The Seventh Bride and the Slave Boy (don't look yet! way not done.)

The light pooled on the floor, weakly shimmering puddles of near-winter dawn. Branna found herself staring out the window, at the frosty looking sky. She wondered how long she'd been awake. Today was the day... Shivers coursed through her body, only partly because of the chill air breezing through the room. Last night had been too rushed for her to take anything in, but now she realized the monumental changes that had already enveloped her. Overnight, she had gone from the daughter of a well-to-do merchant to the youngest bride of the Thunder King of Maldor.1

Sitting up, Branna took her first good look at the chamber that was to be her room for the rest of her life.It wasn't large, but the walls were enameled, not the simple stone of her old home. Finished dark wood floors did nothing to dispel the cold, but a lavish white bearskin spread out like an island of comfort. Her toes simply itched to be run through the silky fur.2

Branna got up, blonde hair tumbling, unwound, down her shoulders. It would take forever to brush out now, she grumbled to herself. She wished she'd thought to braid it before stumbling to sleep. Gingerly, she made her way toward a walnut vanity set precariously far from the luxury of the bearskin. The cold floor shocked her, and Branna wished longingly for her old pair of fleece-lined slippers.3

Round and silver, the mirrored glass of the vanity was genuinely smooth, unlike the imperfections that pocked the mirrors in her father's house. Biting her lip, Branna examined her face for some sign that she'd changed, maybe matured. The scarlet stain of the ceremony had yet to fade, outlining her features with little diamonds for luck, vines for long life and potency. Brown eyes stared back at her, narrowed in scrutiny. There was no difference, that she could tell. How had she become a princess? The sixth bride of King Kaspar?4

A sharp rapping sound made her jump, and she drew her robe tighter to her body.5

"Is the Lady Branna awake?"6

"Yes... Come in."7

The heavy door swung open, revealing a slight, pompous man, dressed in what Branna thought as a ridiculous amount of finery for so early in the morning. But, she reasoned, this was a palace, after all.8

"Your presence is required by his Majesty, and the Physician, in precisely one hour. I, Ro de Lusebourg, have been instructed to lead you to the greenhouse when you are ready."9

His speech was as ostentatious as his dress. Branna found herself irritated by this little man, like a hollow bird singing its own praises in a croak. However, she was born from aristocracy, and knew about men like these. Being new, she felt she must make a good impression, and inclined her head.10

"I shall be ready to meet with them in little more than half an hour."11

She wished she could've eaten something. Suddenly, a wave of homesickness stung at her eyes.12

"Please, would you take a message to my father?"13

After penning a note for the little servant to deliver, Branna was once more alone. Thoughts of home were still swirling in her head, yet the sharp pain had abated. Her father had always brought her bread and fruit in the morning, setting the tray on her desk while she slept, or pretended to. She'd always wanted to bring him his breakfast, but he always woke up long before she could rouse herself from her dreams. She already missed the smell of apple butter in her room.14

Shaking sentiments from her head like cobwebs, Branna forced herself to be reasonable. It wasn't like she could never see her father again. Feeling better, Branna resumed her task of getting ready for the King.15

She was intrigued, and a little bit frightened, to meet Kaspar. Personally,