This week I'm going way back to the first half of the draft. Let's see where I end up. All the way back in Chapter 8. Royal marriages in the 15th century were not love matches by any means. The bride and groom often met at the wedding mass, and it was understood by all that happiness was a luxury. The point of the union was to forge an alliance and produce heirs. Liking one another was unneccessary. However, despite the realities of the times, some royal couples lucked out and ended up well-matched anyway. I give you such a couple.
Princess Sophie of Frandia leaned back happily upon numerous cushions. She thanked the Lord for her good fortune. The daughter of a powerful family, she had no illusions about her value to her elders: she was a pawn to further their ambitions. She had long ago resigned herself to the fact that her marriage would be one not of her choosing, thus she had prayed for a husband who would be kind to her. She had not thought to ask for more, and yet Nicholas of Frandia had far exceeded her expectations.
Seeing him for the first time at their wedding, she had been struck by the beauty of his countenance, the strength apparent in his trim body, the warmth in his eyes. The wedding night had been most pleasant. She had been well-prepared for rough-use, pain, and embarrassment, but apparently she had been misinformed.
I think that counters last week's rather depressing excerpt rather nicely. I have a meeting this afternoon but hopefully will be able to make all my regular visits before the end of Monday. See you around the web my fellow Weekend Writing Warriors.