“Alexandra!  Get in here now!”

I draped the stockings I was mending over my shoulder and hurried to the other side of the changing screen.  Cool autumn breezes blew through the open window at the top of the castle turret where I had served as a handmaid for as long as I could remember. The Princess Whitney had been on edge all morning though I didn’t understand why.   Today the Kingdom of Hadebrand would host the Grand Tournament, but we had attended plenty of tournaments and jousts before, presented by Whitney’s father, King Edgar.  Granted, this one was a little more significant than the others, and the number of knights from neighboring kingdoms of all sizes had been pouring in since daybreak, but there had been other important tournaments.  Whitney hadn’t been so particular about her wardrobe at those times.

Whitney tilted her head to one side as I finished helping her with her hair.  The pale, perfect skin of her sleek neck and her haughty attitude were manifestations of her royalty in addition to the elaborate trappings wrapped around her body.  With a quick, practiced movement, I pinned ribbons of black and gold at the top of her head.

I finished dressing her with the help of Hadley, Edith, and Shelly—Princess Whitney’s other handmaids.  When we were finished, the princess looked as stunning as she always did.  Edith pinched Princess Whitney’s cheeks to redden them and touched her lips with the juice of crushed raspberries to give them a deep hue.  We all stood back, and Hadley and I smiled at each other.  We took both pride and pleasure in preparing Princess Whitney for her public appearance.  With a quick nod from the princess, we dutifully stepped in line behind the Princess and her flowing train.

“There are several princes competing today,” Hadley whispered to me.  “Do you think she’s trying to catch their eye?”

I shrugged, not wanting to be caught gossiping.  To be completely honest, I wasn’t very interested in who was competing in the games today.  I was used to my own simple life.  All the hustle and bustle of the nobles seemed very unnecessary to me.

By the time we reached the arena, many of the knights on tall, decorated stallions were already entering through the gates.  Most of them I recognized, for they were well known champions of the kingdom, and stories of their legendary battles had been told time and time again.  There were always a few new ones, and one in particular I noticed because of the coloring of his banner—black and gold.  The crest was that of Silverhelm, the realm of King Camden.  The young knight must be Sir Branford, his nephew.  I glanced at the ribbons in Whitney’s hair and realized whose attention the princess was trying to capture.  I couldn’t see the knight’s face due to the helm, but I assumed the princess had anticipated his presence.

Settling down on the bench behind the princess, I pulled out some of the sewing I had been working on prior to readying Princess Whitney.  I was not interested in the tournament itself. I had seen many before and thought them brutal and frightening.  I kept my eyes down on the work in my hands as the knights galloped their horses toward each other, broke lances, and fought with swords.  I knew this was only a game, like most tournaments, but there was always the danger of one of the competitors being hurt or even killed.  At least this wasn’t one of the tournaments where death was quite likely, as the stakes were so high.  I wondered to myself what the prize would be for the knight winning this tournament.

“Oh no!” Princess Whitney gasped.

I looked up for the first time in an hour to see the black and gold knight on his back, thrown from his horse, with Sir Remy riding up beside him with sword drawn.  The blade connected with the knight’s helm and sent him in a summersault over the sand.  The helm flew off and rolled away, uncovering deep black locks, dampened with exertion.  While Sir Remy rode in a large circle, turning at the end of the arena and heading back for another pass, the knight retrieved his helm and placed it back on his head.

As the knight righted himself, a page threw a long sword to his right hand and a shield to his left.  The next time Sir Remy passed by, the black and gold knight heaved his shield at Sir Remy’s head.  Sir Remy toppled from his mount, and the knights were on each other at once.

I turned my head away, no longer able to watch.

When Princess Whitney began cheering, I could only assume the black and gold knight had defeated Sir Remy—no easy feat—and was victorious.  I finally looked up to see the knight back on his stallion and riding in a large circle around the outside of the arena, with his banner held high, both to cheers and cries of outrage.

Trumpets blared, and all eyes turned toward King Edgar, Princess Whitney’s noble father.  He stood at the edge of the platform and held up his arms until the arena quieted enough for him to be heard.

“Sir Branford, good knight of the neighboring realm of Silverhelm, we are honored today by your presence and your bravery!  Come forth and name your prize!”

I watched Sir Branford as he rode past, removing his helm and dropping it to the ground for one of his pages to retrieve.  His dark hair was plastered with moisture around his forehead, but despite his current state, it was easy to see why the Princess Whitney was so concerned with her own appearance this day; Sir Branford was extraordinarily handsome.

As he passed by the princess and her entourage, he looked up, and my eyes met his for a brief moment.  I quickly looked away, ashamed to have made eye contact with a lord of our neighboring realm.  I hoped it would not be considered an insult to either Sir Branford or King Camden.

