Chapter One

I was four years old when I first met Derek. I'm told our meeting was of the gods. Blessed, they called it. Connived, is more like it. 

I am the first and only daughter of King Rupert the Second of Nimhold and the late Queen Odette. I was called after my mother and hers before her - Meglyn Odette. Megs, to my friends.The few I have.  Which brings us back to Derek, 

My mother died shortly after I was born. My father, being one of the most devoted and loving men I have ever met, was devastated. He mourned for months. Years even, though he tried to put on a brave face. But the year following her death was the worst, so I'm told. There were parties and celebrations that were meant to be held in my honor (though I can't imagine how I was supposed to appreciate them while I was still in the cradle) but Father could never bring himself to do more than mope at each gathering. And so eventually the revelers went home and father was left to wander the castle alone. Almost. 

One queen stayed. Queen Augusta was the widow of father's childhood friend, King Dreyden. She had known father since her marriage to the king five years previous and when Dreyden died shortly after the birth of their second son, Matthias, Augusta had kept the connection in reverence to her departed love. 

She and father couldn't have been more dissimilar. She was full of laughter and always enjoyed pleasure of any sort. She lived for the life of the ball. Father, on the other hand, was studious and serious. It was said that mother was the only person to ever get him to laugh. Not that he did not feel joy. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy life to an extent that few others could match. But it was kept in his head, where few could look upon it and even fewer appreciate it. He was a thinking man.

Yet somehow these two different rulers came to be great allies in their deepest distress. Father had consoled Augusta when Dreyden died, and now Augusta did the same for father when mother died. I'm not certain he appreciated all of her consoling ways, but in the end he was brought out of his gloomy manner enough to think of the future. Me.

As I may have mentioned, I was yet in the cradle. Thus, I will grant that father had little choice of consulting me in the matter of my future, for which I must forgive him. If I had been able to have a say... well, this would be a very different story. 

Queen Augusta had two sons: Prince Derek and Prince Matthias. Derek, being the eldest, was in line for the crown of Chambry. I was also in line for a crown. This being the case, Father and Augusta hit upon the idea that it would be just the thing if Derek and I were to one day marry and unite the kingdoms forever in peace and harmony! Datata! 

Yes, what a wonderful scheme. Sigh. 

I must give credit to the justice of these two monarchs though. Both had made matches of love for themselves and they would not do anything to destroy that chance for their children. They would allow us to marry for love. 

All that was left to do was make us fall in love. 

Thus began the summers of torment. Augusta and father hit upon the idea that if Derek and I were to spend the summer months together we would sooner or later become so attached to each other that we would call it love and all would be happy ever after. Ha. Ha. 

The original plan was to go back and forth between castles, spending one summer in Nimhold and the next in Chambry. But when I managed to get sick the first summer, and then the next and even the next after that, father decided that the summer planting season in Nimhold was too much for me and that we would be spending every summer in Chambry from there on out. Sigh. 

So on the summer of my fourth year, we traveled across the nice little sea that divided Chambry and Nimhold and went to spend our first summer in the castle called Chambry Castle. Very original. 

The voyage made me sick. So I'm told. I don't remember. 

And then we finally met, Derek and I. This "blessed" meeting took place in the great hall of the castle, where Queen Augusta and her two little princes were eating breakfast together. In front of the dais where the two thrones sat. Yes, Augusta could be eccentric at times. 

I'm told father swept in in his stately manner and Augusta rose to greet him. Meanwhile, little Prince Derek had been distracted by the flight of a bluebird (did I mention the great hall was outside?) and was chasing after it. Matthias was sitting quietly at the table. As usual. 

In the chasing of this bluebird, Derek suddenly stumbled across a section of the floor that had been cracking and was raised in some parts. He fell to the ground and hit his head against a particularly nasty bit of stone. 

And here comes the "blessed" part. 

I have never been one to look upon the misfortunes of others as a thing to gloat over or even walk away from. My father has taught me to come to the aid of every living creature that is in need of my help. I have done my best to live by that creed. Even at the tender age of four, apparently. 

On seeing Derek fall to the ground, I immediately ran to his aid, small though I was. He was trying not to cry, being almost nine years old and quite the little man even then, but he did not push me away. Instead he let me wipe away the small spot of blood that had formed on his forehead with my handkerchief (just as I had seen father do for my little cousin Everett once) and sing to him a little song of comfort. I'm told it was "The Willow Song". I don't recall. 

There. That was the blessed meeting of Princess Meglyn Odette and Prince Derek. 

Five minutes later we were fighting. 

Eight years later and we were still fighting. 

