CHAPTER I

The pleasant blue of twilight presented itself, sneaking its way across the crisp winters evening
sky. In the northern distance, the mountains of Salzt towered above a bank of snowy clouds, whilst across
a solitary valley the green, snow-packed flats of Linderservia smoothed into gentle hills. Any signs of life
where held hostage beneath mounds of snow, tinted a subtle azure from the suns sinking light.
Within the frozen valley sat a castle, its years of loneliness constructed by greying stone, the
hands that had resurrected it long stilled and resting in forgotten graves. The singular, rounded tower of
the castle was topped with two flags, and played host to the flags owners, the royal children and the
ministers of foreign affairs from both Salzt and Linderservia. The withered garrets of the castle were
austere, their glassless windows pinned over with thick leather blankets to keep out the frozen air.
It is too cold in here. I want to go home. Has winter ended yet? I want to go home, Phillip the
young Duke of Mudden, and future Duke of Sancastria, wailed, his high-pitched voice biting the rooms
peaceful calm and infecting its inhabitants with instant annoyance.
Come, come, little Phillip, we only arrived and you are here for good reason, a nurse-maid with
an unfortunately square jaw and pair of extremely thin lips, cooed as she wrapped her arms around the
sniveling boy.
I hate it here! I hate it! I want to go home where the food is good and where my parents are.
Take me home! The people here are all wild, wicked, people! I hate them! They are wild north people!
Phillip cried into his nurse-maids shoulder, and though he was far too old for such coddling, allowed her
to rest him on her lap as she sat before the crackling fireplace.
Cassandra watched the ruthless boy as his crimson lips smiled mockingly at her, his smile
widening the moment the nannys glance was averted from his plump face. Cassandras eyebrows creased
and she stopped playing with the rag doll that occupied her pudgy hands. Henry, the future king of
Linderservia, watched her from across the room where he lay on his stomach, hunched over a book half
his size. His boyish face creased with curiosity from an intrigued attempt at guessing the small princesss
reaction to his brothers brashness.
That was very rude, Cassandra whispered curtly, the red roses in her cheeks growing into a
fierce bloom.
Nanny, the wench princess whispered something mean to me! Phillip wailed again, forcing a
fat tear from his glossy eyes.
Philly! Where did you hear that word? No future Duke of Sancastria will ever say such a word
under my arm, the nanny scolded, pointing a sausage-like finger at Phillips pointed nose.
But she hurt my feelings! She whispered a truly nasty thing at me! She and her servants are so
awful to me nanny! Phillip whined shrewdly, cuddling deep into the nannys bosom, continuing his
heartless jest.
Henry eyed his little brother with great dislike and then quickly returned his attention to
Cassandra. Her small hands were clenched in tight fists, her eyes flickering with the hatred that children
are cursed with on such occurrences of heated emotion. The redness in her round cheeks brightened and
blended with the dark scarlet in her hair. She did not say anything; she only glared at the nanny and
Phillip with hate. After a few minutes of heavy stillness, Cassandra straightened and, adopting a fit of
sadness, fled the room.
You have upset her! Henry exclaimed, washing the look of triumph off Phillips face, then as
he hastily slammed his book shut continued,
You know nothing of respect Phillip. Have you forgotten that she is our host? We are in her
land. Not ours. I am ashamed of having such a pet of a brother as you. A manipulative little dog.
My Lord, the nanny gasped, holding her young duke even more tightly in her unwavering arms,
You have no right to scold your brother. You must remember that you two are only young
boys!
I may be yet a child, but I am not such a child as he, Henry remarked coolly, his eyes
narrowing with continued disgust for his brother and for the nursemaids superficial authority over the
both of them,
That young girl is to be one of our wives. This visit was to see who would be most compatible
with her, not to mock her.
The nannys eyes drifted from Henry and focused on her lap, as they always did when he was
angered, for he frightened her when he became angry. His face always became remarkably still,
unmoving and cold. His eyes would flicker with resentment, even as a babe they had. Her shoulders
shrank has she became belittled by his unaltered gaze. Her heart raced and her body endorsed further guilt
as her young lord continued to cast a look of disapproval upon her, until, without another word he slipped
out of the room leaving a hint of power behind him.
Cassandra ran down the castles dark and narrow hallways, her breath staining the winter air with
small bursts of fog. Her dropping tears froze into crystal balls and her finger tips grew purple from
numbness as she scampered desperately to her mothers chamber. The castle was beginning to grow dark
and the winter nights cold heathen was starting to spread throughout the ancient structure. Cassandra did
not notice the cold, nor her tears; she did not even notice the castles ghosts that plagued her imagination
during the night. All Cassandra desired was to be wrapped in her mothers warm and comforting arms.
When the door to her mothers chamber appeared, Cassandra released a cry and pushed the door
open with all the strength her arms could offer. Cassandra inhaled the warmth that her mothers fireplace
was radiating and folded her hands gaily in the pleasure of seeing her mothers figure seated in a moth-
bitten chair. As the young princess exhaled the warm air dropped to a frigid degree, Cassandra went still
with disappointment and her heart sank deep into her stomach.
