Princess Moments

The wedding feast

By Stephanie Goddard

I couldn’t believe this day was really here, that this was truly happening to me. Merewen—the plain girl from the plain, as I’d been branded—Merewen would soon become a princess. I couldn’t stop my heart from thumping at the thought. I felt like royalty already. King Torin had spared no expense on my gown, my jewels, and the feast, despite my protestations.

“I never knew my flat, dull locks could be so lovely.” I met my maid’s gaze in the looking glass. “You are truly an artist, Phoebe.”

Phoebe smiled back, satisfied. “You’ve been beautiful all along, my lady. This is one reason the prince has chosen you.” She moved to the arched doorway. “I’ll be right back, my lady.”

I fingered the silky-smooth material of my dress. Pure white accented with lavender pink lace and intricate flowers. I’d never felt anything so luxurious. This was my day, a day I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams.

My prince chose me. It was too much to conceive at times. But my dear Gareth had shown me his love in so many ways, it couldn’t be denied. And this day was now upon us. At first, I thought it was a hoax, some kind of trick. Why would the most noble of men choose the lowliest of maidens to be his bride, his princess? And more—why would the royal family, of the Torvish people, choose a commoner, a Vuilite, no less. It was unheard of.

Other than Prince Gareth and his family, the Torvish disdained me. They wouldn’t dare to speak it, but I could tell, by their whispers, their stares. I was different. I wasn’t one of them.

The bell in the tower rang out, deep and loud. This was it!

“Come, my lady, the hour is nigh.” Phoebe offered her hand, dark eyes glowing. She bid me stand. I hoped my legs would carry me.

I hardly noticed the ornate woodwork and marble in the corridor, my flowing skirts swishing as we passed door after door and high windows. As we neared the end, my heart pounded. I steadied myself as I took in the grand oak doors with shiny brass hinges before me. I felt a gentle touch on my back. Phoebe nudged me forward, flouncing my train. The red and gold clad guards swung wide the doors.

My breath caught as I stepped into the Great Hall. Brightly lit chandeliers hung from the gold-gilded ceiling above, their flickering light bringing movement to the space. Grand gothic arched windows stretched nearly from floor to ceiling, their royal purple and gold curtains held aside by polished brass knobs. Large vases filled with flowers graced the front of the hall. There were bluebells, white lilies, brilliant red roses, and deep purple irises among others. Table after table filled the room, each decorated with sparkling crystal, shiny silver, and delicately flowered forest green china. Forest green, my favorite color. The floating lavender pink lotus blossoms and the rich plum candles set perfectly along the middle of the crisp white tablecloths brought such cheerfulness to the setting.

All this I took in within a moment. But the splendor was a speck of dust in comparison to what I truly desired to see. I searched the room. Ah, there, my Gareth, speaking with the king and his steward, Alander. I wanted to run to Gareth. Today, he was utterly resplendent, even more handsome than I had ever known. His white, long-tailed jacket with gold-laced trim accented his dark eyes and hair. My heart thundered with anticipation when Gareth turned, striding toward me. My joy was complete, and soon, we would be one.

As Gareth drew near, my joy faded. His face was wrought with worry, his eyes dark, his handsome lips turned down. It was then that I noticed. There were no guests at the tables. Neither were they standing about, nor dancing. In fact, other than the lilting tune of violin and harp, all was quiet. The Great Hall was void of happy wedding goers. My gaze moved from the hall to my betrothed’s face.

“What is this? Where…” Confusion stuttered my speech.

He held my hands in his. “Don’t fret, my dearest.” He took me in with a sweeping glance. “You are beautiful, Merewen.”

I felt my cheeks flush.

His gaze returned to the empty hall. “I’m sure there must be an explanation. The invitations went out months ago to all the lords and ladies of Torvia, and we have the exact number of places ready for each who responded. They must have been delayed. Father has bid Alander to find answers. All will be well, darling.” He laid a gentle hand on my face.

I pursed my lips, fearing they would break into a sob. The evening I had awaited for months, and all the expense King Torin had laid out in order to prepare such great a banquet. Would it all be for naught? Again, I searched Gareth’s eyes for some glimmer of hope, of reassurance.

“The food will keep, the musicians are contracted for the entire night, and the vicar is ready. All will be well, dearest.”

My tears would not hold back any longer. “I have heard of a custom in far lands, where the ceremony of vows occurs before the feast.” I squeezed his hands. “Can we not do that here? Must we wait until the middle of the feast?”

Gareth’s expression grew grim as he shook his head. “It can’t be so, precious Merewen. In Torvian custom and law, the ceremony must be after the Midriatel.”

I felt the air escape my lungs. But what was I to do?