I will take a moment now to describe this young prince with whom I was meant to fall in love. Prince Derek Dreyden Reginald Grant of Chambry. Age: 15 going on 16. His birthday fell on the last week of summer, which always meant a grand celebration before we went away. Height: taller than a fifteen-year-old should be. I'm guessing somewhere between six-foot-one or two. Hair color: dark chocolate. Eyes: light blue. Perfectly set in a face that could have been etched out of stone. Except when he smiled. Then it folded up into a million crinkles that more closely resembled thick folds of silk around his eyes and mouth. Perfect teeth. Excessively thick hair cropped short even at a young age. He always said he had to keep it short so it wouldn't impede his fighting skills. Ha. Body type: warrior. 

Now perhaps a little glimpse of me at the age of twelve. Height: short. Very short. Eyes: green, gray or blue, depending on the day, the mood or the lighting. Set in a round face that alternated between bright blushes or pale nothingness. With freckles. Little teeth with a big gap in the middle. Body type: adolescent girl. 

Thus the stage is set for the worst summer of my life. Up to that point. 

"I hate him, Daddy!" I cried as I stormed passionately into our suite of rooms at the north side of the castle. Father was reading in a chair by the window but he didn't look at all startled by my entrance. 

"Why is that, my princess?" he asked in his usual tone of voice that could have been anything from amused to furious. It never changed. 

"Because!!" I shouted, as though that were all the explanation needed. I plopped onto the floor in front of him and burst into tears. I praise my father now for putting up with my extremely violent and differing emotions at that age. 

"What did he do?" Father inquired as he set his book aside. He always was good at giving me his entire attention, no matter how trivial the matter may have seemed to him. 

"He banned me from the treehouse!" This should have not bothered me at all, seeing as I hadn't even been slightly interested in the creation of the treehouse when it was erected the year before. But as I had now been banned from it, it of course became of the greatest importance that I be allowed in. 

"I see," father said wisely. 

"Yes, and he's been playing with Brom all day and won't even talk to me anymore! As if I'm not as good as that fat son of a priest!"

Father's look scared me before the words had even left my mouth. 

"That is unkind, Meglyn," he chided. There was no anger in his voice but there was a good deal of disappointment in his eyes. 

"I'm sorry, papa," I whispered in a very small voice. It hurt me more than anything to disappoint my father in any way. "I'm sorry."

"Good," he said, lifting my lowered head so I would look at him. "Now why do you want to be allowed in the treehouse? You told me last year it was a stupid idea to build a treehouse when you had a castle to play in."

"It is," I moped. "But I'm lonely and there's no one else to play with." I wiped a tear away and almost told father the real reason why I was mad at Derek. But I knew he wouldn't understand. "And don't tell me to go play with Mathilde, because I won't." If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have been so mad at Derek. 

I think father understood more than I would have guessed at the time, but he was wise enough to let it go. Instead, he told me one of his magical stories and then sent for a bowl of grapes that I might munch on while setting down with a good book to forget the day. 

But even the book held horrors for me. The heroine looked just like Mathilde, with her flowing golden hair and bright blue eyes. Red roses sat on her cheeks and lips and her figure was full, as a woman's. And the hero was Derek. And he thought she was beautiful. 

When father wasn't looking, I cried. 

From that day on through the rest of summer I shut myself in my side of the castle, doing all I could to avoid the sight of Derek or Mathilde. I read my heart out and shut my ears to the rumors of what Derek thought or did. He was dead to me. Or so I wished. 

What girl does not ache for love at such a tender age? His words to Brom at the beginning of the summer about Mathilde's beauty, innocent as they may have been, hurt me very deeply. No woman, much less young girl, likes to be compared to someone generally thought to be much prettier than her. Too much value is wrongly set upon outward beauty, but at the young age of twelve how is a girl to know that her worth does not come by the color of her eyes or the shape of her figure? I was very impressionable and too naive to look for wisdom from my elders. Thus, I held the hurt inside and allowed it to build up into hatred for the person I assumed to be the instigator of my suffering: Prince Derek. 

It was near the end of summer, about a week before Derek's birthday and two before our departure, that tragedy struck the kingdom of Chambry. Prince Matthias died. 

Matthias was always a quiet young man, very different from both his mother and older brother. He was shy to excess but abominably sweet and good natured. He had been the saving grace of much of my time in Chambry. When Derek scorned me or we got into fights, I would go to Matthias and he would play games with me or tell me stories or just sit and listen while I ranted about the evil nature of his best friend and older brother. He was endlessly patient with me. 

