Chatel's Vision: The Cheetah Princess, #2

Champagne Books Presents

The Cheetah Princess

By

Joan Conning Afman

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Champagne Books

www.champagnebooks.com

Copyright 2012 by Joan Conning Afman

ISBN 9781927454411

August 2012

Cover Art by Trisha FitzGerald

Produced in Canada

Champagne Book Group

#2 19-3 Avenue SE

High River, AB T1V 1G3

Canada

Dedication

To Carla D. Brind, my Farmingdale roomie and life-long friend...who always believed in the Cheetah Princess.

One

I won’t do it. You can’t force me to marry someone I don’t know and don’t love. Princess Dsanna would have stomped her foot if she hadn’t been reclining on a large, red satin pillow on her royal divan. As it was, her tone aroused Kiboli, her sacred white cheetah, who mewed in sympathy and rubbed his elegant spotted head against her thigh.

My darling, I’m afraid it is a necessity. King Gruntav leaned down toward her, but was forced to fight off a fit of coughing before he could continue.

Lord Rykard, the king’s chief advisor, adjusted the tapestry bolsters behind the king’s back. Your father is very ill, Your Highness. His tone held the slightest hint of recrimination. Are you comfortable, Sire?

Of late, the king sat uneasily on his ornate throne. Rykard had finally persuaded him to preside from a specially-made padded chair. There was a shining teak table and matching chairs at his right hand for his chief advisors to sit, but only Lords Rykard and Mojan graced them at the moment. The king nodded, his lined face pale.

Dsanna glanced up at him, then at Rykard, concerned. Wouldn’t the trip to the ocean we had planned for my eighteenth birthday be helpful to him? The air, the water, the sunshine—I should think it would all be beneficial.

She caught Rykard’s gaze of undisguised affection. The handsome noble sighed. Would that we could do that for him, but His Majesty could not travel right now—

The king took Dsanna’s hand. I am dying, my love. There is no use pretending I will ever be well again.

She shook her head. You can’t be that sick. You’re not that old, and I’m too young to get married and rule a kingdom.

The older, not so handsome, Lord Mojan, stirred restlessly in his chair and cleared his throat loudly, as if to make a point. Short and lumpy with a caramel colored beard, his voice boomed out with surprising strength. Some promises simply cannot be kept, Princess. Your father may not live much longer. He glanced at Rykard for confirmation.

The chief advisor rubbed his gray beard, nodded and turned again to Dsanna. I am afraid that this marriage is necessary to secure the kingdom before his death. She heard the regret in his voice.

She tossed her head, causing her black hair to swish around her shoulders like a silk curtain. I refuse to believe my father is that sick. She fought for control, but her voice wavered. He’s always been the healthiest man I know.

She laid her hand on his knee and gazed up at him. He returned her smile, but even that small effort resulted in another fit of coughing.

Look at Prince Vadent’s portrait, Mojan coaxed. He thrust the miniature painting toward her. She jerked her head away, refusing even to glance at it.

Rykard leaned toward her. He’s very handsome, Dsanna.

She favored him with a glance, then, granting him a boon, turned her head slightly and looked at the portrait from the corner of one eye.

"Oh, he is handsome."

She took the portrait from Mojan in order to examine it closer. The small painting showed a face almost perfect in its rugged symmetry. Fair hair curled over a broad forehead and around his ears. His eyes were blue and seemed to sparkle with a hint of mischief. He had a straight, noble nose and his brooding lips held just the tease of a smile.

Mojan smiled at her. A wedding and a kingdom are much better birthday gifts than a trip to the ocean. Maybe Prince Vadent will take you to the seashore on your honeymoon. Yes, I am almost sure he will.

She smiled in spite of herself. Do you think I can’t recognize that statement for what it is, Mojan?

Let’s not insult her intelligence. Rykard had a warning edge to his voice.

It was no secret to Dsanna and everyone else that he and Mojan had political as well as personal differences.

Her father laid a wrinkled brown hand on her shoulder. Dsanna, we adore you. His voice, filled with love, held a hint of hardness. You are beautiful and intelligent and kind—

Mojan pursed his lips and looked away. When the spirit moves her.

Rykard threw him a withering look.

The king bent closer and slid his arm around her shoulder. "But I am afraid we have rather spoiled you. There are times in life when you cannot just think of yourself and what you want."

She raised her eyebrows. Why not? I am a princess, am I not? Why can’t I choose the direction of my own life and marry the man of my choice?

Is there a man of your choice?

Lord Rykard’s gentleness moved her, but she responded with alacrity. No, of course not. I am not even eighteen yet. How could I have met him? I’ve never been anywhere. My whole life has been lessons with the Ancients, princess-in-training, as you all call it.

