For Drahkonia's Honor - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Set upon a hill, somewhere just west of the center of the kingdom, the capitol city of Drahkonia stands.  The scholars record that it was first founded by Dylarann Drahkon while on an exploratory mission as general of the largest Sylenrian army during its great Eastern Campaign in the year 429.  Upon climbing the bluff, the first king of Drahkonia is cited as having declared, "This land breathes with a soul of its own and belongs to no Empire," and immediately named the site Taernfane in honor of the earth goddess herself. Of course, the fact that Taernfane became the center of Dylarann's own empire is a subject of much consternation to Drahkonian scholars.  But the city was built and quickly became the largest township east of Sylen, much to the disgust of Sylenria's king, who had not only lost his Eastward expansion, but also his best general in the process.  Relations between the two kingdoms have ever been strained.
         
         Since its creation, Taernfane has been a beacon of civilization and learning, drawing scholars and merchants from all corners of Drahkonia and, indeed, from all over the Continent itself.  Gardens and fountains meld seamlessly with the bustling city streets and multi-story buildings, creating a fabulous illusion of a civilized wilderness.  One needn't go far to find solace and quietude, though any amenity one could expect in a city is ever at one's fingertips.  Though the architecture of the city itself is a sight to behold, it pales drastically in comparison with the Drahkonian Royal Palace.  Dylarann, never a man to be outdone, most especially by his former king, hired a number of Sylenrian architects to design the structure.  Their first attempt reminded him far too much of his home, at which time he was reported to have said, "It's beautiful.  Now make it completely different."  He pinpointed specific aspects of the design for them to change, and the result was a new brand of architecture, dubbed some years later as the Drahkonian style.
         
         Though Dominic, the thirty-seventh in the line of Drahkonian kings, now rules the kingdom and makes his home in the palace, little has changed.  The city, and indeed the kingdom, has become larger and more prosperous over the years, and the spoils of wars have ebbed and flowed with each new king and each new vision for Drahkonia's glory.  But Taernfane is still a drawing point for the spiritual and the mundane, the scholars and the merchants, the beggars and the kings.
         
         On one particular balcony of the palace a woman stood, looking out over the city that had become her new home less than a year ago.  She was scarcely more than a girl really, at least in her own mind, and she often carried herself as such, when no one was looking.  As it happened, now was one such time, and she leaned her elbows on the balcony's carved marble rail and bent her knees, letting her legs and bare feet dangle freely just above the floor.  Her hair, long and flaxen with the slightest of waves to it, hung scandalously unbound over her shoulders and blew this way and that in the wind-now obscuring her vision, now whipping behind her to let the sunlight and chill air caress her cheeks.  Her robe, heavy for the warmth of the palace, but far too light for the outdoors on a morning like this, was fastened tightly about her slender waist.
         
         Behind her, a sudden voice called, admonishing in the way of one not entirely surprised to find her in this state.  "Katarina." 
         
         Her feet were instantly on the ground and she straightened sharply, as though there were some chance she had not yet been seen in her carefree, childlike abandon.  A glance over her shoulder revealed that this was, of course, not the case.  Penalara, in her motherly, matronly way, was standing at the open balcony door, with arms crossed disappointedly below her bosom.  The girl smiled, a feigned attempt at innocence.
         
         "Katarina, how many times..." but her voice trailed off as she stepped to one side, extending one arm toward the tawny-haired young woman on the balcony, beckoning her silently inside.  Katarina obliged, somewhat hesitantly, and Penalara was swift to close the doors behind her.  "What would your husband say if he saw you like that?"
         
         It was meant to be a scolding, but only Katarina (and her husband, of course) knew the truth of the matter.  But it wouldn't do to explain this to Penalara, so she only bowed her head slightly, drawing her bottom lip up between her teeth.  Apparently satisfied with the girl's self-admonishment, the older woman turned about, carrying on her duties.  It was just as well, since Katarina could only hold the fake pout for a few moments before slipping into a girlish grin, just shy of a giggle, which would have given her away.
         