The Queen of Salzt had not noticed her daughters entrance. Draped in thick furs and bundled
deep within the rotting armchair in which she sat, she held her sickly son. The babys face was wrinkled
with the ill signs of fatigue and consumed all the love his mother had to give. Cassandra shamefully
choked back her tears at the sight and pushed her way back into the dark and hurtful corridors of her
company.
Henry, with the help of a dying candle, found Cassandra in the castles forgotten library not an
hour later. The library stood windowless in the most northern corner of the castle, covered in dust and the
ink in its books and scrolls faded brown from neglect. The musty, ill-lit room was Henrys favorite.
Everything about the room enchanted him, from the mildewed, unreadable books to the stained wooden
trunk that stood stubbornly-locked in the smallest corner of the room. What enticed Henry the most out of
all the aged materials the room had to offer, were a series of four small tapestries that hung between the
series of oak book shelves and the scroll slots.
At first, Henry felt territorial over Cassandras presence in his favorite nook, but as he studied her
figure, which had rounded into a tight ball, he began to feel something else entirely. His disappointment at
his younger brother and nursemaid was still written in his expression, as much as it was present inside of
him. So was his pity for the young girl, but something about her trembling shoulders sparked a different
feeling within his being. Henry made his way towards her. Her head was buried deep within her knees.
Very quietly he observed everything about her.
Cassandras first appearance upon greeting the arrival of his party had not impressed Henry, for
she was a mere child. They were all children, but he had assumed that she was like his brother, young in
mind, young in body, and mostly, young in soul. Her eyes had shone with piercing buoyancy which had
irked him. Their voluminous green depths weakened his confidence. He had also found that the highlight
of scarlet in her dark auburn hair, a thing so rare in his homeland, queer. Her mannerisms radiated a
knowledge and maturity far beyond her years that strangely pierced his pride and provoked him to judge
her harshly.
In the moment however; all of his first judgment felt like a distant daze. He knelt by her side,
placing his candle-holder on a nearby table. Seeing the girl in the midst of her youthful sorrow made him
desperate to help her. The corners of his mouth shifted into a gentle frown of concern.
You should not heed my brothers words. He is a manipulative dog that does not know its
place, Henry advised in an assuring tone.
Cassandra did not move. She had felt his presence since he had arrived and had felt no need to
respond to it, for she simply wanted to be alone. No matter how much her distress urged her to shun the
foreign prince and his family and run from the room, Cassandra did not feel that he was bothering her; nor
soothing her for that matter. In fact, she felt as if she was obligated to listen to the young prince.
He only does it for attention. All children do when they feel lonely. He was trying to upset you,
to cause a scene, to make someone else hurt besides him, Henry continued, eager to rouse Cassandra
from her unmoving position.
Henrys words touched Cassandra, more deeply than he had intended. She immediately thought
of her new baby brother and how his presence had made her feel lonely. Her head flinched sideways. She
opened her eyes and began to ponder what Henry had said.
Not all children, Cassandra thought, I do not cry for attention, I only cry when I am hurt.
The library suddenly felt renewed. Its stuffy stench had transformed into a fragrant perfume.
Cassandra wanted to hear Henry speak more. She looked up, finding his stormy eyes staring down at her.
They pierced and enthralled her, filling her with a sudden childish adoration. Her body, already so small,
began to feel smaller as the corner of his lips subtly rose into a triumphant smile.
Carefully, with his candle in one hand and Cassandras tightly held in the other, he helped the
princess to her feet. Henry felt an instant compulsion to cheer her and did so by guiding her to the series
of small tapestries on the opposing wall. He invented stories to go with each brightly embroidered image,
as to entertain her from worrisome thought, holding her hand shamelessly in his.
As Henry guided Cassandra to each tapestry and provided her with elaborate tales, a hallowed
change began within him from the austere feeling that Cassandra had sparked. He allowed his mouth to
speak and his mind to imagine the improvised stories he told, but his thoughts began to stir, and a desire
that his long line of grandfathers had all possessed, moved excitedly inside of him. The tapestries
enlarged within his mind, growing to gigantic proportions, glowing with untold secrets, the patches of
thread and fabric creating a dream like web. Henrys heart raced as the human figures dressed in the yarns
of Linderservias ancient colors configured into familiar identities.
Cassandra looked up at Henry. He had become silent; his mouth froze in mid-sentence, his head
tilted slightly to one side. He backed away from the last tapestry, shook his head, and then looked down at
Cassandra. Startled by her intent gaze, he guiltily looked away. He had an unexpected urge to write to his
tutor, Jared. Jared would have answers for the questions about his ancestry that quite suddenly filled his
thoughts.
I must have these tapestries, Henry professed aloud, his voice heavy with intent. His fingers
grasped Cassandras and he continued,
Can I have them Cassandra? I know they belong to this castle and to your mother, but can I have
them?
