The Mehndi Prince

Snow White

I freeze briefly as I reach the royal entrance to the great hall. I try to steady my breathing and calm my heartbeat, to appear the crown prince every one expects to see. Not the quivering mess I feel inside. I have fought in many battles in both my dragon form and human form and felt nothing but anticipation of the glorious fight to come. But this, this has me quaking in my boots.

Just as I’m about to enter the great hall my mother waylays me by grabbing my upper arm. Her emerald eyes are hard and cold as she glares at me.

“What are you trying to do here,Nero? Make your father and I look bad in front of all our subjects?”

“Is that all you care about my queen?” I ask, my tone as neutral as I can make it. She paused c*****g her head to the side. Her appearance softens as she truely looks at my face.

“Oh my boy, you’re terrified. Of this woman? Of marriage to her?”

“No, I’m terrified of being miserable for the rest of my life”

“My boy, there are worse things than being miserable.”

“True. But nothing kills the soul quicker. And how am I to rule justly, without my heart and soul?”

Her hand cups my cheek and pulls my face down to her height. She gives me a peck on my other cheek.

“It will be all right. You will see. Come now, let’s go in.”

Dad is already in the hall standing on the dais near his throne. As my mother enters the room, he turns sensing she is near. I wanted that for myself someday, the knowledge, bone deep, that my mate is near, but that probably won’t happen now.

He takes my mother’s hand and guides her to her throne next to his. Once she is seated, he sits, an anomaly. Many battles have been fought over this display. Many kings of the other clans of the Mehndi see this as weakness. They don’t know that it’s pure survival instinct on my father’s behalf.

What they don’t know, is that mother is a fearsome warrior. She is the general of our armies. As all black dragons have been. Every general of our army for all time, has been a black dragon. Those not gifted enough to be general are usually the elite forces or officers within the army.

None of them have figured out that the edge of the black and gold dragon head that rests on mother’s neck is the same that leads us into battle.

I stand behind dad’s right shoulder while Deanna sits to mother’s left. We look upon all the subjects in attendance while we wait.

Court appearances are usually a dull affair and not well attended, but the citizens love a good celebration, and what can beat a potential wedding with a side order of possible drama.

As everyone begins to sit, the tension in the room builds. We all await her arrival. I stand trying not to clench my fists and jaw. To be loose and ready for anything.

“Presenting, her Grace, Neve the Duchess of Achromatica.” Announces the herald, as she walks toward us at a stately pace.

She is dressed entirely in white, from her white cowl to her porcelain shoes. The people around us shuffle and strain in their chairs, trying to get a better glimpse of this princess.They have no chance. I’m standing directly in front of her and cannot tell what she looks like. She has no entourage with her, other than an older couple who I assume are her parents.

When Neve arrives at the foot of the dais she drops into a full court curtesy.

“Rise, your Grace,” comes the bass rumble of my father’s voice. As princess Neve rises she pushes back her cowl, revealing ice, white blonde hair, surrounding the alabaster skin of her face, contrasting strikingly with her cobalt blue eyes.

With a soft murmur she thanks my parents for inviting her.

In a resonant tone for the entire hall to hear my mother states “Welcome, your Grace, allow me to present my son, His Grace, Nero of Obsidian.” Taking my cue, I step towards my future fiancé and future bride and as per court decorum I take her hand and bow over it.

“I look forward to getting know you better, your Grace.”

“The feeling is mutual, your Grace,” she murmurs. By all the gods, all this “Your Grace”ing is getting tedious.

I lead the princess to her seat, which is on my right. No sooner than her behind hits the seat my father bellows “Let the banquet begin!”

I watch as everyone around us begins to eat, but I lost my appetite hours ago, and it seems my future bride has lost hers also. She pushes the food around her plate while occasionally stealing glances of me and my family.

I’m waiting for my newly appointed favourite person, the sommelier, to make his rounds. I drink as much as I’m able, without being obvious that I’m trying to get drunk. As Fennick said earlier, I’m a pain in the arse but I’m trying not to be a complete arsehole and embarrass my future wife before we’re even married.

Four torturous hours later I drag myself into my room and undress for bed. Four hours in my future wife’s presence and all I have managed to find out about her is she can dance and doesn’t drink alcohol. Isn’t that a great start!