To Be Queen Read Online Free PDF Page B

in my rooms in Amaria’s absence. Only ten years old, she was too young for such work, but my sister had done well, better than I had expected. I always thought of her as too young and sweet to be of any real use except in the marriage she would make. That week I saw that there was a mind behind her pretty smile, if I could only teach her to use it.
    My father’s hall was hung in sweet-smelling flowers, and fresh rushes scented with thyme and rosemary covered the floor. I took my place at the high table, with Papa on one side of me and Petra on the other. The highest barons sat with us, and the rest of the company kept to the lower tables, where the feast was just as grand.
    Course after course was brought out. We had borrowed from all our estates for this one day, to show my father’s largesse. Roasted peacocks with their feathers still attached gleamed in the light of the lamps; dishes of eel and comfrey were brought, one after another, feeding everyone, from the barons to the servants, until the remains of the dishes were carried out to the poor. Our duchy was rich, and that day we shared our riches with our people.
    When the fruit was brought, my father rose to his feet beside me. His voice filled the hall without effort. He had trained himself to be heard a long way off without strain. Papa had taught me to do the same, down by the river’s edge. He had stood with me by the old Roman wall of our castle keep, until I could hear my voice bounce back to me from a hundred feet away.
    Though I would never need to cast my voice over a battlefield as my father had done, there were other fields on which I would fight all my life, and my father knew it. A woman in the world of men is always at war; a strong, melodious voice was only one weapon in my arsenal.
    â€œMy daughter sits before you this day, the flower of Aquitaine. Serve her well, as you have sworn to do. Follow her, as you have followed me. She is worthy of you.”
    Papa turned back to me, and took my hand; his eyes were full of tears. The years we had worked together to make this day come to pass had been hard on him. He had no way of knowing whether his men would accept me, if his barons would indeed swear fealty to me, as he called on them to do. He had gambled on me, and won.
    Papa gave me the kiss of peace, then sat beside me. His barons raised a cheer, their wine lifted high. I squeezed my father’s hand, and stood to speak in the strong voice he had given me. “I will serve you in my marriage, and all the days of my life. I will put you and our lands first always, whatever comes. This is my oath to you, as you have given your oaths to me this day.”
    The barons cheered again. As I took my place beside my father, I caught the eye of the Baron Rancon. His dark hair gleamed in the firelight, and his brown eyes met mine. He was a young man, not yet married. His arms were thick from wielding a sword; they strained the silk of his tunic. His was a body made to wear chain mail, not silk. For half a moment, I almost wished myself free, that I might choose such a man for myself.
    The negotiations for my marriage had already begun between our duchy and the King of France. Though it took years for such an alliance to be forged, one day I would marry the heir to the French throne. The politics between Aquitaine and the kingdom of France were delicate, made more so by the interference of the Church, which wanted a hand in everything. But I knew whether the Church supported us or not, my father would see my marriage made.
    Papa’s troubadour, Bertrand, bowed low to me. As Bertrand stood to sing, I found Baron Rancon still watching me. His eyes cradled mine, and warmth began to pool in the center of my belly. I sipped from that pool of languid pleasure, but did not drink deep. That pool could drown me, and I knew it.
    I drew my mind from Baron Rancon, and focused my attention on the troubadour who sang in my honor. Bertrand’s poetry