Poppy followed Ivy though a bewildering maze of corridors to the dining hall, her stomach tight with nervousness. Heart beating wildly, she clenched her fists and stepped into the stark, cavernous room. Dozens of chairs scraped against the flagstones as their occupants stood to greet her.

Fur-clad men turned unsmiling eyes under furrowed brows her way, Beards hid clenched jaws and she shrank back as a wave of antipathy hit her. Her eyes darted this way and that, scanning the assembly for a friendly face. . . or even just a female face, but apart from the maids who stood against the wall, eyes downcast, ready to serve the meal when the king called for it, she was the only one. Where are all the women? she thought. The men eyed Queen Katerina's fur and curled their lips. Instantly she knew it had been a mistake to wear it. In their eyes she was a hated foreigner attempting to usurp the place of their beloved queen.

King Fenwick stood at the head of the table with his son. Larnick stared at his cutlery, deliberately not meeting her eye. There was an empty space between them – the seat of honour. Poppy knew it was for her. The king raised his arms in greeting, his broken voice echoing through the Banqueting Hall,

'Welcome Princess Annifer of Frailing, soon to be queen of Cross . . .' a fit of coughing overtook him. '. . .Crosstain,' he finished, pulling out the chair beside him and beckoning her to come and sit. Poppy walked slowly down the side of the room, chin held high in an effort to maintain a regal demeanour but at the same time, feeling desperately uncomfortable. She soon realised that nobody was allowed to sit until she'd taken her place and quickened her pace. By the time she was halfway down the hall, she was almost jogging (which is difficult when you're not used to high heels) and when she finally got to her seat she flumped down, red-faced and out of breath. Everyone else followed suit.

'Serve the meal!' the king called out. The royal end of the table was served first – venison with potatoes and carrots and frequently replenished mugs of ale. Poppy hunched into her fur and ate in small bites, pretending not to notice the narrow-eyed glances being thrown her way while the company talked amongst themselves in a low murmur. Larnick steadily ignored her but at least the king tried to make her feel welcome.

'How is your room, Princess?' he scratched the red marks on his neck.

'It's fine . . . er . . . very nice. The bear is very . . .' she cast around for the right word - Creepy? Disturbing? Intimidating? These were definitely the wrong words, '. . . impressive.'

'Ah yes, isn't it? A magnificent beast! Caught by my great grandfather in the eastern forest many years ago. White bears are rare around here; it's usually . . . cough, cough . . . deer we hunt. Do you like hunting?' Poppy decided it would be impolitic to tell the truth — that no one in Frailing hunted and they considered the practice barbaric.

'Er, yes, of course.'

'And what do you hunt in Frailing?'

'Oh, we hunt . . . um . . . in Frailing, we hunt . . . er . . .rabbits.'

'Rabbits?' the king's eyes widened in surprise and even Larnick shot her a curious look.

'Yes, er . . . very big ones. Giant rabbits, actually. We hunt giant rabbits in Frailing. They're a pest, you see. They eat all our crops so we have to hunt them and . . . er . . . shoot them with arrows.' She mimed pulling back a bow string. 'It's our national sport, in fact, giant rabbit hunting. We have competitions and everything . . .' A voice inside her head was yelling at her to stop talking right now but her mouth seemed to be out of control so she stuffed a whole roast potato in it and promptly choked.

The king patted her on the back and when she'd successfully swallowed her enormous mouthful he continued the conversation.

'Well, we don't have any giant rabbits here but Larnick will take you deer hunting tomorrow. There's a white stag roaming the forest that they've been trying to kill for months. He's always proved too quick for them though. Let's see if you bring them luck.'

'I do hope so,' Poppy lied.

'Then tomorrow night the Royal Revelers will entertain us with music and acrobatics and Saturday is the bear-baiting. We have it in the big arena, you probably saw it as you came in. The whole of Loska comes to watch; it's the highlight of their month. Larnick and his friends catch a bear specially. They caught this one today.'