         Penalara was older, though not old by any means, and her sense of propriety was somewhat... outdated, in Katarina's opinion.  Though she often knew what was best in situations calling for social grace and etiquette, and the young woman found herself listening frequently, despite her every effort to the contrary.  Her hair, dull mahogany with the slightest hint of strawberry-blond in the summertime, was pulled back, neat and even, into a single braid that hung half-way to her waist.  She was at the wardrobe now, pulling out a sweeping tyrian gown with long, draping sleeves that would nearly cover even her hands.  Katarina's face scrunched up in disgust.  Penalara pretended not to notice and continued her task of laying the dress out for her mistress.
         
         "But I want something lighter," she exclaimed, moving to the wardrobe herself.  She ruffled through the dresses, many of which were wedding gifts she had still yet to wear.  "Like this one!"  She removed a light, flowing dress of pale blue.  Holding it up to herself, she noted with delight that it fell to just above her ankles and had fitted sleeves reaching to the elbow.
         
         "Now, Katarina," Penalara began in her well-worn, scolding tone.  "It's barely spring yet.  You cannot go flouncing about in any old thing."
         
         "But it's my favorite color," she replied, her voice rapidly approaching a whine.  "And it's so beautiful a morning.  I shouldn't be surprised if the flowers start to bloom today."
         
         Tsking quietly under her breath, Penalara took the dress Katarina held and draped it over her arm, though a gentle knock on the door interrupted her from shutting it up inside the wardrobe again.  Dress in hand, she opened the door and bowed low before the man who stood on the other side.


He was tall, broad shouldered, with dark hair that this morning was pulled back neatly and tied with a leather thong at the base of his neck.  A thick, well-kempt beard hid his chin from view, and though his face was beginning to show that he was no longer as young as once he was, he was still quick to smile.  His eyes, close set and sharp as a hawk's, glimmered as he looked to the young blond woman standing behind the bowing maid servant.
         
         "Good morning, Katarina," he said, at the same time gesturing for Penalara to rise.  "I trust you slept well."
         
         She wanted to respond to him, truly she did, but with Penalara there, she knew what the older woman would say, and she would have to listen to her sighs of disgust for the rest of the day.  So she said nothing for now, but only nodded.
         
         He did not seem to mind as his smile broadened a bit.  "Good."  His eyes drifted to the dress still draped over Penalara's arm.  "Ah, an excellent choice," he said, lifting a piece of the fabric, even as the woman moved to put it away and out of sight.  "I've always loved that shade of blue on you, Katie."
         
         Katarina's eyes lit up.  "Thank you.  I had thought it might get warm enough today.
         
         "Indeed, I think it should."  The man nodded to Penalara.  "Leave us a moment, please."
         
         The maid servant set the dress upon the bed beside the porphyry and departed silently, bowing once more before leaving the room entirely.  Katarina heard the door click shut.
         
         Alone now, each stepped forward toward the other, a solid kiss meeting them halfway.  His arms around her, the man rested his chin atop her head while she leaned it, comforted, against his chest.  "How did you really sleep?" he asked quietly.
         
         Katarina smiled.  "Well enough, I suppose," she admitted.  She did not lift her head to look at him.  "Though the bed felt chilled without you."
         
         "I wish I could say the same."  He placed a gentle kiss on her hair.  "I have yet to lie in a bed.  That bloody discourse kept me, my best general, and half my scribes working straight through until just about half an hour ago."  He sighed, tightening his arms around her.  "She didn't actually mean for you to wearthat hideously thing cluttering up the bed, did she?"
         
         A laugh like silver chimes burst out of Katarina before she could do anything to stifle it.  "I believe she did."
         
         "By the gods, sometimes I do wonder about that woman."  He took a small step back from her to glance down at her face.  He smiled, and Katarina felt her knees weaken.  She was suddenly even more grateful that his arms were around her.  He nodded toward the other dress.  "I hope you appreciate what I did just then."
         
         Standing on her toes, Katarina kissed him, still smiling.  "Dominic, I don't know what I would do without you."



Later on that morning, Dominic held court as usual, with his young wife Katarina beside him, brilliantly clad in what was, in his opinion, the most beautiful dress she owned-not because of the fabric or the embroidery, for it was rather plain compared to a number of the things she owned now, but because it had been hers before he married her, before he brought her to his home and made her his king.  It was Katarina in every sense of her, and it was perfect on her.  Ten months now she had lived in the palace as Queen, and that simple sky blue sundress was still her favorite thing she owned, and it was Dominic's favorite because of it.
         