I looked up again while keeping my head bowed and watched him approach the podium where King Edgar stood overlooking the arena.  He bowed at his waist to both King Edgar and Queen Margaret, and the King repeated his request that Sir Branford name his prize.

“I trust in your judgment, King Edgar.”  The knight finally spoke, and his voice was clear and melodic.  “I fight only for your enjoyment and require no prize.”

“I insist, Sir Branford,” King Edgar said.  “Gallantry such as yours must be rewarded.  Otherwise, I may be considered a neighbor without graciousness.”

“Then I shall accept whatever prize you consider worthy, King Edgar,” Sir Branford responded.

The interchange was nothing more than a ruse.  I’d heard many similar speeches at other tournaments.  The winning knight denies the need of a prize; the king insists, and the knight humbly accepts in the end.

King Edgar looked over to his Queen and spoke with her quietly.  She nodded to him, and I noticed her meeting the gaze of Princess Whitney before looking back to her husband.  King Edgar turned to Sir Branford and smiled.

“Then I offer as your prize,” he said, “the hand of any available maid in my kingdom.”

Now I understood.  The Princess must have known of this arrangement, and she planned to wed this Sir Branford, nephew of King Camden and heir to his throne.  It would unite the two kingdoms quite neatly.

“That is very generous of you.” Sir Branford chuckled.  He glanced over in our direction.  “Any available female?  Any at all?”

“Of course, Sir Branford.”

All eyes were on the knight as he scanned the ladies and princesses sitting prettily in a row.  I watched the eyes of Princess Whitney as they watched the knight make his way over in front of her.  His horse halted not ten feet from Princess Whitney's seat, and he looked back to the King.

“Any available female, sire?”

“I have already answered your question, Sir Branford.”  The King scowled.  “Choose your prize.”

“Very well.” Sir Branford's horse sidestepped to the left and the knight extended his arm.  “I choose her.”

My gaze was still locked on Princess Whitney's face, anticipating her joyful reaction when she was chosen, but it didn’t come.  Instead, I heard the surprised gasps of everyone in the arena.  Princess Whitney’s eyes swiveled to mine, her expression angry.  I wondered if I had been mistaken, and she didn’t actually want to be with the knight after all.

“The handmaid?” the king called out.  “Is this a jest?”

Princess Whitney turned her head back to the knight and then back to me again, her eyes narrowed.  As I slowly processed the king’s words, I turned to look at Sir Branford.  He sat on his horse, looking directly at me, keeping his hand extended in my direction.  I looked over to Hadley, and her eyes were on me as well.

“Is she already betrothed?” Sir Branford inquired, turning to face King Edgar.

“She is not, but...”

“Then she is available,” Branford surmised as he smiled broadly, “and she is female, so she is my choice of prize.”

He glanced back at me again, and I quickly looked down at my feet, trying to understand what was happening.

“He means you, Alexandra,” Hadley whispered beside me.  “He’s asking for your hand as his prize!”

“M-me?” I heard myself stammer.  There was no possible way a lord—heir to the throne as well—was suggesting a handmaid be taken as a bride.  If he were asking for a night with me, I would have understood.  Such a request would not be unheard of for a lord to demand.  Perhaps he had misunderstood the king’s offer.  Perhaps we all had.  “There must be a mistake…”

“If you wish to take her and use her as you like, please do not hesitate,” King Edgar said, his voice lowered and no longer carrying across the arena.  “Though I would think a modicum of discretion…”

“King Edgar”—Sir Branford’s voice was deep and carried far, making my ears hum—“you offered the bride of my choice.  Are you changing the conditions of your offer?”

“Of course not.”  King Edgar sneered.

“Good.” Sir Branford turned back and held his hand out toward me again.  I had no idea what I was supposed to do.  Was this knight seriously planning to take me as his bride?  Why would he consider such a thing?  I was not of noble blood, and my position was completely beneath him.

“Go, you stupid girl”—Princess Whitney snarled her words, and I jumped out of my trance—“before you are any more of an embarrassment!”

I looked back into the face of the mounted knight before me.  With two fingers coiling back toward his chest, he beckoned to me.  I stood on wobbly legs and made my way around the gaping onlookers until I stood in front of the knight, the height of the seating making us level with one another.  From his perch in the saddle, he reached out with his gloved hand and touched my fingertips, pulling me closer until he could reach my waist.  With both hands, he lifted me easily from the stands and placed me in front of him on his stallion.

Circling my waist with his arm, he pulled me tight against his chest.  I could feel the cold steel of his armored breastplate against my back.  I shivered, though not at the cold.  I had never been touched by a man in such a way, and I did not know what to do or even where I should hold on.

