Nereana’s Virtue

It was a curious lad who caught Nereana’s eye on that warm, July day. The sea was calm, and ebbed lazily back and forth against the corroded rocks on the shore. Nereana was walking along the shoreline with a small entourage of servants. She was never one to shut herself inside.

            This particular day she noticed an odd group of travelers arriving by ship. They held themselves with such authority that Nereana instantly suspected that they were men of status. Yet the youngest among them was around her own age, and sported long, tawny locks that fell past his shoulders. His hair was slightly untidy and unkempt, as if permanently windblown. He was most unusual, she thought.

            Nereana paused to watch the ship unload. Her maidservant caught up to her and dutifully shaded her from the sun while she stood and watched.

            “Ancillia, who are those men?” Nereana asked.

            “I don’t know, my lady,” the maidservant replied hesitantly. It was never wise to be ignorant of an answer Nereana requested.

            They watched the men leave the small harbor and head toward the fields outside the port town.

            “You are dismissed,” Nereana said. She gathered her skirt in her hands and stepped over the rocks dotting the shore, deciding to follow after the group.

            “But, my lady!” Ancillia said. She looked back at the other servants, who all bore similarly confused expressions.

            Nereana followed at a distance, unsure what she thought of the new arrivals yet. It didn’t take them long to make their way to a small inn that was set a ways back from the road. Nereana remained behind when they entered the inn.

            She had had many suitors before, when she was back at the Palace of Stalamina. Being the eldest princess, men were not in short supply. Yet they all lacked something... She would sit across from whichever man as was custom, nodding and smiling politely as if she was actually interested in his ramblings. She would have to fold her hands neatly in her lap and try her best to imitate a portrait. If she ever ventured to talk about the really interesting things she liked, such as riding and sailing, or the glamour of travelling, the men would all get the same wild look in their eyes, as if she had violated a sacred boundary of decorum.

            “Why must you keep turning away your suitors?” her father would scold her. His face was stretched thin from many years of political battles, yet his eyes were hard as stone when he spoke to her. “Since I’ve been cursed with no male heirs, the duty lies with you to procure a successor.”

            Nereana would listen with her head bowed respectfully if she was in a tame mood, but sometimes she would roll her eyes after hearing the same mandate countless times, and that would instantly set her father on a roll. Nereana would note how he blinked profusely when he was upset, and would spit small projectiles of saliva whenever he pronounced ‘princess,’ ‘curse,’ and ‘throne.’

            Occasionally, while Nereana was suffering from her father’s tongue lashing, her youngest sister would walk by, book in hand. She would stop abruptly and stare at Nereana with her dewy green eyes, conveying partial sympathy and partial fright. The sisters’ eyes would meet for a moment, before the younger one shook her head sadly and lowered her gaze back to her book. Nereana’s father never looked at her sister Summissea with those stony eyes...

            Yet here was a handsome youth who might share Nereana’s love of travel. He must love to share stories about sailing on galleons and other wonderful modes of travel. He had an unconventional air about him, something a little untamed. Perhaps he would be the man who would openly listen to Nereana’s stories without thinking her brazen!

            Forgetting the unpleasant remembrances of her father and Summissea, Nereana went over to the inn and knocked on its old, wooden door. She quickly fluffed her hair back in place, and shook out the folds of her skirt. She waited expectantly for her meeting with the stranger.

            An older man with a more regal air greeted her. They exchanged the expected pleasantries of bows and curtseys, and Nereana was invited inside. She identified her target man and ignored the others. They were too like her other suitors, too proper and likely full of ideals and rules of decorum.

            She held out of hand expectantly. The youth seemed taken aback for a moment, but recovered and quickly kissed her hand. She was disappointed that there was no fervor in his kiss. But that could change.

            “I am Nereana,” she announced. “Princess of Stalamina.” The men again bowed in respect for her station. She smiled. They may have been stuffy, but at least they knew their place.

            The young man introduced himself as Steriamus.

            “Steriamus,” she said, holding her head high, “I request your presence with me, today. I have servants waiting back in town. You may have the honor of attending me.”

            The men exchanged glances. Were they amused? She huffed. Steriamus didn’t reply right away. In fact, did he look... distressed? displeased? After an unpleasant pause, he agreed to attend her. Nereana smiled triumphantly.

            Nereana’s servants provided lunch for the two of them. They ate outside in the courtyard of the castle. Nereana was finally able to tell her own stories of travel and express her interest in various topics. Steriamus nodded in a strained politeness, but he did not engage in her stories, or share any of his own. He did not mock her like her other suitors, but he didn’t exactly encourage her other. Nevertheless, she pushed forward in their engagement, not wanting to lose this opportunity.

            Perhaps he was simply unaccustomed to being in the presence of such royalty. Or perhaps he preferred royalty who acted like her sister...

            Nereana knew that Summissea would have been her father’s choice of successor if law had allowed. While he saved all his choice lectures and hard gazes for Nereana, his roguish elder daughter, he spent all his tenderness on Summissea. His eyes and face softened when he looked at his youngest; he silently smiled and nodded to himself when he saw her engaged in a book or deep in the writing of poetry and songs.

            Nereana attempted to adopt her sister’s virtues one year. She refrained from her excursions into the forest and into town, she dedicated her time to reading literature and writing verses. Yet she could never fully grasp the point of such heady books, nor could she craft poignant poetry or psalms like Summissea. Summissea was quite content to silently remain in her room or in the library, dwindling away the hours in furtherance of her virtues. She was quiet, modest, humble... everything her father loved. And Nereana was everything the opposite.

