Surrender

"Merry, you are the most stunning creature I have ever beheld."

My eyebrow arched, but I said nothing to the handsome young suitor on his knees in front of me.

"Your eyes are like ground coffee beans--"

"Or mud puddles after you jump in them," I interrupted.

"--your hair is like a cascading waterfall of--"

"Cascading waterfall?" I questioned. "More like a rat nested in my hair."

"--and I would be honored to have you as a wife. That is, if you'll have me."

I sighed. You'd think after so many of my rejections that word would get out to all the guys to not propose marriage to me. Alas, no luck with that.

"Luke, I would love to be your wife," I lied carefully. "Unfortunately, my tutor Vernon must teach me at least 754 more events in history before I marry. You understand, right? I mean, that's at least another two years if I take it fast. You'll probably find someone else within that time and then feel guilty about having to marry me. I couldn't bear that."

Luke seemed to buy my excuse. He stood, flourished his arms a bit, and then bid his adieu after promising to return one day.

Once the door closed and I was alone, I kicked my slippers off and curled up in the chair with a book. Just when I found my page, the door opened and a familiar person peaked in through the corner.

"The coast clear?" Arthur asked, and I giggled my standard quip, "Not a vessel in sight."

He chuckled once at the old pun and came to sit beside me. "So this one? What'd he do? I saw him leaving. Handsome boy. Floating down the hallway with all the hope in the world. Of course, that gave away your answer. You're rather sensitive in your letdowns, you know."

I nodded. "I wish they would just not ask," I said before sighing. "There is no denying that Luke is good-looking. He's just so grounded with his passions. I get that he's not really in love with me, but he can at least make a point of it to lie effectively."

"Would you really want a liar for a husband?" Arthur questioned while reaching for a canister of sweets on the nearby table.

"Of course not. But I especially don't want a husband who doesn't love me. Rather a lying husband than a dispassionate one. "

I accepted one of the ginger saps he offered and began to nibble. Arthur seemed to think about what I said before asking what glorifications Luke had bestowed upon me.

"This one was a real poet," I warned.

"Oh really? A poet?" Arthur pressed while selecting another cookie.

"Well, I was only half-listening in the beginning, but I think he said something praising my nose. Then I sort of drifted in and out of focus some more before catching the remarks about my eyes and hair. My eyes were coffee beans -- that one isn't new -- and my hair was a cascading waterfall -- that one is."

"So why didn't you say yes? That waterfall comment would have made me want to jump into his arms right then."

I laughed at his joke before responding. "I might have. I mean, even though his comments weren't really passionate, they were interesting -- not to mention appealing to my ego. But then he said he would be honored to have me as his wife."

"And you don't like that he would honor you?" Arthur asked turning his amber gaze in my direction. "Last time I checked honor meant respect."

"It's still the same meaning," I assured him. "Luke, though, wouldn't have respected me. I mean, he would have, but his respect would have been centered on where I came from and not who I am. If I wasn't going to be the next ruler, then he would have no interest in me. So really his respect is for the crown."

"And that's a bad thing?" Arthur bristled.

"No, not at all. That respect is why monarchies work." I paused a short moment to organize my thoughts. "But he would have put me on a pedestal. He would be frightened to admit his mistakes to me because I might laugh. In the long run, he would no longer feign devotion and love. And I would no longer feign interest in him. We would divide the castle by two and never speak to each other cordially ever again. Imagine the impact of that on the kingdom -- not to mention the kids."

Arthur thought my explanation through. Nodding his head in agreement, he took another cookie from the tin.

"But what are you going to do, Merry?"

"What?" I asked. "You mean about the decree?"

"Of course," he said while munching on chocolate chip. "You have to be married by the age of twenty or else the throne goes to someone else -- that being Rosalind, then me."

"Yeah, well, I still have a year until I turn eighteen and have to become queen. The way I figure, I've got until I'm nineteen to start worrying about getting a husband."

"That's true. Very true," he said lowly.

It was obvious that Arthur was preoccupied with something. I didn't know what, but it was definitely important because he had stopped chewing on the cookie. When he closed the cookie tin, I knew something was definitely up. I knew better than to ask though, and, knowing that he would soon tell me about whatever it was, I waited.

"The Cope family will be arriving in a few hours," he finally verbalized.

I knew then what it was that bothered him. The Copes were supposedly coming to Kiev for the May Day celebration. Every year our village hosted it and every year dignitaries from the other provinces and their followers would come. But this year was different. This year Arthur had turned nineteen.

By the time he turned twenty, Arthur had to be married to someone. Unlike our sister Rosalind and me, Arthur didn't have a choice. He couldn't marry a lowly milk maid or a peasant girl; he was required to marry noble blood. Arthur could have chosen any one of the many noble females in the country, but he hadn't, and our father was forced to decide for him. Thinking that he might actually see Arthur more if he kept him close to home, our father arranged for Arthur to marry Azalea Cope, the princess of the neighboring western province.

Tomorrow at the celebration, the betrothal was to be announced to the nation.

"I'm sure you'll grow to love Azalea," I said, trying to comfort him.

"That's easy enough for you to say," he snapped. "You get to pick your spouse. Not only that, but you'll actually get to rule."

A silence cloaked the room.

Arthur slowed his breathing and lowered his voice. "Sorry, Merry, but I just don't understand why I have to follow the decree if there is no way that I'll ever see the crown. You'll live at least until your daughter can take over. And even if you and your children die, Roz will be around -- and with her own kids. So why should I have to worry about protocol?"

There was no reason. None at all. No reason except that our family had been doing it for years. Every generation was the same. The oldest female child would take the throne at age eighteen. By twenty, she would be married. By twenty-five, there had to be an heir. Of course, there were exceptions, but for the most part tradition was followed and maintained.

"Arthur, there is no real reason," I admitted. "But our family has always been this way. You have to worry about protocol because you have to. It's what is expected."

Before he could interrupt and object, I continued. "For instance, if Rosalind and I were to die before contributing an heir, you would become King. The territory would become yours, but the people would not. There would be no loyalty to you because you had not followed tradition."

"I know," Arthur sighed. "I know it every minute of every day. But every waking moment I am in torment because I know each second brings me closer to something I do not want to do." He paused. "I just wish there was some way to change it all."