“Phoebe,” Gareth called, and instantly my maid appeared by my side. “Take Lady Merewen to her dressing room. We will begin the feast when Alander arrives with the guests.” He dabbed my cheek with a white cloth. “We will soon be husband and wife, my bride.” His breath was warm, his voice low and tender. “You and I will be together forever. You will be mine, and I will be yours. All this will be a memory and we may even laugh someday.”

I swallowed back the worried response on my tongue, and so I wouldn’t say something regrettable, I said nothing. Phoebe assisted me with my train and in silence we passed through the corridor, my heart hollow.

You are not worthy of royalty. You are not his. Your people are not of his people. This wedding must not be. The same thoughts and words I’d believed my entire life plagued my mind, again and again.

I waited in my dressing room, dear Phoebe at my side. She attempted to comfort me, singing softly in her gentle yet rich voice, touching up my tear-ruined make up. When seven tolls rang out, I knew an hour had passed. Phoebe left the room. I moved to the window, hoping the cool evening breeze would somehow help.

In some small measure, I felt relief at the touch of night air on my skin. Horses’ hooves clopped from somewhere, growing closer. I leaned forward, listening. Perhaps, oh, may it be, the nobles and gentility had somehow mixed up the day, and they were even now arriving. Or maybe some great army had detained them, or a hoard of beasts, and they finally came once the foe was defeated. Whatever the reason, the guests were arriving. All would be well.

Where was Phoebe? I gathered my train and checked my appearance in the looking glass on my way past. It would have to do. My heart lifted as I moved along the grand corridor, my white silk skirts swishing on the polished marble floor.

The large, closed doors to the Great Hall loomed once again. Perhaps I should have waited for someone to alert me. Maybe I should have waited for Phoebe to escort me. But the king had ordered Alander to bring in the guests. I squared my shoulders, took in a breath, and approached a guard. “The doors, if you please.”

He bowed. “Yes, my lady.” With a nod to the other guard, they swung open the doors.

I moved forward but didn’t enter. A curtain parted at the side of the room. I adjusted my headpiece. This would be the arriving guests.

A man rushed into the hall. Ah, not guests yet, but Alander, still in his riding attire. Of course, the prince’s steward would need to introduce each guest. Movement near another entryway, caught my eye. Gareth! He strode toward Alander, and I took several steps into the hall, listening.

Alander removed his hat, bowing to the prince in a swift movement.

“What news, Alander?” Gareth’s voice echoed through the Great Hall.

“Your Highness. As your father, the king requested, I made a search for all those he invited. I gave each one the message my lord the king bade me give. ‘I have prepared my dinner. My oxen and fattened cattle have been butchered, and everything is ready. Come to the wedding banquet.’”

Gareth straightened, his eyes aglow and his winning smile spreading wide.

That smile, those eyes. I found myself smiling as well. Gareth spoke something I couldn’t hear and peered around Alander.

Alander shifted his stance and fiddled with his hat. “I could not believe my ears, good sir. They all alike began to make excuses. The first said, ‘I have just bought a field, and I must go and see it. Please excuse me.’ Another said, ‘I have just bought five yoke of oxen, and I’m on my way to try them out. Please excuse me.’ Still another said, ‘I just got married, so I can’t come.’”

Gareth paced and swiftly turned back to Alander. “What kind of excuses are those? Of the hundred guests, are all otherwise occupied? This cannot be. What madness is this?”

The steward leaned forward, speaking too quietly for me to hear.

Gareth shook his head. “No, that cannot be. They are mistaken. My Merewen is the one I have chosen, regardless of their…”

I spun and nearly tripped on my train as I removed myself from the Great Hall. Black spots filled my vision, and my ears went echo-y, preventing me from hearing more.

A gentle yet strong hand grasped my arm. I pressed my fingers to my eyes then opened them.

Phoebe appeared by my side, lines of worry marring her pretty face. “Come, my lady.”

As I left the grand entryway, Gareth’s voice echoed throughout the hall. “We shall speak to the king.”

I don’t remember the walk back to my dressing room. But here I was once again. This was my own doing. I was not one of the accepted ones. It had all been a grave mistake. Though, I could not tell the prince that, and certainly not the king.

I slumped onto the settee, allowing dear Phoebe to place a warm cloth on my throbbing head. What could be done?

Through the open window, a breeze lifted the lacy curtain, and I heard men’s voices. The king’s deep, resounding voice, for one. I had never heard the king shout before. I couldn’t make out his words. No matter. The wedding would not happen. Not without guests. It was one Torvian rule everyone in the kingdom knew. Each place at the banquet tables must be filled.

As Alander rode back into the evening, another rider at his side, I allowed a deep sigh to escape. There must be a way I could gracefully end the betrothal so the prince would be free to marry within the Torvian people. After all, I was to blame for this. If Prince Gareth had never set eyes on me, he would surely have found some lovely bride from his own people.