Matthias was fourteen at the time of the accident. Though not quite the warrior that Derek was already proving to be, he enjoyed the physical activity of the hunt that often took he and his older brother away from the castle for a few days. 

It was on just such an occasion that tragedy struck. The princes had left early that morning, along with Sir Trenton, Sir Maxwell and Bromley, Derek's new best friend. They had been gone only four hours when Derek came galloping back into the castle courtyard with a look of death upon his face. 

Matthias was slung across the saddle in front of him, covered in blood. I cannot forget the sight. 

Though I had been the only one in the courtyard when he came in, the sound of his arrival brought a host of servants and knights running. They surrounded him and he was lost to my view. 

The remainder of that day is a blur. Derek was ushered into the great hall, where Queen Augusta had been enjoying a late breakfast with my father, and the doors were closed on me. 

Doctors of every kind attended to Matthias. But it was hopeless. He passed away later in the day. 

I didn't hear the story until the following morning and, I regret to say, it was from Mathilde. The dashing young courtier was surrounded by her usual retinue of admirers and it was only with great trepidation that I finally approached to hear the story. 

"Sir Trenton was approaching the boar when another appeared at the side of him," she was saying in a hushed, dramatic tone. "Matthias dismounted to assist him but he got too close and was..." she paused for effect, "gored in the side. Prince Derek was so angry that he speared both boars clean through before slinging Matthias across his saddle and rushing back to the palace. Alas..." she sighed. "It was too late." 

One of the handsome young men by her side asked a question but I was no longer paying attention. Derek had entered the courtyard through the west entrance and was coming our way as slowly as though his feet were weighted with lead. His face looked haggard and much older than his fifteen years and it looked as though he was oblivious to the world around him, including the group of curious boys surrounding Mathilde. 

"Derek!" Mathilde called out as she caught sight of him. She pushed away two of the boys that were blocking her view of Derek and stood to go towards him. "Oh, Derek! Do tell us about it!" she gushed as he came nearer with a wan smile. 

Suddenly Derek stopped in his tracks and it was almost as though I could see the horrid scene being played out before his very eyes. He looked so pale I thought he would faint and I rushed to his side to grab his arm and give him what little support I could. 

"Come with me," I whispered, pulling him away from the curious and insensitive eyes of Mathilde and her friends. He followed without complaint and without a word or look to Mathilde. 

We left the courtyard and walked a short distance to the small garden pavilion that stood on the east side of the palace, where the least amount of traffic flowed. I urged him to sit on the bench that was beneath the old willow tree and once more he gave into my guidance without complaint. 

He was looking slightly less pale now but it was obvious that something deep inside of him had been broken and would take a good deal of time to mend. I thought of those few times when the death of my mother had struck home, leaving me to feel as though I had a great, gaping hole inside of my heart, making it hard for me to breath. And I had nothing more than a likeness of her and a fond memory of being held as a baby. I wondered what it would be like to lose someone you had known and loved so dearly - and to be witness to that death! My own heart was nearly dying in grief with the thought of it. 

I sat beside Derek on the bench and watched him out of the corner of my eye, wishing I could give comfort but not knowing how. 

I started to cry, which was very selfish of me, but I couldn't stop myself. My own pain at losing Matthias was so great that it quite consumed me and on top of that I was trying to imagine Derek's grief and the two of those put together only served to make me one big, emotional mess. 

"I'm so sorry, Derek!" I managed to get out through my tears. "I miss him too." 

And finally Derek broke down. His strong shoulders sagged and his face crumpled in tears as he slid off the bench and fell to his knees in front of me. His fingers grasped at the folds of my skirt as he buried his head in my lap and struggled for breath. 

I don't know how long we cried together. I suspect it was a very long time. I was worn out, both body and spirit, by the time my tears ran dry and Derek was barely whimpering in my lap. He finally raised his head and looked at me. He really looked at me. Not just the passing glance I had received from him so often, but a soul searching look that made me think he was finally seeing me - and maybe even seeing inside of me, seeing a part of me I hadn't even seen before. 

"Thank you, Megs," he said slowly. He took my hand in his and gave it a tight squeeze. Then he stood with a shuddering breath and pulled me off the bench and to my feet. "Thank you." He hugged me, good and hard and I hugged him back, with all of my short, little body. 

No words were needed after that. Derek returned back to the courtyard but didn't speak with Mathilde or her friends. I actually don't recall him having anything more than a polite conversation at a party with her after that. I think her careless words to him that day had left a scar on their friendship that he was not willing to forget. Or perhaps it had made him realize that they didn't even have a friendship to leave a scar on. Either way, Derek had finally seen past the beautiful facade of Mathilde.