'That sounds . . . enchanting,' Poppy took a gulp of her ale, her face twisting at the bitterness. She would keep her responses short from now on.

The conversation lulled. Poppy picked at her food and listened to one of Larnick's friends – a chubby, dark-haired lad with a jagged scar on his cheek – who was regaling his side of the table with tales of Larnick's daring.

'What he did was, he found a tree with a beehive in it, then he climbed up another tree which was nearby and he waited silently for nearly an hour. When the bear finally came and started climbing up to get the honey, he blew a dart, tipped with a sleeping draught, and it hit it. The bear roared, you should have heard it!' He thumped the table with his meaty hand, causing the plates to rattle. 'Then it lost its grip on the tree and fell down on the ground. It thrashed around a bit and then fell asleep.'

'It took six of us to lift it into the wagon,' a shorter, blond-haired boy interrupted, 'and then we brought it back here and chained it to the stake in the arena. It was ferocious when it came round - lashing out with its claws, shaking the stake and trying to uproot it. We won't feed it tomorrow so it'll be really riled up for the baiting on Saturday. We're not feeding the dogs either. It'll be a good fight, there'll be blood and fur all over the arena. Hur hur.' Larnick's group of friends leered and sniggered at the thought and Poppy's stomach swam with nausea.

The king's voice cut through their merriment.

'We're planning the wedding for the next full moon in three weeks' time,' he announced. She felt Larnick stiffen next to her. His hands bunched into fists on the table and he emitted a low growl which sounded more animal than human. Poppy gently edged away from him.

King Fenwick pushed himself up from his seat. The courtiers rose simultaneously. A stocky fellow, who'd been sitting on the left side of the table, stepped forward, linked his arm through the king's and supported him as he hobbled painfully towards the royal apartments.

Larnick followed behind, head low, shoulders high, oozing resentment, and Poppy followed him, bewildered and overwhelmed. Hunting? Bear-baiting? she thought, in a kingdom so haunted by death how can they enjoy killing so much?

*****

Poppy stood in her usual place behind the dressing table, hairbrush in hand, lost in her thoughts. A confused look from Ivy reminded her with a jolt that she was the hairbrushee now rather than the hairbrusher. She quickly replaced the brush on the dressing table and sat down.

'Why were there no women at dinner?' she asked, pulling off the emerald earrings.

'They all eat in their rooms these days,' Ivy untied the ribbon and raked the plait out of Poppy's hair with her fingers. 'After the queen died, King Fenwick couldn't stand seeing happy couples around him at the table. It just reminded him of what he'd lost so he banned them from coming to dinner. You're the exception, I suppose, because you're the future queen.'

'How sad,' Poppy felt the atmosphere of the castle like a heavy weight pressing on her heart. 'Everything here is so sad,'

'I know,' Ivy picked up Annifer's hairbrush. 'That's just the way it is these days. We all thought that after the traditional one year mourning period, everything would go back to normal but then the doctor's realized that the king had the fever as well and after that it seemed like there was nothing to be happy about.'

'I'm so sorry for you.'

'Well,' Ivy's face did that twitchy thing that Poppy recognized as her version of a smile. 'Now you're here, maybe things will change for the better.'

'Maybe,' Poppy wondered what she, a lowly maid, could possibly do to bring all the lost happiness back to this country.

'Goodnight, Princess,' Ivy bowed and took her leave.

'Goodnight, Ivy.' Poppy climbed into the four poster bed and pulled the wine-coloured curtains tightly so she didn't have to see the bear or the bloodthirsty tapestry. The sound of the king's bone-rattling coughs echoed like thunder through the royal apartments. Poppy wrapped the eiderdown tightly around her body and lay there in the darkness, feeling more homesick and hopeless than she ever had before.

Thanks for reading 😊

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This chapter is dedicated to Toastypup - thanks for reading.

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