That evening Edmund reminded the Prince that he had a decision to make, if he wanted another visit with the Seer. The Prince sighed with impatience and said, "Very well," then stood to proclaim his decision in as royal a manner as possible. "I have decided," he proclaimed, "to ask Meleneche, daughter of Count Jacob of the New Meurells, if she would consider giving me her hand in marriage."
The Advisor blinked in irritated surprise. "If she would consider, my lord? Isn't that cheating just a bit?"
The Prince sighed again and said, scratching his head, "Look Edmund, the Seer said I had to decide on some unimportant thing. A marriage is important, especially for a prince, so I can't actually make that decision myself, can I?"
"But you admit the decision is important, and then you foist it onto somebody else's head - "
"Tut, tut, Edmund," said the Prince, as he strode to his personal door at the end of the meeting hall, "A decision has been made and that's all that was necessary. Tomorrow we shall revisit the Seer." And he breezed through his door before his Advisor could raise another doubt.
They set off after breakfast, just a small party of guards, the Prince, the Advisor, and the Count's daughter. Edmund had suggested bringing her along just to prove that the Prince wasn't pulling anyone's leg about his decision, and neither of them protested, much. They arrived at the door of the Seer's hut, calm and untroubled by their traveling. The Seer seemed surprised when she opened the door, although she covered it quickly. "Come back for another try I suppose, David," she harrumpfed, and led them to the divining circle.
"Could you please remember to call me 'my lord' or at least 'Prince David'?"
"No time for titles," she snapped, and tossed the stones rather abruptly and without preparation, in the Advisor's opinion. She stared at the fallen stones for a moment. Then she bent down to peer more closely at them. "Huh."
Prince David was getting agitated. "Well, what is it this time?"
The Seer puckered her lips and thought, then spoke slowly, "You do not take decision making very seriously. Not the best trait for a prince to have."
"I try not to interfere in things that are working," answered the Prince testily.
"Yes, well," the Seer now sat back on her heels and stared at the ceiling, "You'd best get a little practice in for when things get bad. A leader has to lead, not just wear pretty jackets." Here she gestured at the Count's daughter's ruby velvet coat. "Even unimportant decisions should be made with an eye to their consequences."
"Things are going to get bad, is that what you see?" asked the Prince expectantly.
The Seer shook her head and rose creakily to her feet, "Things always get bad, it's the way of the world. The trick is being ready to ride out the flood or shovel off the snow when it comes, not get buried in it."
"You sound just like my father," the Prince mumbled. Yet again he left the Seer's hut unsatisfied. His entourage kept silent all the way home, for fear of provoking his wrath.
He was still angry the next morning at breakfast and all the servants walked on porcelain eggshells. Meleneche entered the dining hall and he stood gallantly while she made her way to her chair, sat, and was served an assortment of meats and jams. She picked up her fork and knife, and paused, looking at him expectantly, whereupon he sat down himself. "Very chivalrous," she commented.
"Just as a husband should be, isn't that so?"
Meleneche chewed a succulent mouthful of lamb as she considered. "I think I would rather my husband had a head on his shoulders than chivalrous pride."
The Prince threw down his napkin in disgust, banging his own cutlery on the table. "Everyone is determined to get on my bad side these days!" he shouted and stormed out of the room.
Edmund the Advisor gracefully approached the Count's daughter as she continued her breakfast in peace and said calmly, "I do wish you'd be more careful when he's in a mood, He is the Prince, you know."
"And I am the daughter of the Count of the New Meurells, and granddaughter of the Rayjeen of Thamuth."
The Advisor raised his eyebrows. "Your mother's mother, I gather. No wonder you have such a character. Which I say in no manner to offend," he added hastily, met with a gaze just as fiery as Prince David's.
"He said I would decide to marry or not," said the woman, "I think I have decided. I am a court woman, but I shall be no prince's wife. I will request the post of huntmaker."
"It's not been a woman's post before."
"Should I care? You saw my trophy, got my first morning here."
"Yes," Edmund muttered, and shuffled away, for the first time in all his years as Advisor to the Prince feeling very unsure of himself and his world.
Prince David was not upset, exactly, when told of the Count's daughter's decision. "I gave her the choice myself," he said. He did seem mildly surprised, and a bit concerned, perhaps wondering at last if being a prince was good enough to be a husband too.
He hesitated to give her the huntmaker's post because, as Edmund had told her, no woman had held it yet, but the Prince was something of a modern man who did not worry much about traditions. He had been impressed with her first hunt on his lands, and in the end the post was hers. A small ceremony was held in which he draped over her a sash which read "Hunt-Maker to the Royal House" and she made a short bow that could have shown either disdain or nervousness. The Prince chose not to notice.
She took up her new post without fanfare, apart from the small ceremony, which raised eyebrows among the other courtiers. They were used to pomp and celebration, even from huntmakers, so the simplicity of the Count's daughter's takeover was something to talk about. Meleneche seemed to ignore the wagging tongues completely, naturally causing them to wag even more. Prince David also paid no heed. Edmund the Advisor said nothing, but worried that this might cause the courtier's to lose respect for the Prince's decisions, and eventually affect the view of him held by the people themselves. However, time passed and the novelty wore off the situation. Meleneche was just the Huntmaker, not "that strange woman who thinks she's the Huntmaker". She began building a reputation for herself with a steadiness that might appear deliberate, if one did not know her and her nervously modest personality.
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