I could disappear, and it wouldn’t reflect ill upon the dear prince, and especially not on the king. I straightened with new resolve. Yes. Gareth deserved the best. Better than me. It was the only solution.

I summoned Phoebe. “Please call for the vicar.”

Her brows creased. “The vicar, my lady?”

“That’s right. Straight away.” I winced at my demanding voice. It sounded sterner than I meant, stronger than I felt.

Several moments later, my maid returned. “The vicar will meet you in the library, my lady.”

I nodded. “Very well.”

The library was a long walk though, thankfully, as far from that sorrowful Great Hall as it could be while still within the palace.

I stepped into the high-ceilinged room where the vicar perused some volumes along the wall of books.

He turned when I entered. “Lady Merewen. How may I assist you?” He set a book on the table before him, worry lines creasing his middle-aged face.

“I wish to annul the betrothal.”

The man of God stared, mouth agape, then blinked, seeming to search for a reply.

I slid the document from my leather pouch. “I believe these are the banns proclaiming the marriage between—” my breath hitched. “Prince Gareth and myself.”

“Lady Merewen, please do not proceed with this. The prince and I have spoken at length.” The man’s eyes turned earnest. “He loves you with all his heart. You mustn’t do this. He would not be able to withstand the sorrow.”

I brushed away a tear that had escaped. “He will bear it with greater ease than having to endure a marriage to a Vuilite, a foreigner.”

The vicar moved around the table. “A Vuilite he loves. Whom he has chosen as his own. Even now, I am sure the prince is making the final preparations for the banquet. He has committed the vows to memory and has gone to great lengths—”

“Yes, I know, to provide a lavish feast—for a room void of guests.” I fixed my gaze on the man’s worried eyes. “There never could be a royal union with a foreigner in a kingdom where the subjects have always expected one of their people to become the princess.”

The vicar gave a small smile, shaking his head. “You underestimate your prince’s determination. Not only that, but the king himself, may he live forever, has spared no expense, knowing full well who will become his daughter-in-law.”

I swallowed back the grief rising in my throat and had to close my eyes against the sorrow. I sensed movement in the room. I looked up to see the vicar thumbing through a large ancient book resting on an oaken stand in the middle of the library.

This wasn’t getting anywhere. The man would stop to read a book, when clearly I needed his help now? I moved across the room and placed the paper on a nearby table.

He didn’t even give me a glance. “Ah, here it is.” He ran his finger along the open page. “I will say to those called ‘Not my people, You are my people,’ and they will say, ‘You are my God.’ Have you heard this?”

Not my people. The words had echoed through my heart since the day Gareth had touched my hand, made my heart quiver, and whispered of his love for me. I was not of his people. Fierce tears escaped. “I told him it would never work. I am not of his people.”

“But dear Merewen, this is where you are mistaken. Prince Gareth chose you, over all the fairest of the Torvians. And because he chose you, he is saying he wants you to be his. No longer will the Vuilites be outsiders, but welcomed in.”

I stared at the man. “But it has never been so.”

A sad look overtook his features. “The king has been rejected by his people. But when our prince, your Gareth, chose you, it was as if a door was opened. The blessings of this grand kingdom are available to all who will come through it.”

A door creaked behind me, ushering in cool evening air. The annulment paper gusted off the table. I moved to retrieve it, when from somewhere I heard voices, horses’ hooves, music, and other commotion I couldn’t identify.

In stepped Phoebe, cheeks rosy. “The prince calls for you. Now come.” My maidservant hooked her arm through mine, pulling me from the room.

“Not now, dear Phoebe. I have business to attend to with the—”

“There you are, my love.” Prince Gareth stepped from the north corridor, looking as gallant and royal as I had ever seen him. He rushed to my side and placed a kiss on my cheek.

Phoebe stepped aside. “In some lands, the groom may not see the bride on the day of the wedding until the ceremony.”

Gareth’s deep adoring eyes shimmered. He lifted my hand to his lips, murmuring, “A tradition I for one, am glad is not ours.”

Hot tears warmed my cheeks and I pulled away from him. “It will not work. Your people do not accept me. That is why all those who were invited refused to come. We cannot wed.”

The prince placed his hand on the small of my back, urging me to walk. “That is where you are wrong, my love. You see, it is not you they have rejected. It is me and my father’s kingdom. Now, Father wants to show the world his compassion. We will marry, and all will be well, my dear. Trust me.” He squeezed my hand before hurrying off toward the Great Hall.

