“What do you know about her?” Obal asked.

Cheran stared at the little wooden playing pieces on the board in front of him. Obal was a more experienced player than him, and far more practiced. Cheran glanced at the little pile of coins on the line. It was pocket change for him, but seeing Obal lose the money would be gratifying. After moving his charioteer forward by two steps, he leaned back into his chair.

“Nothing.”

“What if she is hideous?”

“Does not matter.”

“Does anything matter?” Obal asked, moving his foot soldier two spaces to the right.

“It will end the war, and allow us access to Nouminian ports. We will be able to stop the bloodshed as well. I’m sure she feels the same.”

“What if she is overly pious?”

“All the better. I’ll leave her to her pilgrimages and respect her like I would any elder. After all, our nation does not follow the principle of monogamy. There will be other princess, other weddings.”

Cheran gave Obal a cheeky grin. However, he hoped that the conversation would end. The capital was visibly happier. He could see it in the way people moved around on the streets. The announcement had been made, and the preparations underway. He was offered congratulations everywhere he went, although he suspected people were glad he had come to be useful in at least this way. He was more curious about the princess than Obal was. If nothing went wrong, the woman might become the future empress. He had asked his friends and other nobles. None of them offered any relevant information about her. The most they recalled were stories of her as a child. She had been a silent, dark-haired girl often by her father’s side. But her father had been dead for more than ten years. Since then, there was nothing. There was no mention of any young royal women at the Nouminian court at all.

“When is she due to arrive?” Obal asked.

“In three months,” Cheran answered, contemplating his next move. Enough time for him to find out more about her, and the secrecy that hung about her.

“And the wedding?”

“In four months.”

“I win,” Obal said. Cheran looked down at the pieces. His fortress was surrounded without escape. He scowled.

“Were you trying to distract me from the game?” Cheran asked.

“Not just trying, my friend. I succeeded.”

Obal stood next to the table and swept the money into his coin pouch.

“You are being too placid about this whole affair. She may be a perfectly normal young woman, but even then, she may be utterly unsuited for you. She may not be normal at all. There is one outcome where everything goes right, and a million where something goes wrong. I find your lack of interest in your future life confusing, my friend. Surely, you must be curious about her at least a little bit.”

Cheran wished he could send spies to Noumin, but his father had forbidden it. If there was a suspicion that their offer was not genuine, or that they were merely trying to buy themselves time in the war, it would all fall apart.

“It is just a political marriage,” Cheran said. “I’m sure we shall have a great deal in common. She will also be relieved to be done with war. We were raised in similar environments, and she is a princess. She will definitely have been prepared to marry into a family of power and to leave her home.”

“And you?”

He ignored the mocking tone in Obal’s voice. The insinuation that he was prepared for nothing. He could not refute the mockery or the insults. He had not expected talks of marriage or alliances for a few more years. He was not ready for the responsibilities that would follow marriage. The court would expect him to take a larger role in the running of the empire. His new wife would come with expectations of her own. Within a few months, people would start to expect his wife to be expecting. There was something perverse in an entire nation expecting a child.

Cheran groaned. The less he thought about it, the calmer he could be.

“Everything will be fine,” he said, trying to convince both himself and his friend.

“The emperor has had some new birds brought in for the royal garden,” Obal said. “I see them sometimes on my way to training. They’re called ostriches.”

Obal cleared off the playing pieces and board and placed them in their board.

“You were speaking about the ostriches?”

“When they see trouble, they bury their heads in the soil. Their little brains think that if they cannot see a problem, it does not exist.”

Cheran ground his jaw. He could have Obal killed for insolence. Others might have done so years before. But then they would say the crown prince was good for nothing, and that he had put to death a valuable soldier of the empire over just a few words. Obal might mean well, but his words cut. He knew where to aim, after so many years of friendship.

Obal walked off. He walked with purpose, because he had purpose. There was a job that needed doing, and few who could do it as well as him. Cheran didn’t know the feeling. All he had contributed to the world was his existence. As long as he did not die, he was doing well fulfilling his purpose. He was no different from the stallions his father imported from across the Meldorian Sea. The princess coming to meet him was perhaps the same. Princesses were born with even less purpose than princes. They were used as pieces of decoration, as bargaining chips in politics, and as placeholders in case a male heir was not born.

Cheran was not curious about the princess. It was not in his nature to be curious. He was raised to have the answers to questions more than to question things. However, he was hopeful. Whatever the princess was or wasn’t, he hoped that she would be a kindred spirit.