The Queen's Knight

Taryn of Westwood stood in the extravagant throne room, surrounded by nobles, gripping her sword to keep her hands from shaking. She prayed silently nothing too embarrassing would transpire.

At the head of the throne room, Her Majesty Queen Dahlia surveyed the room with a soft, elegant gaze Taryn had only seen in paintings. She tried her best not to stare, but rumors of the Queen’s beauty were no exaggeration.

Queen Dahlia stood tall, despite being a couple inches shorter than average, with the confidence and grace of a lion. Her dark brown eyes resembled the barrels of a canon in their depth and danger, but held a strange beauty to them as well. The curls of her hair held little to no ornament, aside from the crown at her brow.

To the queen’s left, the lady in waiting gave a shallow curtsey, grinning with a bright youthful glow. Onra, the chief advisor, stood stoically to her right, eyeing Taryn with a cold, suspicious gaze. She stood a head taller than most of them, and wore the stiff, scratchy uniform suited for none other than a military general. Taryn knew better than to offer a smile.

The Queen stood then, indicating the ceremony would commence, and the already hushed crowd silenced. When she stepped toward the Queen and took a knee, Taryn caught a glimpse of her friend from the corner of her eye. Sir Silas raised his eyebrows, and looked as though he might burst into laughter at any second. Taryn gave him a warning look, but bit her own lip to keep from snickering. The excitement was already turning to adrenaline, and it was all she could do not to get up and start dancing.

On the raised dias, Onra took the sword and scabbard from her belt and held it in both hands towards the queen. Queen Dahlia unsheathed the sword and raised it so that the sun beams streaming in from the windows caught it in a dazzling light. Taryn gazed at it in wonder, impressed with the upkeep it must have required, before remembering decorum, and lowering her head.

“Taryn of Westwood,” Queen Dahlia’s voice projected with surprising strength. The blade of the sword came down to rest momentarily at her shoulder, and Taryn glanced as discreetly as she could at the craftsmanship. “I hereby dub thee Dame Taryn, Knight of Shale.”

The crowd of nobles gathered in the throne room applauded, though not with nearly as much enthusiasm and raw energy as the peasants in Westwood.

At the Queen’s nod, Taryn stood and approached the dias. She took the queen’s hand in hers and pressed it to her lips in a reverent kiss. Queen Dahlia took note of the knight’s large, calloused hands. “You’re gentle, for a knight.”

“Not always,” Taryn chuckled, “I’m flexible, in that regard. I pray you won’t have to meet my rougher side.”

“On the contrary,” The Queen said, and leaned forward mischievously, “I’d love to discover what other ways you’re flexible.”

Taryn blushed deeply, but couldn’t stop a grin from spreading. “Of- of course, I think you’ll find I am devoted to meeting the royal needs, whatever they may be.”

Queen Dahlia smiled, and straightened. “A pleasure to meet you, Dame Taryn. May you serve and honor the crown to the best of your ability.”

Taryn bowed once more, unable to control her grinning at this point, and left to join Sir Silas.

Silas was a stocky man, with a thick beard and charming eyes. They’d been friends since training, before he was assigned to the Queen’s guard and found a wife in town.

He slapped Taryn on the back, “You’re still red as a beat, Tar! Just what did Her Majesty say to you?”

“Nothing you need to know,” Taryn said.

“Oh, Taryn, you apish scoundrel! Tell me what she said!”

“Not here,” she hissed, “Wait until we get to the pub.”

Silas raised his eyebrows, “Oh, it’s that kind of secret, then? I can hardly wait.”

“Well you’ll have to.” Taryn risked another glance at the Queen. She was busy greeting a line of older people while her lady in waiting fetched her glass of white wine. She laughed at something an older man said, and for a moment, Taryn thought she saw her elegant mask slip into genuine enjoyment. How beautiful, she thought. Perhaps working in the Queen’s guard would grant the opportunity to see it again.