boys his age, but sometimes he invites me to come to the
stables with him.
Those are the best days of my girlhood.
After all, horses don't mind that I'm shy. They eat from my
hands even if I am a soft-hearted fool. They see me, even if I don't shout. Even if I
don't fawn and flatter at court. And so I spend much time in the stables,
though I have no horse of my own. Ptolemy lets me ride his horse, though the steed never goes
as fast as I want to. I want to gallop in the fields or ride a fast chariot.
And one day, after a ride on the banks of the Nile, I dream that I will become
Pharaoh.
I dream that, like the great pyramids, I endure forever.
Eventually, that dream fades and I tell myself it no longer
matters. The day comes, when I am fifteen years old, that I have stopped
waiting for anyone to notice me at all.
And that is the day I meet Cassander.
I mistake him for a slave boy,
when first I see him with the reigns of a sleek black filly in his hands.
Oh, why do I lie? It is not the young man that I see first.
It's the horse.
With long graceful legs, a powerfully muscled chest and fur
as black as night, the horse is a marvel. She is so beautiful that I overcome
my shyness to ask the stranger, "What is she called?"
"Styx," the young man replies. Styx . That is
the river between the world of the living and the midnight world of the dead.
It's a good name for this horse, because she looks so fierce I would believe
she belongs to Hades himself. "She's a gift for Princess Arsinoë of Egypt
from my lord, King Lysimachus of Thrace."
I am so stunned that I cannot believe him. Surely there's
some mistake. "A gift for me?"
"Yes, Princess."
The filly turns gentle eyes to me. She may be a fierce and
dangerous creature, but she longs for love. I know it. And I'm afraid to take
her reigns unless she is truly mine. It is this fear that forces me to speak.
"I've never met the King of Thrace. To what do I owe this kindness?"
"It's the first of many such gifts, Princess, in
accordance with the terms of your betrothal."
Betrothal . I am betrothed? This is the first I hear of it. That I'm
to be married without my consent or knowledge is so humiliating that I strive not
to show the slightest bit of surprise. "Please thank my
bridegroom...whoever you are."
"I'm Cassander," the young man says with a smile.
The sting of his announcement--that I'm to be married to a
stranger--lingers. And makes me silent.
"I'm named after Alexander's companion."
"It is a big name for a groom," I finally murmur.
He shrugs. "It was chosen for me by my father, the King
of Thrace."
In an instant, my shame is compounded. Before me stands a
prince! I should have known it. His leather boots are too well-made ,
the laces wound with golden thread. His tunic is simple homespun, but the cord
tied around his waist is ornamented with beads of turquoise and jade. His shy
smile isn't what I'd expect from a prince, but his green eyes and handsome face
mark him as a Macedonian nobleman.
I dare to hope. Could this young man be my intended
bridegroom? Mortified at having thought him low-born ,
I want to sink into the ground and disappear. With my cheeks burning, I can do
nothing but beg his forgiveness. "I apologize, Prince Cassander. I--I
didn't know."
"Prince?" Now his smile bends with mischief and a
sparkle lights his green eyes. "No, that is my brother Agathocles. I'm
merely an illegitimate son. One of many."
Why do I swallow back disappointment? Why should it matter
whether or not he is a prince, a groom or a bastard. I've known him for only
the space of a few breaths. Yet, for a moment, I wished I was betrothed to him.
"So then, I will marry your brother?"
"You will marry my father," he says, turning my
disappointment into despair. "It seems absurd, doesn't it? After all, I'm
older than you are."
"I'm fifteen," I say, straightening my spine, for
my tattered pride is the only thing holding me up now.
"Then we're of an age. But you're too pretty
stables with him.
Those are the best days of my girlhood.
After all, horses don't mind that I'm shy. They eat from my
hands even if I am a soft-hearted fool. They see me, even if I don't shout. Even if I
don't fawn and flatter at court. And so I spend much time in the stables,
though I have no horse of my own. Ptolemy lets me ride his horse, though the steed never goes
as fast as I want to. I want to gallop in the fields or ride a fast chariot.
And one day, after a ride on the banks of the Nile, I dream that I will become
Pharaoh.
I dream that, like the great pyramids, I endure forever.
Eventually, that dream fades and I tell myself it no longer
matters. The day comes, when I am fifteen years old, that I have stopped
waiting for anyone to notice me at all.
And that is the day I meet Cassander.
I mistake him for a slave boy,
when first I see him with the reigns of a sleek black filly in his hands.
Oh, why do I lie? It is not the young man that I see first.
It's the horse.
With long graceful legs, a powerfully muscled chest and fur
as black as night, the horse is a marvel. She is so beautiful that I overcome
my shyness to ask the stranger, "What is she called?"
"Styx," the young man replies. Styx . That is
the river between the world of the living and the midnight world of the dead.
It's a good name for this horse, because she looks so fierce I would believe
she belongs to Hades himself. "She's a gift for Princess Arsinoë of Egypt
from my lord, King Lysimachus of Thrace."
I am so stunned that I cannot believe him. Surely there's
some mistake. "A gift for me?"
"Yes, Princess."
The filly turns gentle eyes to me. She may be a fierce and
dangerous creature, but she longs for love. I know it. And I'm afraid to take
her reigns unless she is truly mine. It is this fear that forces me to speak.
"I've never met the King of Thrace. To what do I owe this kindness?"
"It's the first of many such gifts, Princess, in
accordance with the terms of your betrothal."
Betrothal . I am betrothed? This is the first I hear of it. That I'm
to be married without my consent or knowledge is so humiliating that I strive not
to show the slightest bit of surprise. "Please thank my
bridegroom...whoever you are."
"I'm Cassander," the young man says with a smile.
The sting of his announcement--that I'm to be married to a
stranger--lingers. And makes me silent.
"I'm named after Alexander's companion."
"It is a big name for a groom," I finally murmur.
He shrugs. "It was chosen for me by my father, the King
of Thrace."
In an instant, my shame is compounded. Before me stands a
prince! I should have known it. His leather boots are too well-made ,
the laces wound with golden thread. His tunic is simple homespun, but the cord
tied around his waist is ornamented with beads of turquoise and jade. His shy
smile isn't what I'd expect from a prince, but his green eyes and handsome face
mark him as a Macedonian nobleman.
I dare to hope. Could this young man be my intended
bridegroom? Mortified at having thought him low-born ,
I want to sink into the ground and disappear. With my cheeks burning, I can do
nothing but beg his forgiveness. "I apologize, Prince Cassander. I--I
didn't know."
"Prince?" Now his smile bends with mischief and a
sparkle lights his green eyes. "No, that is my brother Agathocles. I'm
merely an illegitimate son. One of many."
Why do I swallow back disappointment? Why should it matter
whether or not he is a prince, a groom or a bastard. I've known him for only
the space of a few breaths. Yet, for a moment, I wished I was betrothed to him.
"So then, I will marry your brother?"
"You will marry my father," he says, turning my
disappointment into despair. "It seems absurd, doesn't it? After all, I'm
older than you are."
"I'm fifteen," I say, straightening my spine, for
my tattered pride is the only thing holding me up now.
"Then we're of an age. But you're too pretty
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