Sir Branford’s other hand grasped the reins, and the stallion leapt forward.  I cried out, grasping the knight's arm and holding on tight as he circled the arena twice.  The second time around, I felt him lean in close to my ear, and his nose brushed against the skin of my neck.  I heard him take a deep breath before racing out of the gate at the far end.  He did not slow until he reached the stables.

Sir Branford dismounted swiftly, then reached up to grasp me at my waist and lift me down from his steed.  Once my feet touched the ground, he continued to hold me at my hips for a moment to keep me from falling.  My hands gripped his forearms for balance.

“Look at me, handmaid.”  His melodic voice sang softly to me.

I looked up at his eyes and noticed how tall he really was.  I barely reached his shoulder.  His eyes were the brightest green, and despite the rough stubble covering his cheeks and neck and his hair plastered all over the place from the helm he had discarded, he was overwhelmingly handsome.

I couldn’t stop looking at him.  His eyes were not just bright but intense, and I felt as though he could see my thoughts.  My hands began to tremble, and I realized I was holding his forearms very tightly though he did not seem to notice.  I could feel the chain-linked armor on his arm and hard muscles underneath.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Alexandra, my lord,” I responded with barely enough volume to be heard.

“Are you agreeable?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.

“My lord?” I asked.  I did not understand his question.

“Are you agreeable, Alexandra?” he repeated, and then clarified.  “Will you agree to marry me?”

My jumbled thoughts began to leap about in my head.  I did not know what I should say.  A nobleman was standing before me, proposing marriage.  Not just any nobleman, but heir to the throne in another kingdom.  I had never even laid eyes on King Camden's nephew before this day, and I certainly did not wake up this morning with thoughts of marrying him.

The man before me was a future king, and I was only marginally of higher class than a serf.  To refuse him would likely be considered the gravest of insults, both to his king and mine.  It could even mean my death.  But what would marriage to this man mean to me?  Would I still be no more than a handmaid to him?  I was not of noble blood and would not know how to act with such people.  Princess Whitney could be harsh, but I knew her ways, and I knew my position with her.  She was also known to be jealous and vindictive.  How would she react if I turned down the man she obviously wanted?  I shuddered at the thought.

I did not know this man.  I didn't know his likes or temperament.  Would he be kind and generous?  Aloof and absent?  He was a knight and used to violence.  Would he be cruel?  Would he take pleasure in harming me?

“Alexandra?” Sir Branford said.  He touched me gently under my chin, tilting my face toward his.  “I would prefer to hear your answer without an audience, and we will have one soon.  If your answer is no, so be it.  I will not be unduly affronted.  I will make another choice, but you must answer now.”

Thoughts of a proposal with a ring and the love of my life down on one knee in the gardens fluttered through my head for a moment.  I had never even had a suitor before, let alone been in love.  It was more likely that I would either be promised to some older man as a second wife or remain a maid forever than it would be for me to actually find a marriage of love.  The possibilities of being wed to a noble were unheard of by those such as me.

In all honesty, I feared the reaction of Princess Whitney and her father irrespective of my answer.  Saying no meant the certainty of their tempers being directed at me.  Saying yes meant the potential to be removed from this place altogether.

“Yes, my lord,” I heard myself say.

“Yes, Alexandra?”

“I will marry you, my lord,” I said a little louder.

“Will you give your unwavering loyalty to me, my kingdom, and my God?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I'm pleased to hear you say yes, Alexandra,” Sir Branford said.  The left side of his mouth curled up in a half smile, and his already handsome face was transformed into something truly stunning.  The sound of booted footsteps approached.  “Now be silent for a few moments.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Are you insane?”  A knight in armor, decorated with the head of a red dragon on the breastplate, walked straight up to Sir Branford, his blond hair flowing out behind him.  “Have you completely lost your mind?”

“Of course not.  Why would you say that?”

“Are you trying to start a war, then?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  King Edgar has neither the army nor the balls to declare war.”

“Then what is this?”  The blond knight motioned to me.  “Your idea of a joke?  You’re no jester, Branford.”

“And this is no jest,” Sir Branford replied.  “I’m going to marry her tomorrow.”

Tomorrow?

“You have lost your mind.”

“That imbecile thought he would trap me into marrying Whitney, and he was wrong.  Even if he had offered me the hand of his daughter, I would have chosen her sister.”

“Hedda is a child.”

“I’d still marry her first,” Sir Branford said emphatically.  “Offering me any available maid just made the selection more interesting.  Now King Edgar will understand our alliance cannot be bought by offering that bitch of a princess in exchange for arms.”

