The Lark's Pearl

“Ariabella. Sweetheart, wake up.”

I grumble, stretching my arms. Upon opening my eyes, I see the new dawn and the sunlight reflecting golden rays off what I can only assume is the palace.

“Come,” says the guard as the door to the carriage is opened from the outside, by a footman. “They are expecting us.”

“How did word reach the palace so quickly?” I ask, leaning close to Mother as we exit the carriage.

“Couriers and messengers,” she replies, taking my hand as we wait for the guard to lead the way. “Ariabella, I want you to listen carefully… You are about to stand before the king and his royal court. This is an experience you have not had before. You must remain as polite and respectful as you can. Do not speak unless spoken to first. He will ask you to clarify your story. Speak only the truth.”

“Mother, wh-”

“Just keep silent until they speak to us.”

Puzzled, I hold my tongue. As the guard leads us through the main entrance, I feel smaller than I am. The foyer was longer than the path between my home and the stream. The walls are gold, decorated with cream curtains that reach from the ceiling to the floor. Portraits of past royals occupy the walls. Each face appears to watch me, a commoner, trespassing on their territory.

The throne room is unlike anything I’ve seen until now. I thought the entryway was extravagant, but this room is amazing. Lustrous braziers hanging from one side of each of the eight onyx columns light up most of the throne hall and paint the hall a range of yellows and oranges. The paintings of birds and butterflies on the terraced ceiling dance in the flickering light while carved images look down upon the mahogany floor of this lavish hall.

A cobalt rug splits part of the room in half from the throne to midway down the hall, while pointed banners with ornate sigils hang from the walls. Between each banner stands a large candlestick. Almost all of them are lit, illuminating the portraits of leaders beneath them.

Thick, stained glass windows of intricate mosaics are enclosed by draperies colored the same cobalt as the banners. The golden curtains remain consistent, adorned with decorated tips and jewels.

A lavish throne of gold sits between two large statues, adjoined by three equally impressive seats for the royal trustees. The throne is covered in simple inscriptions and fixed on each of the rear legs is a diamond symbolic emblem. The thick pillows are dark cobalt and these too have been adorned with embellished ridges.

Those wishing to witness their royal highness sit in waiting on the countless gilded and otherwise extravagant stone benches, all of which are facing the throne in a half circle. Those of higher standing take seats in the impressive mezzanines facing the throne.

I blow out my cheeks at the sight. Clinging to my mother’s arm as the trumpets sound.

“His royal Highness, King Adrian of Evæqesta!” the herald announces; Mother pulls me down and I land hard on my knees.

I listen to the footsteps, staring at the glistening floor. A gasp escapes me when I see the reflection on the floor. Shadows cast in front of me, growing bigger and darker as it moves closer.

“You may rise.”

The deep baritone shocks me but I rise, still clinging to my mother. I bite my lip, keeping my head down.

“You have nothing to fear. The only reason you stand before me is to be questioned. If you are willing to cooperate, you will return home by tomorrow morning… As your king, I humbly command you to look at me.”

I hesitate, but I do not want to give him a reason to think I will not cooperate. I exhale, turning my gaze up. White, shoulder-length hair, adorned with a simple, golden band-like crown, frames a furrowed, friendly face. Hollow hazel eyes, set high within their sockets, watch carefully as Mother and I stand together.

The king smiles, “I admire your respect, young lady. You remind me of someone I knew, long ago. May she rest in peace.”

I nod but say nothing. The king, dressed in multiple shades of blue and a thick, speckled mantle, turns and walks toward the throne’s platform. There is another person standing in front of the platform. A young man, from the look of his trousers.

“I am told your name is Ariabella,” the king addresses me, motioning me forward.

I look at Mother. She nods, gently removing my hands from her arm.

“You may speak freely, Ariabella,” the king goes on, turning back to me. “I understand this can all be very intimidating. But as you can see, I am not intending to intimidate you… Tell me, in your own words, how you came upon a black pearl. Or was it gray?”

I clear my throat, stepping forward.

“Gray, almost black,” I reply, nodding. “Your majesty…There is a lovely little stream near my home, just outside of Vratha. I was given the pearl there… It was a gift, from Lark.”

I meet his gaze, holding it. Hoping he sees the honest truth in my eyes. The king smiles.

“Lark, you say,” he chuckles, turning to the young man at the foot of the platform. “Lark, she says, Son.”

The young man comes closer, allowing me a better look at him.

Black, shaggy hair gently hangs over a narrow, calm face. Shining, elegant green eyes stare at me, filled with curiosity. His skin is fair, untouched by a razor; not a single bristle graces his jaw. He’s young, probably around my age.

There’s something familiar about those eyes. Trusting and friendly. Playful, even.

“When you say Lark,” the king turns back to me. “Is this the name of a person or is it the bird?”

“The bird,” I whisper, pinching my lips together.

I close my eyes, trying to stifle the burning nerves. I am completely underdressed. Even in my best gown, I am brought here in the most lowly of garments.

“Silly,” I go on, keeping my eyes closed. “I know, it is silly, your majesty…”

“I do not think it is a silly thing.”

I open my eyes at the new voice. The man is now within arm’s length of me. His kind smile makes my cheeks grow warm. My goodness, he is handsome.

“Around here,” he says, turning his face and gesturing his left profile. “The symbol of a lark is too precious to ignore.”

A tattoo in the shape of a bird is displayed next to his eyebrow. The wing almost disappears into his hairline. The beak is open as if holding his eye. Reminding me of how my little Lark friend looked when he flew down to bring me a pearl.

“Larks are interesting creatures, are they not?” the prince asks, smiling.

I nod, unable to formulate words. The prince is talking to me. The prince is talking to me.

His smile falters, but he recovers. Clearing his throat as he turns away and moves behind the king. He whispers something and leaves. I’ve done something wrong. I’ve offended him, I’m certain.

“My son is a restless sort,” says the king with a sigh. “It is not you, my dear.”

I meet his gaze. How does he know what I thinking?

“I would like to see the pearl, Ariabella,” he says, motioning to one of the guards on the sidelines. “Please bring some chairs for the ladies.”

“Your majesty.”

I reach into my dress pocket, glancing back at my mother. She is biting the inner part of her left cheek. She looks as nervous as I still feel.

I sigh, bringing out the handkerchief and holding it out to the king. He steps forward, taking it. The weight, no matter how light it is, disappears. I retract my hand, clasping both behind my back as I watch and wait.

However, I am surprised by the smile on the king’s face. He unfolds my handkerchief as if plucking petals from a daisy. Such delicate actions are unexpected. And his smile brightens when the pearl is revealed.

“Ah,” he holds it up. “Beautiful… Ariabella, this is a lovely gem. And I understand why the jeweler reported you.”

The king returns the pearl to the handkerchief, carefully folding it back up. And returns it to my hand.

“I shall honor your honesty with an invitation to a banquet, this evening.”