A Quest of Heroes (Book #1 in the Sorcerer's Ring)

laugh.”
    He
examined her, and she could sense he was searching for something.
    “You
seem unusually happy yourself,” he said. “Is there a boy in the picture?”
    Gwen
blushed. She stood up and walked to the window, turning from him.
    “I’m
sorry father, but that is a private affair.”
    “It
is not private if you will be ruling my kingdom,” he said. “But I won’t pry.
However, your mother has requested an audience with you, and I assume she will
not be so lenient. I will let it go. But prepare yourself.”
    Her
stomach tightened, and she turned away, looking out the window. She hated this
place. She wished she were anywhere but here. In a simple village, on a simple
farm, living a simple life with Thor. Away from all of this, from all of these
forces trying to control her.
    She
felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, and turned to see her father standing
there, smiling down.
    “Your
mother can be fierce. But whatever she decides, know that I will take your
side. In matters of love, one must be allowed to choose freely.”
    Gwen
reached up and hugged her dad. At that moment, she loved him more than
anything. She tried to push the omen of that snake from her mind, and prayed,
with all she had, that it was not meant for her father.
    *
    Gwen
twisted and turned down corridor after corridor, past rows of stained-glass,
heading towards her mother’s chamber. She hated being summoned by her mother,
hated her controlling ways. In many ways, her mother was really the one who
ruled the kingdom. She was stronger than her father in many ways, stood her
ground more, gave in less easily. Of course the kingdom had no idea: he put on
a strong face, seemed to be the wise one.
    But
when he returned to the castle, behind closed doors, it was she who he turned
to for advice. She was the wiser one. The colder one. The more calculating one.
The tougher one. The fearless one. She was the rock. And she ruled their large
family with an iron fist. When she wanted something, especially if she got it
into her head that it was for the good of the family, she made sure it
happened.
    And
now her mother’s iron will was about to be turned towards her; she was already
bracing herself for the confrontation. She sensed it had something to do with
her romantic life, and feared she had been spotted with Thor. But she was
resolved not to back down. No matter what it took. If she had to leave this
place, she would. Her mother could put her in the dungeon for all she cared.
    As
Gwen approached her mother’s chamber, the large oak door was opened by her
servants, who stepped out of the way as she entered, then closed it behind her.
    Her
mother’s chamber was much smaller than her father’s, more intimate, with large
rugs, a small tea set and gaming board set up beside a roaring fire, several
delicate, yellow velvet chairs beside them. Her mother sat in one of the
chairs, her back to Gwen, even though she was expecting her. She faced the
fire, sipped her tea, and moved one of the pieces on the game board. Behind her
were two ladies-in-waiting, one tending her hair, the other tightening her
strings on the back of her dress.
    “Come
in, child,” came her mother’s stern voice.
    Gwen
hated when her mother did this—held court in front of her servants. She wished
she would dismiss them, like her father did when they spoke. It was the least
she could do for privacy and decency. But her mother never did. Gwen concluded
it was a power play, keeping her servants hovering around, listening, in order
to keep Gwen on edge.
    Gwen
had no choice but to cross the room and take a seat in one of the velvet chairs
opposite her mother, too close to the fire. Another of her mother’s power
plays: it kept her company too warm, caught off guard by the flames.
    The
Queen did not look up; rather she stared down at her board game, pushing one of
the ivory pieces in the complex maze.
    “Your
turn,” her mother said.
    Gwen
looked down at the board; she was surprised her mother still had this game
going. She recalled she had the brown pieces, but she hadn’t played this game
with her mother in weeks. Her mother was an expert at Pawns—but Gwen was even
better. Her mother hated to lose, and she clearly had been analyzing this board
for quite a while, hoping to make the perfect move. Now that Gwen was here, she
moved.
    Unlike
her mother, Gwen didn’t need to study the board. She merely glanced at it and
saw the perfect move in her head. She reached up and moved