            She once returned from an unattended ride along the shore, much to her servants’ exasperation, and presented her father with a prized rock she had collected. It had an odd burgundy vein that split the black stone in half, and it sparkled in phosphorescent colors when exposed to light. The rock had immediately delighted her when she found it among the rubble of an eroded cliff. It was lively, beautiful, unique. Such a rock was surely a treasure. Her father would love it. But when she returned, hands dirty and scratched from digging through rocks, face pink and sweaty, her father shook his head and muttered, “Where did I go wrong.” His eyes actually looked sad when he met her gaze again. “Do you enjoy disobeying me, child? Do you enjoy discrediting your entire sex with such foolish vices?”

            Nereana was shocked. The rock trembled in her hand. Moments after this event, Summissea came before her father, attended by a smiling maidservant. She clutched a smooth, leather diary, and opened it to read aloud a poem she had just finished. Nereana watched her father’s face crinkle with happiness. He was always pleased with Summissea’s endeavors. How Nereana wanted to be adored by her father! Could he not find any pleasure in any of her talents?

            Her father clapped and laughed with mirth at the quick progress his youngest daughter was making in the literary field. She would surely bring the kingdom honor and a great suitor where Nereana failed.

            Though Nereana’s picnic with Steriamus had been unproductive, she returned to the inn the following day. Steriamus looked, once again, less than delighted to see her. He dutifully agreed to go for a stroll through the forest with her and her servants, though. He was never forthcoming with information about himself, or where he had been or where he was going. Nereana would have been frustrated or discouraged, but there was something strangely intoxicating about his indifference. Here was a man who was not full of himself, who clearly had a depth of good nature for agreeing to escort her even when he perhaps would rather not. Marriage would likely smooth out any undesirable roughness in him.

            She returned to the inn to fetch Steriamus for daily lunches and walks, but each day he grew increasingly gloomy and distressed. Nereana had hoped he would be making progress in viewing her as a marital prospect. She scoffed at the idea of herself being a prospect. Much less worthy men would die to win her hand. So why did this handsome, forlorn youth not bow down before her gracious favor towards him? Nereana may have been bolder than men were used to, but she never pursued a suitor who was not obviously worthy of her. Why couldn’t Steriamus see the honor she was bestowing upon him, the way she was painfully humbling herself by continuing to dote on him, even if he had yet to return her affection?

            On the sixth day Nereana visited the inn to fetch Steriamus, Steriamus refused her request. She blinked uncomprehendingly, and Steriamus pulled her aside.

            “Look, Lady Nereana,” he began slowly, “it would be more credit to you to be more... modest, in your affections. I mean, you’ve been here every day to ask for me.”

            Nereana frowned and crossed her arms. “Yes, I’ve privileged you with the presence of the Princess of the island you’re staying on for almost a week now, and you’ve not once expressed appreciation to me.”

            Steriamus was aghast. “Lady! Forgive me, but I’ve never seen a woman so bold or full of herself as you are. Modesty is the most becoming virtue of your sex, and I’m afraid you appear to have none of it.”

            “Ugh!” Nereana exclaimed. “Well, I’ve never seen a man so openly show his foolishness as you have. What makes you scorn the affections and love of a princess? I chose you specifically to be my suitor!”

            Steriamus shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re not ashamed to hear yourself talk like a man, to see yourself act like one. You think you’re better than the other women of your sex; you think you’re the most worthy. Well, I’m sorry, but I’m already in love with a princess, and Lady, you aren’t fit to kiss her shoes.”

            Nereana shrieked. “What creature, what witch is this that has you so enamored with her?”           

            At this outburst, Steriamus had finally had enough of the bold princess. To his companion’s shock and partial amusement, he seized Nereana by her arm and dragged her outside. He gave her a push out of the door and slammed it shut.

            Nereana stumbled and froze in place, staring at the ground. The only man who had ever incited such harsh passions within her was her father...

            No matter how hard she had tried to impress him with her own virtues, or imitate those of her sister, she would still overhear the servants muttering that she simply had no virtues:

“She’s filled with passions, that one; nothing respectable will ever come out of her.”

“Now, young mistress Summissea, she’s a precious little doll, so mild and gentle you wonder how the King was cursed with such a rogue for an elder daughter.”

What choice did Nereana have but to take it upon herself to be proud for herself? In her elder teen years she grew to only attract her father’s attention when she transgressed some social boundary badly enough to have him call for her and punish her wantonness. The few occasions she felt like behaving, her lack of affinity for writing or for cultured pursuits left her eclipsed by her sister. She hated the pious look in her sister’s eyes, the righteous shake of Sumissea’s head whenever she saw Nereana being punished.

“You really should try to cultivate some virtues, Nereana,” Summissea once told her. “It’s really your own fault, you know.”

In her mind, Nereana envisioned Summissea smiling at her failure, gazing down on her with those childish, wide eyes, as she said, “I told you, sister. I told you men would not like your behaviors.”

The day after Steriamus’ cruel refusal of her love, he and his group set sail. Nereana watched them from the shoreline, her servants behind her.

“Curse constancy,” Nereana spit into the sand. “What a fruitless, dull virtue.” As her eyes followed the ship’s bobbing wake, she thought of the name of Steriamus’ love: Pamphilia. No doubt she was a virtue-enslaved mannequin, like Summissea. No doubt this Pamphilia would elect to starve away in a castle room, bemoaning her love’s cruelty, rather than take matters into her own hands.

Yes... Nereana would prove her superiority, above Pamphilia and above all other love-struck wantons. She would follow Steriamus, wherever he went, until he saw the unparalleled depths of her devotion. Constancy be damned, forward boldness would be her guiding virtue.

“Come, Ancillia,” Nereana said to her maidservant, once again gathering her skirts and making her way to the port. “I’m going to show them all. I’m going to prove that pursuit is greater than constancy.”

--Jordyn Pronovich Coady