         The petitions of the day were nothing unusual, and Dominic dealt with each as he had always done.  Then, any visiting nobleman or courtiers were introduced, and the king made note of each as was his way.  He saw Katarina lean forward slightly on her throne as a young woman stepped forward.  His queen was lonely, he knew, for few women tended to spend the winter in the palace, and smiled inwardly at the visible excitement in seeing a visitor who was about her age.
         
         The woman, blond like Katarina (though hers had more of a golden hue than did the queen's), and fair-skinned curtsied most gracefully.  She was of roughly average height, though she was very slender as could be seen by the way her court gown hugged her waist and flared out past her hips.  Dominic noticed with a spark of recognition that the woman placed her right hand over her heart as she bowed-the court greeting of Caerlathil.
         
         The seneschal announced her, "Princess Aralyn Relethianara, youngest daughter to King Tylineth of Caerlathil."  Dominic nodded and the young woman rose.
         
         "Gracious King Dominic and lovely Queen Katarina," she began in a well-modulated, practiced court tone.  "Newly arrived from the city of Caerliel, my father has sent me into your kingdom to learn of human diplomacy and to mayhap strengthen the bonds between not only our two great kingdoms, but also between men and the lin'ry.  Hearing the elf use their own word for her people, Dominic allowed one corner of his mouth to curve upward slightly.  This princess was well-schooled, clearly, flowing from her own native tongue to Sylenrian with hardly the trace of an accent.  The king had been aware of her impending arrival, certainly, but he had purposefully neglected to mention their royal diplomat to Katarina, for he knew how pleasantly surprised she would be by the visitor, but he did not want to disappoint her should the young elf's visit be delayed or postponed.  It was worth it to him now, to see the delight welling, barely contained, within Katarina.
         
         "Be welcome in Drahkonia, Princess Aralyn Relethianara, for the duration of your stay.  Should you need anything at all, you have only but to ask." 
         
         "Thank you, Your Majesty."  The princess curtsied once more before stepping back.  Several more courtiers were introduced, though none were of particular note or import to Dominic.  He nodded regally to them all and bid them all welcome.  When the last noble had been introduced and the last petition made, the king rose from his seat.  The people who had filled the court all sank to one knee.  He extended a hand to his young wife, who took it happily, smiling up at him as she, too, stood. 
         
         He barely waited until they were in the royal antechamber and the door was closed behind them before he slipped the golden, ornate crown from his head.  Beside him, Katarina giggled softly.
         
         "That didn't take long," she said, nudging him in the side with her elbow.
         
         Dominic shrugged with one shoulder, setting the gaudy thing on a velvet pillow held by a servant.  The servant bowed while another offered him the simple gold circlet he wore when not at court. "I'd where no crown at all if the choice were mine."  He took the circlet and set it easily upon his head.
         
         It suited him, Katarina thought.  "Isn't it?  The last time I checked, you were king, my love."
         
         Dominic smiled, slipping his hand from hers to put his arm around her shoulders.  "King I may be," he said, leading her away from the court.  "But my father would turn in his grave to think I walked around the palace without some symbol of my rank."  A deep, sardonic sort of chuckle escaped him as they walked. 

         "As though anyone within these walls could mistake you for anyone else?"

         Dominic set a kiss on the top of her head.  "Precisely."

         "You knew of that girl's arrival," she said suddenly.  Not a question.

          "Yes, I did."  Seeing the mock indignation of his wife's face, he added quickly, "You should call upon her tomorrow.  Won't it be nice to have someone new to lunch with?  Or gossip?"

         Katarina's brows arched.  "Gossip?"

         "Yes."  Dominic looked at her side-long.  "Isn't that what ladies do when in the company of other ladies?"  He grinned wickedly, even as the queen struck him playfully on the arm.

         "I do not gossip," she said, rather matter-of-factly.  It was difficult for her to keep a straight face, for everyone, including her husband, new full well her propensity for 'idle chatter' as Penalara called it.  "I simply like to be kept well-informed of the comings and goings within the palace."