Stand tall, Dsanna. Remember you are a princess, she mimicked the raspy tones of the old women who had raised her in lieu of the mother she’d never had. Wave very slightly with the right hand. Smile, smile, smile. Keep your tone kind even to the least of your constituents—

Yes, yes, her father interrupted with a short half-laugh. Then you know what your obligations are. He paused to clear his throat and coughed again. The time has come for you to take the leadership of the kingdom, along with a suitable husband. I deem Prince Vadent most suitable.

She opened her mouth to object, but her father shook his head and continued, The time has come to level with you, Dsanna.

Rykard made a feeble gesture of protest, then sighed and turned to gaze out the window.

Mojan nodded. It is time she faced the truth if she is going to manage the kingdom, Majesty.

She raised herself into a sitting position. "What truth are you talking about?"

The king cleared his throat. Nothing is ever as simple as it seems, Dsanna. The whole truth is that Prince Vadent’s father, King Arween, is determined to join our two kingdoms, Miralina and Westerlee. He has only one heir, and—

"Well, he can’t just do that. It isn’t his to have. She was the only person who ever dared to interrupt the king with impunity. Suddenly the realization hit her. He wants to get this kingdom by marrying me to Vadent?"

The three men nodded in unison, their expressions communicating their reluctance.

What if I just say no?

The Ancients neglected to school you in politics, Princess. Rykard sounded apologetic.

Mojan fidgeted and with impatience said, Just tell her.

The king stifled a cough then said, King Arween insists this marriage take place. If not, if you refuse to marry Prince Vadent, King Arween will invade the kingdom and take it by force. His armies are already massing on the border.

Dsanna gasped as she took in the gravity of the situation. Why didn’t you tell me before this?

Rykard left his chair and knelt in front of her. No one wanted it to be like this, Princess. He took her hand, and she read his affection for her in his eyes. We all wanted you to choose your own husband, to have the time to enjoy your youth, your romps in the forest, the dances and festivals, the vacations in the mountains and the ocean—with your father—

Mojan snapped his fingers. Get to it.

Dsanna stifled a smile as King Gruntav threw him a look of irritation, and Mojan mumbled an apology which he clearly did not mean.

Rykard rubbed the back of his neck. The political reality is that this marriage has to take place or Arween’s armies will take the throne by force and depose your father, you and all of us who now govern. On the other hand, if you marry Vadent willingly, you will share the throne and continue as Princess of Miralina, and all will go on pretty much as usual.

As reality slapped her in the face, Dsanna’s heart sank. It wasn’t the worst of fates, was it, to marry a handsome prince? If only, if only she had a little more time to grow up, to explore freely, to travel, to become her own person. She just wasn’t ready.

What are your thoughts, my daughter?

She groaned. They were putting her in an impossible situation, one over which she had no control.

You will be married eventually anyway, the king urged. A royal marriage to merge two kingdoms is not at all unusual. For instance, your mother and I. You were raised for this. It is your royal duty. And your destiny.

She tried for a reasonable tone. I don’t think it’s very romantic. She sighed. "I have never met this Prince Vadent. I don’t know him. I don’t even know who I really am or what I want. I’m not ready for all these responsibilities."

She regarded the three old men who wanted to press her into an expedient marriage, still unwilling to succumb to what she knew was her duty. Her responsibility, however much she hated the idea. The last few months had aged her father. Even Rykard and Mojan, who were closer to forty or fifty, looked older. Mojan looked like a team of horses had run over him and left him all out of shape, but Rykard, with his athletic build and gently graying hair curling around his neck, was still an attractive man.

She attempted to sound calm and logical, as her father always did. Why not try some diplomacy? she asked. Tell King Arween and his son we need a year to plan a royal wedding befitting the marriage of a prince and a princess. During that year, you can raise and arm an army and defend the kingdom, if need be.

Mojan growled, He will not wait. He knows he has us by the throat. Your father is dying, we have not had an active military for years and we have no other options. Grow up, Dsanna. It is your responsibility to do this.

She bristled. Is it really my responsibility? I was adopted, and I’m grateful for the love and care I’ve been given, but I just don’t feel ready for this—not yet, anyway. She gazed at her father, letting her expression add to her pleading. Give me a year or two, or at the very least, the summer. Now that I’m old enough, let me have a little time just for me.

The three men were silent. Lord Mojan rubbed his forehead as if he had a bad headache and stared out the window. She read the disappointment in Lord Rykard’s eyes, and noticed for the hundredth time how clear and blue they were, and how they contained a hint of something else as he gazed at her.