I gasped, for I had never heard anyone speak such words and certainly not directed toward royalty.  Sir Branford turned toward me and took my hand in his, raised it to his lips, and placed a slight kiss on my knuckles.  My skin tingled where his lips touched it.

“Forgive me,” he said softly, then turned back to the other knight.

Before the words completely left his mouth, shouting could be heard at the stable doors.  Sir Branford looped the reins of his horse around the handle of a stall door before turning back to me and offering his arm.  I wrapped my fingers just below his elbow, and he led me toward the ruckus, the blond knight standing to his right side and me on his left.

“How dare you?”  King Edgar was the first through the doors.  He was followed quickly by Queen Margaret, Princess Whitney, the other three handmaids, and two of the king’s knights.  “With my own daughter right in front of you, and you select some...some...servant wench!”

“Forgive me, King Edgar.”  Sir Branford spoke in his fluid voice.  All the anger he had been projecting only moments ago had completely vanished.  “You offered the hand of any eligible female.  If you had intended for me to wed the princess, perhaps you should have offered me her hand.  I'm afraid now that Alexandra has accepted my proposal, it would not be chivalrous of me to renege.”

“I haven't heard her response,” King Edgar snarled, looking straight at me.  I quickly dropped my gaze.

“Are you doubting my word?” Sir Branford's tone was suddenly quite cold.

“I'm doubting your sanity,” Princess Whitney piped up.  “You come all this way for tournament and return to your own lands with a…a…a handmaid?”

“I will give you another chance, Sir Branford,” King Edgar said, effectively silencing his daughter.  “We will pass off your stunt on the field as just that—a stunt.  Take my daughter's hand, and we will set this right.”

“Forgive me, King Edgar,” Sir Branford said, “but I will not be marrying your daughter.  I have already stated a reason.”

“It's not good enough.” King Edgar snarled through his teeth. “You will set this right and do so now.”

Branford raised himself up to his full height and looked down on the King.

“I will not marry the Princess Whitney,” he stated.

“And why not?” the infuriated king shouted.

“Because she is not a virgin,” Sir Branford said simply.

For a long moment, there was silence in the stable.  My stomach felt as if it were twisting inside of my body as I looked into the stunned face of the princess.

“How dare you!”  King Edgar stepped forward, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword.

“Let her be tested, then!” Sir Branford took a step forward, meeting the king’s challenge.  I did my best to remain behind him, but he did not release my hand from his arm and kept pulling me to his side.  “If she's shown to be innocent, then I will marry her on the spot!”

“You bastard.” Princess Whitney’s voice was low and full of venom.  “You dare to insult me in front of my own—”

“Princess Whitney,” Sir Branford replied, “I merely spoke the truth.  Are you prepared to have the nuns at the abbey test your purity?”

“Enough!” she screamed at him.  “Let him have the wench!  I wouldn't consent to marry him anyway!”

Princess Whitney stormed away from her father with the other handmaids following quickly behind her.  I started to follow, both reflexively and because I was unsure of what else to do, when Branford caught my arm and held me to his side.

“You no longer serve her,” he said into my ear.  He then turned back to the king.  “Alexandra will need two servants to prepare her.  We will be married in the abbey tomorrow.”

“She has no family,” King Edgar stated.  “There is no one to provide dowry.”

I dropped my gaze to the ground.  I was beginning to see quite clearly that King Edgar was going to find a way out of this position, and I would return to an angry and humiliated Princess Whitney.  She could be vicious and cruel—I had seen it many times though it had never been directed at me.  I should have thought through what I was saying when I agreed to marry Sir Branford.  I must have had a lapse of sanity.  How could I ever think something so implausible would happen to me?

“Dowry is not required,” Sir Branford stated.  “She is my prize.  Now if you are done trying to weasel your way out of the reward you promised in front of your kingdom, I have some wedding plans to make.”

Branford turned away from King Edgar without a proper goodbye and pulled me behind him by the hand.  The other knight, who had remained silent throughout the encounter with the king, followed closely behind us.

“I don’t want to waste any time,” Sir Branford said to the knight.  “I’ll not have King Edgar come up with another dozen reasons why this cannot be done.  We ride to the abbey immediately and entrust my fiancée to the nuns there until tomorrow.  We’ll have the wedding at sunset.”

“Ida is going to kill you,” the other knight said quietly and without emotion.

“That is entirely possible,” Sir Branford said with a nod, “but my sister’s ire is not enough to discourage me from my wedding.”

He glanced down at me and offered that same crooked half smile.  Once again, he reached out and captured my fingers, slowly bringing them up to his mouth.  As his lips touched the skin of my fingers, I felt my cheeks flame.

“Lovely,” he murmured softly.

And that is how I found myself engaged.