdoms will be united and my people will be safe. You do not have to like it, you do not even have to love him but you will do as you are ordered."
Celouise had gone white with shock, her father had never spoken to her like this before and she desperately wished her mother was still alive to cling to. Somehow the young princess had managed to regain some of her composure.
"As you command, your majesty," she executed a perfect curtsey. "With your permission, sire, I should withdraw and prepare myself to meet my future husband."
Celouise had been pleased she had managed to maintain a polite, rational tone, when all she wanted to do was scream and rage against the unfairness of it all.
You knew this would be your fate as a princess. Mother and father both made it clear you would be married off to someone for a political alliance from childhood.
But I thought I might have the chance to at least meet and approve of him before I was sold into slavery.
Celouise's throat tightened and her lip started to tremble as she waited for her father's permission to leave.
"It does not have to be this way, Celouise," he told her gently.
"With your leave, sire?" She asked again, through clenched teeth this time.
Her father nodded sadly.
"Go."
She had cried herself to sleep that night.
A few days later her handmaiden had been brushing her hair one morning. As her closest female friend and confidante the girl had listened patiently to Celouise's rambling complaints about being married off to Jarhine. Absently brushing the princess' red locks she said.
"I know all that, mam, but seeing that picture of his, I reckon he would be right good for a romp in the sack."
"Mergine!" Celouise's mouth had formed an O of shock even as she blushed at the thought.
"Come on, mam, do not be telling me you have not even thought about it."
"I have not!" The princess declared.
"Well I have," Mergine said without a trace of embarrassment.
Celouise's eyes widened and she shook her head in shame for the girl.
"This is not a subject we should be..." The handmaiden cut her off.
"Them lush lips of his on your neck, him pressed tight up against you with his hands all over."
"Mergine!" Celouise had squealed in outrage while starting to giggle.
The young girl had decide to push a little further.
"Oh yes, mam, you can see it in his eyes. Like some kind of animal I reckon," they were both laughing now. "Go for hours, he will and big..."
"Mergine, that really is enough," Celouise warned through her laughter and they had both fallen silent for a while until she added.
"It is more than inappropriate for my handmaiden to be considering the size of his wedding tackle," the princess said, the pair dissolving into hysterics again.
Three weeks had passed in anticipation of Jarhine's arrival.
Three weeks of preparations for his entourage, massive expenses from her father's modest treasury for food and to reserve accommodations in the town.
Her father's kingdom, Smidlania, was tiny in comparison to Rothmury, its only real resource being the fogrenat trees that grew in vast forests towards the Northern border.
Fogrenat wood, highly prized by shipwrights and house builders alike for its strength, durability and ease of working grew in abundance in the northern part of the country.
Ships built with it could be made larger as the trees grew to an average of a hundred feet. The resilience and durability of fogrenat allowed them to weather the most violent of storms with little or no damage.
Even this, however, was not the end of the story as the Smidlanians had cleverly managed to study the conditions needed to grow new fogrenat trees and years ago planted new ones, ensuring a future supply of the valuable wood.
With the slow growing nature of the trees, someone had suggested they plant more trees than they cut down, meaning future generations would have a plentiful supply. It had since become a royal decree, bringing the slow but inevitable economic growth to Smidlania.
Even so, Celouise's family was not particularly rich by the standards of most ruling houses she had visited and her father worried Jarhine would think them a backward and poor kingdom.
Another week passed and he was late. Riders had been sent out to look for any sign of the prince and his wagon train only to return a few days later with nothing to report.
Messages were dispatched to Rothmury, enquiring of the prince's whereabouts while hope and despair grew in Celouise's chest in equal measure.
Maybe he will not come for me. Hopefully he has seen some other princess from a much wealthier kingdom and chosen her for his bride instead. What if he has chosen another? What is wrong with me? Am I not good enough now for this pompous Jarhine?
Plagued with doubts, Celouise had gone to investigate a commotion in her father's courtyard. A few of the household staff were milling around three dusty, travel weary men and their exhausted palta as she emerged into the blinding sunlight.
"What is going on?" She asked the castle steward. "Who are these men?"
Even though the old steward was clearly flustered, his training and lifelong service to the royal family cut in and he bowed deeply.
"Highness, it seems Prince Jarhine has arrived with his escort, the Princes Grethron and Malthrom, his brothers."
Celouise peered into the light.
Surely not! Where are all his retainers and lackeys? Where is the massive entourage he must have brought? She wondered.
Celouise stepped forward to where the three men were in deep discussion with the stable-hands. Two of them faced her and were clearly related while the third and taller man had his back to her and was appealing for the best for his mount.
"They have brought us hundreds of leagues, lad," this tall one was saying to a clearly awestruck youth who bowed repeatedly. "Understand, son? They need the best care you can give them. You look like a trustworthy lad, will you make sure they get the best meat and have them bathed to ease their muscles?"
The stable-hand was one of the youngest her father employed and was clearly out of his depth when being addressed by this powerful man,
"Y-y-es, your M-majesty," he stammered using the incorrect form of address.
He was clearly pleased when the prince gripped his shoulder, almost as an equal.
"Excellent, lad, I will see your king knows of your service to me...?"
"Thrin, sire."
"Thank you, Thrin, you do me a great service."
As the beasts were led, panting, to some much needed care, one of the other princes punched the taller one on the shoulder and nodded to Celouise.
He turned and fixed her with forest green eyes as wide and kind as any she had ever seen before collapsing to the ground.
Celouise gasped as his two brothers did the same until she realised they were kneeling to her, offering the backs of their necks in the traditional gesture of supplication.