She pushed down a twinge of guilt and shrugged her shoulders. It’s not my obligation, she repeated. I want to be free to live my own life and choose my own husband when I feel ready. She spread her hands wide. Is that really too much to ask?

King Gruntav threw her a sad look. Your words pierce me to the heart, daughter. Adopted children have the same rights—and obligations—as natural born children. The Ancients have declared that Mirelle placed you here for a reason… He put his hand over his heart as he paused for breath.

Rykard jumped in. For a sacred reason, Dsanna, to secure this kingdom and rule it in peace and honor in her name.

The Ancients. The faces of the five old women who had schooled her and loved her with such tenderness and wisdom appeared before her. I was found in a cheetah’s den. Sucking milk from a mother cheetah with her cub. Does that sound like I was meant to rule a kingdom? You might as well put Kiboli on the throne. She fought to keep her voice even, and tears filled her eyes. She rose to her knees, and Kiboli, like a white shadow, sat up beside her. Almost at eye level with each other, he stared at her with his emerald eyes, as if asking what they were going to do next.

Mojan tried a soothing tone. The Ancients are very close to Mirelle. They read her intentions and inform us of her will. She intended you to be in this place, at this time.

Dsanna looked away. I’m not sure I believe any of that anymore. I’ve never seen any evidence of this Mirelle, whoever she is.

The shocked silence was louder than words. Dsanna stared at her feet and toyed with her hair, twisting it into a knot at the back of her neck while she waited for their reaction.

Her father, after a moment, took her arm, and as she lowered it, slid his hand into hers. Dsanna, my darling, never doubt Mirelle. His voice cracked with emotion. She is the embodiment of the Great Spirit that guides us all. The kingdom of Miralina is named after her. His voice held love, but also a severity that Dsanna had rarely heard from him. He gestured to the cheetah at her feet. And Kiboli. He is the visible symbol of her love and presence. How can you doubt?

Their eyes met and locked. She suddenly saw him in a new light, stooped and withered, gray and tired, a man whose life had rapidly slipped away. Why had she not realized how sick he had become? Her heart melted for him, but a stubborn fragment of her resistance remained.

Doesn’t Prince Vadent have an older brother? Mojan asked, as if recalling a half-forgotten fact. I seem to remember something about—

The king turned to him and nodded. Prince Arshane, just a year older. I believe he died in childhood. A terrible tragedy for his parents and the kingdom of Westerlee. They never had more children. Only Vadent is left to inherit.

Lord Rykard cleared his throat. Prince Vadent will be here tomorrow in time for a formal dinner which will be held in the Silver Swan Banquet Hall. During the next few days, you will meet with the Ancients to plan your wedding, Dsanna.

Rebellion surged like a hot flame. She threw her father a devastated look. "You invited him here without asking me? You are going to force me into marriage with someone I don’t know and don’t love, just so your precious kingdom has a royal couple on the throne?"

She heard her father take in a sudden breath. That’s not why we’re doing it, my darling—we’re trying to save the kingdom.

She did understand, but there was still the issue of forcing a marriage she didn’t want or feel ready for. That crushed her. She never expected that of her father. She was so hurt she couldn’t have held back the words if she’d tried. With her fists clenched, she jumped to her feet, Kiboli offering his support beside her.

She faced the three men who had decided her future for her. This is just like one of those societies that sacrifice a maiden on an altar to placate their gods. You want to sacrifice me for some expedient political goal.

She hardly knew what she said, though she knew it was wrong. She was being unreasonable but the terror of losing her freedom left her wanting to lash out. "You can send him right back to Westerlee, because I am not going to marry him."

Quite aware of the consternation she left behind, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room. Kiboli paced beside her, matching her determined step.

Two

Dsanna leapt over rocks and logs on the forest floor as easily as any big cat. As she ran, she relished the feeling of stretching her long legs and exercising her body as she raced along the path. More than anything, she loved these romps in the forest with Kiboli frolicking at her side.

She paused to catch her breath. I’m afraid these carefree days are coming to an end, Kiboli.

She’d never felt so conflicted. Her thoughts flew about in her head as swiftly as the colorful birds darted overhead, seemingly with no direction.

Bending over, she patted Kiboli on the head. "I could marry him, you know. He gazed up at her and switched his tail. Yes, that’s true. He is very handsome. And my father and Rykard are right—I will have to get married someday. But am I ready now?"

She bit her lip. I really don’t think so.

She slowed her pace as she moved down the path. Kiboli ambled along behind her, looking sharply in every direction, without ever seeming to notice anything at all. Only the way his ears moved forward and back told her he saw everything.

Dsanna visualized the miniature painting they’d shown her. The prince’s blue eyes held intelligence, but also shone a little coldly from his angular face. His half-smile held a hint of something she couldn’t quite name, a trace of irony, perhaps?