Back in the dressing room, Phoebe touched up my hair and makeup. When I stepped out into the corridor, a bell tolled. Scents of roasted meat wafted around me. Phoebe held the train of my gown as we proceeded to the Great Hall. A musical promenade of stringed instruments faded in and out between the tolls of the bell. The Torvian “Wedding Prelude.” But there had to be some mistake. Did the prince forget that each seat must be filled? Who would fill them, if not those who were invited? Surely there were not one hundred people just waiting to enter a wedding banquet.

All this was for naught. It would end, once again, with a grand disappointment. But Gareth was so insistent, I couldn’t deny him. That was one thing I loved about him. He had such hope, such optimism, even when there was no reason to hope. Alas. He would see. The hall would once again be empty.

The bell signaling the hour stopped. I had lost count. Was it twelve? If so, it would be too late. It may have been eleven, and even then, if the places at the table were not filled, there would be no time left to do so. My breath shuddered. The prelude grew louder, now nearly overcoming the drumming of my heart.

I approached the stately doors for the third time that evening. Were these the same guards who had stood by earlier? If so, they looked as sharp and attentive as if they had just begun the evening. I halted, attempting to calm my breath.

My thoughts went to my betrothed. Poor Gareth. I whispered a silent prayer that he would find a good bride from his own people.

Phoebe placed the lovely bouquet of flowers in my hands and adjusted my headpiece. “This is your hour, my lady. When the bell tolls again, you will be a princess.”

I attempted to quell a sob. Whatever I would find on the other side of the doors, I needed to be strong. I squared my shoulders and gave a nod to one of the guards.

The doors swung open, a gust of air swishing the veil of my headpiece. Music filled my ears, and I stepped forward. My breath hitched at the sight before me. I could scarcely take it all in.

The candles decorating the tables, as well as the ones in the crystal chandeliers above, glowed and twinkled, fresh and new. But what stunned me most were the guests filling the room, each one dressed in pristine, elegant wedding clothes. Every face glowed with a smile—one I returned as I passed by. Who were these people?

As I neared them, I recognized some. Many were of the Vuilite people. Some stood with canes, some smiled with missing teeth, and there was the blind man who had always been so kind to my family. No, these were not nobility. These were the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame. But they were here. And they must have been invited. Otherwise, they would not be clothed in such finery.

As I stepped along the scarlet runner in the center of the Great Hall, I searched the room, needing to see my dear Gareth. I spotted the king, his crown and ornamented clothing sparkling. He rose from his throne and smiled at me. Such a good king he was. To think I was to become part of his family though I was not of his people. Was this indeed, a dream?

Movement caught my eye at the side of the room. A royal purple curtain swept open revealing my prince. My heart fluttered at the sight of him. His dark eyes glowed, warmth and welcome on his face. He faced the king and knelt, white and gold-gilded coat tails spread behind him.

When I stopped before the king, Gareth stood, facing me, adoration in his eyes. My love for him overflowed.

A chorus of trumpets startled me.

The king lifted his scepter and the room hushed.

“Today, we welcome to the royal family my son’s chosen bride, Lady Merewen Emmaline Valittu.” The room erupted in applause, cheers, and even whistles, making me chuckle despite myself.

“And this day, we also welcome all of you, from near and far, to enter the kingdom.” The king paused to look over the entire room. “No longer will you be called ‘not my people,’ but you will be my people, and I will be your king.”

I turned to see the commotion behind me. All those who were able, had knelt in gratitude.

The king continued. “This wedding marks a new time in our kingdom.”

I was close enough to see joy twinkling in the king’s eyes. “You who were once slaves, are now my friends.” He spread his hands wide, and the wedding guests erupted in applause.

The king waved his scepter across the room. “You who were once orphans are now my sons and daughters.”

I heard several gasps behind me.

Tears of joy escaped my eyes. I tried to blink them back as King Torin looked at me, then nodded at Gareth.

I met Gareth’s gaze.

The room hushed as the prince spoke tenderly. “Dear Merewen, my chosen bride. This day, I proclaim my love for you before our honored guests and throughout all the kingdom. Those honored by my father’s invitation who failed to come have insulted the grace of the king and rejected me and my father’s kingdom. So my good steward Alander and I rode into the streets and alleys of the town and bid the poor, the blind and the lame, to come as our honored guests. When even this was not enough, we went to the roads and country lanes and compelled all who would to come in so that our house would be full.”

Gareth’s gaze fell on the beaming guests, and I faced them too. I, too, could not stop smiling. Indeed, the house was now filled. My heart swelled with more joy than ever I knew was possible. How could this be? Chosen, beloved, and now I would be wed to my prince forever.

The king stepped forward. “This is my beloved son, and his bride, in whom I am well pleased. Let the wedding feast begin!”

 

Matthew 22:2

The kingdom of heaven is like unto a certain king, which made a marriage for his son and sent forth his servants to call them that were bidden to the wedding…