Why would you need them? Cassandra inquired, moved by the shadow of distress that had
crept across Henrys face.
The shine in Cassandras eyes returned, the same shine that glinted when they first saw Henry.
Henrys pride, again, felt as if it were being threatened and caused his toes to shift uncomfortably in his
boots. Henrys first judgment of Cassandra was replaced without trial. He looked her straight in the eye, a
feeling of helplessly asking a child to negotiate to some ridiculously simple plan consuming him.
I must have them, Henry pleaded, his voice strained and his forehead pulsing with want.
The light from Henrys candle flickered between them, bouncing off of the rooms dim coloring,
and casting their shadows across the floor. Cassandra stared at the boy who had appeared so confident and
comforting a moment ago, in confusion. A gust of chilled-air rushed into the room as the foreign-affairs
minister of Linderservia, Lord Arthur, opened the door. The two children, stared at the minister as if they
had been caught stealing cakes from the castles kitchens.
There you two are! the minister roared, his voice low with paternal concern, You two have
had the entire castle looking for you, as he said this, a rush of nervous voices swept through the corridor
as servants called the childrens names.
Upon seeing the childrens hands interlocked he added,
Her royal majesty, the Queen of Salzt is ill from worry. You two know that you are to always be in
the presence of an elder. You have broken that rule.
We are sorry, Henry apologized, standing tall and stepping protectively in front of Cassandra,
her hand dropping harmlessly from his,
It is my fault. I asked Cassandra to take me here. I had been wondering if she knew the stories
behind the tapestries in here.
Cassandra blushed with a wave of embarrassment as Henry lied for them. She gawked at the boy
with wonder, detecting a faint glimpse of boyish loyalty. His eyes had suddenly widened, causing him to
look adolescently innocent. The look was not intended and the princess was too young to realize its
earnest, but she admired it all the same.

***
Time passed and the snow packed valley began to thaw. Only the fickle snowflakes of winters last
furies wisped here and there about the castle. Salzts relentless cold front rose high into the sky,
welcoming the kindred elements of spring.
Henry spent his last days at the castle hiding behind the tall bookshelves in the library. Whenever
anyone entered in search for him, especially if it was Cassandra, he glued himself to the bookshelves
hoping that he would not be seen. Cassandra had become too attached to Henry for his liking. His pride
could not survive her unfaltering confidence anymore. He wanted absolute privacy to admire the
tapestries which had stuck him with awe and had inspired him to relate the tapestries figures with his
ancestors.
Henry felt guilty, distancing himself from Cassandra, but felt that he would be reconciled, for he
knew that the tapestries had woken something deep part of him and the past of his ancestors. Every day,
he stood before the tapestries, his hands folded behind his back. His eyes searching every bright thread,
seeing the secrets that they held. The woven secrets seemed to twist and wane before him, offering him
something he did not know existed.
Phillip and Cassandra were forced into a depleted companionship due to Henrys absence. The
nursemaid became their superior as the queenly mother of Salzt spent her days bent over her son.
Cassandra grew more resentful of the silky, chestnut-haired boy. His almond shaped eyes always shone
with a devious plan. Phillip pulled at her hair whenever the nannys glance turned to her embroidery or he
would grab her rag doll from her hands during the moments that she was seeking consolation from it. The
small boy abused her constantly using sharp loveless words that spoiled boys possess. So unbearable was
Cassandras torment that the first time she truly smiled that winter was when the departure for the
princes arrived.
I will report to my King, Your Highness, Lord Arthur informed Cassandras mother, his hat
tucked reverently underneath his arm, thank you for your hospitality this winter.
Yes. I will offer hospitality if you and your princes should ever need it, the queen paused,
looking down at her silent, but smiling daughter with discontent,
Now Cassandra, say farewell to Lord Arthur. He will be your minister someday, and say goodbye to
the princes.
Thank you Lord Arthur, for visiting, Cassandra spoke quietly, her disposition stunning the
round man into a bow. He felt as though he were already being addressed by his future queen.
Our pleasure, Lord Arthur replied, rising from his obeisance and gesturing towards the princes.
Phillip stood in front of the nursemaid, scratching his nose with impatience. Henry gazed up at
the cloudless sky, his arms securing his fur cloak around his chest. The lingering, late winter chill bit at
his skin, but not to the extent of Cassandras betrayed stare. She honored Henry with a small tilt of her
head, making sure to avoid eye contact with him, for she earnestly felt betrayed, betrayed that he had
comforted her and then pushed her into the plentiful, lonely, and hurtful hours spent with Phillip she had
suffered.
The queen wrapped her arms around her daughter as they watched the Linderservian party leave,
disappearing into the lush spring green lands of their country. Cassandra held fast to the affection her
mother was suddenly showing, drinking it greedily. Her smile widened, for now she was alone with her
mother and the princes had vanished from sight. Now, she and her mother could travel back to the kings
palace further north. There, she had friends, and her own Salzian nursemaid could look after her brother.
The melting snow felt as if it were turning into water below her very feet, melting from her happiness.