Stop it. She shook herself mentally. She would love a romance with the handsome prince, but she wasn’t ready to get married, not by a long shot. She adored her life as the only royal child, doted on by her father, the palace staff and the Ancients, the venerable old women who also served as seers and her father’s advisors. There was no denying she was pampered and more than a little spoiled. She liked her own way and usually got it.

She stopped to pick a handful of fragrant leaves from a hydrolot tree. If I get married now, I will have to take on so many responsibilities of being a wife and probably very soon a mother. She paused again. I am just not ready to have to cater to a husband’s every whim right now.

I’m being selfish, I know, she sighed. I don’t want things to change, do you, Kiboli? I’m not ready. Her lips twisted into a wry grin. Wasn’t it a sign of maturity to know yourself to be immature? Still, her father, the beloved old king, was fading fast.

He says he needs to secure the kingdom, Kiboli. At the rate his disease is progressing, the doctors fear he may not have long to live.

Last year came to mind. Before the symptoms of his disease had manifested, she and her father had planned a trip to the seashore, the far western border of Miralina. He’d told her so much about it, how the water seemed endless as far as the eye could see, and the sun shone brighter and warmer than it ever did at home. How the white sand burned your feet when you ran on it—oh, there was so much she wanted to see and do. How could she possibly be married now? Her father had never broken a promise to her. Never. She realized how sick he was, but she couldn’t help but wonder—wouldn’t the sea air do him ever so much good?

I am sorry, Dsanna, he’d apologized. I know we’ve planned to take that trip so many times and each time, something always came up so I couldn’t go. Now, I fear I am too ill. I must secure the kingdom from potential enemies by leaving a strong ruler in power. That means you and Vadent. If we had more time—but we don’t. We must act now.

She reached the river bank and in one clean motion removed the leather tunic she wore. After slipping out of her silky under things, she kicked off her soft-soled shoes and left them crumpled in a heap as she slid into the waterfall. Her mood changed like lightning as the cool, clean water flowed over her skin. With relief, she let loose her dark, silky hair from its restrictive coil at her neck and let it fall in shimmering waves to her waist.

Dsanna turned and twisted under the streaming water as she rubbed the fragrant hydrolot leaves over her face, then her arms and legs. She inhaled the scent, fresh like lavender, and clean like herbs and sunshine. Reluctant to leave, she lingered under the shower. With a sigh, she climbed from the soothing water and returned to the long flat rock where she had left her clothing. The sun had warmed the stone for her, and she lay down gratefully, luxuriating in the feel of the rock beneath her and the pulse of the hot sun beating down on her skin.

Her tension washed away, the tightness in her arms and legs faded. Her breathing slowed as the warmth above and below her eased her anxiety. When her body was at rest, she considered her options. Did she have any? What were these feelings she kept having that rose up like a wall in front of her whenever she tried to picture being a wife and a mother? Would she lose her freedom if she sat on the throne with all the weighty responsibilities of the kingdom at her feet? Would she be at the beck and call of her husband? And what about intimacy? She’d never had a lover.

She wasn’t ready.

She wouldn’t do it.

Dsanna stretched, luxuriating in the heat. On the other hand, maybe she would meet the prince, get to know him and have a little romance. If he could wait around long enough, and if she fell head over heels in love with him, maybe she would marry him. And, maybe not. They couldn’t force her to participate in a ceremony, recite those vows that would change her young, carefree life forever. They couldn’t.

Lulled by the splashing of the waterfall and the murmur of the stream, she dozed, daydreaming of playing with the cheetah cubs, of nursing with them at the belly of the mother cheetah and of the comfort of that rough tongue licking her.

She had no conscious memory of life among the cheetahs and even her dreams tended to dissipate, like fragments of memories that never were, when she woke. She had only the tales, told by the Ancients, to tell her who she was and what her destiny must be. They had told her how, when she was a baby, she had been found by scouts in a den of cheetahs high in the Star Mountains. She had been playing with the cubs, watched over by the mother cheetah.

To their surprise, when the scouts cautiously approached with weapons drawn, they’d found they hadn’t needed them. The mother cheetah lay at the mouth of the cave, her lovely feline face resting on her paws and watching with languid green eyes as they took Dsanna, screaming and kicking, from the lair. Seeing the one all-white cheetah cub among the others, they took him too. Kiboli, the Ancients named him, the sacred totem. He had been her best friend and protector ever since.

Sometimes, though, she woke with a small scratch or two on her body she was sure hadn’t been there before. It made her wonder whether her dreams were more than dreams. Did she somehow, in