“Damn that girl of yours,” King Dian spat. He was a heavy-set man with rapidly graying hair, a poor complexion and poorer temper. “You should never have let her leave the Castle grounds this morning.”
The queen sat in a daze, a recently drained glass of cordial on the end table next to her. Ten years ago, Queen Aveline would have happily put on every ring she owned simply to slap such words from Dian’s mouth, but since her daughter had begun to grow into her womanhood, she had felt less and less interested in the princess’s well-being. There was a nagging doubt in the back of the queen’s mind that this was how she wanted to behave, but somehow her husband’s voice swayed her to sit quietly by and allow him to make all the decisions.
“She knows that you wish her to be here, so she will be,” Aveline heard herself say. “Perhaps we should keep her in the castle while Prince Brandr is here.”
The nagging doubt in her mind snapped to attention. What? No! Kylara was supposed to be this independent and strong.
“Yes, perhaps we should,” Dian said bitterly. “Maybe we should restrict her movement regardless of whether we have visitors or not. You know that I do not appreciate those two friends of hers – those commoners. You know she is probably with them now, do you not?”
A small, two-story house stood in a clearing just west of the main city. There were only three people who really knew of its existence, which explained the moss that grew on the wooden exterior. Just outside the front door, there was a fairly large porch where a stallion was currently tethered, cropping at what grass he could find through the snow-melt sludge. It had been nearly a month since the last snowstorm, and winter was beginning to thaw.
The stallion’s owner, a spirited brunette who preferred to be known simply by ‘Kylara’ rather than her full title, glared at the young man in front of her: Riley Mason. She had been trying to teach him the basics of a waltz – again – for several hours. Her nineteenth birthday was only a few days away, and her parents, the King and Queen of Weland, insisted on hosting a ball. When she turned nineteen, she would be eligible for marriage, and her father, it seemed, could not wait to marry her off. Princess Kylara Aurelia Norwood would have preferred to stay right where she was: with her friends in the house that stood in the glade. The princess’s other friend, Marella Landvik, was the daughter of the head chef of Emerley Castle. Kylara and Marella had grown up together and remained close in spite of the King’s objections.
Kylara rolled her storm-blue eyes with a wince and sighed heavily. “Riley, would you stop stepping on my feet and start paying attention?”
“Isn’t it your job to get out of my way?” he snapped, forcing his stringy bangs out of his face. “This would be so much easier if I could see what I’m doing…” he added under his breath. He had lost his sight as a child and refused to discuss the details of the accident.
“Well, if you would lead the basic properly-”
“Why do I even have to learn how to waltz? It’s not like you won’t have plenty of other partners to dance with at your birthday.”
“Riley, stop acting like a child,” Marella scolded, walking out of the trees and making her way to the front porch of the Glade House. “We talked about this.” She sat on the porch’s steps and crossed her arms.
Riley shook his head. “No, you talked – I took a nap. She’s just going to back-lead, anyway.”
“If you would just shut up and learn this, then I wouldn’t have to back-lead,” Kylara said hotly.
“Maybe, but you’ll do it, anyway. I can’t see what I’m doing, remember?”
“Honestly, it’s bad enough that I have to play the gracious hostess for that stupid Hikmati prince without having to beg my friend to learn a simple dance.” Kylara pushed Riley away.
“Hey, Kylara, what time did you want to get back to the Castle?” Marella called, peering at the clock through the front window.
“I have to be back by two, but I wanted to get back early to clean up. Why?” Kylara replied suspiciously.
“Because it’s two-forty-five,” Marella said, already moving to untether Kylara’s horse.
Kylara stared at her friend for a moment before sprinting across the yard. “Do me a favor and try to sort that lump out,” she said, hurriedly swinging herself into the saddle. “I know it’s impossible, but if anyone can manage it, you can.”
“Just go! We’ll see you tomorrow if you can’t get away before then,” Marella called as Kylara rode off.
“I’ll see you at home, Marella,” Riley sighed, groping for his walking stick.
“Hold it right there, Riley Mason. You’re learning the waltz,” she snapped, pulling him into the dance frame. “She didn’t teach me first for nothing.”
Captain Tariq Ihab Nejem stared out the window as the lush forests of Weland rolled by. The carriage was only half an hour away from the capitol and its Castle. Nejem’s master, the Crown Prince of Rahikmat, and the valet he had brought along sat across from him, both fast asleep.
The valet wore ebony pants tucked into highly polished black knee-high boots and a rich, crushed velvet tunic suited for a crown prince in a shade of burgundy that evoked the remembered sight of dried blood. His hair was neatly trimmed close to his head in a surprisingly flattering style that helped to showcase his coffee-toned skin and dark, handsome features. A black silk vest hung from a hook on the wall, waiting to complete the ensemble upon arrival. The prince, himself, wore the standard dress uniform of a valet: off-white slacks with a matching stiff jacket. Captain Nejem sighed and looked back down at the dossier he was supposed to review on the prince’s target when he heard quickly approaching hoof beats.
Prince Brandr stirred as Kylara rode past and looked out the window, following her progression along the road. A grin split his face like a filleting knife and narrowing his dark eyes slightly. As far as he was concerned, he saw a spirited peasant girl adept at horseback riding and pelting past them in the direction of Emerley.
“Captain Nejem, I do believe that I shall have some fun once this business with the Princess is resolved,” he said, his grin widening as she disappeared around the next bend in the road.
“Yes, Sire,” Captain Nejem replied quietly. “If I might be so bold, sir, why bother with this one? She is barely old enough to satisfy you before she passes.”
“She is not that much younger than yourself, Tariq Nejem. Besides, there are plenty of women willing to console a grieving widower – and a royal one at that.”
“Apologies, Sire, I only wish to assist you and make the most effective use of your time.”
“You worry too much; you need to relax,” Brandr sighed. “The only place worth campaigning against is Weland, and thanks to King Dian, I have this place completely under control.”
“Sire, I am concerned-”
“There is nothing to be concerned about,” Brandr snapped.
“Be that as it may, you have not used your abilities in quite some time. Even if you focused them solely on your target, there is no guarantee you will be able to maintain your control,” Captain Nejem replied. “No matter which way you look at it, you could be putting yourself at risk.”
“As long as everything goes smoothly, I shall be perfectly alright. I have Dian’s complete cooperation, and I have my top security man with me – everything will go according to plan.”
“Sire, you already plan on using a puppet, how are you so sure that you will not need to control someone else?” the Captain replied, indicating the man asleep at Prince Brandr’s side, wearing the sort of thing that a Prince wore when about to arrive at someone else’s castle.
“I shall only worry about that if the problem arises,” Brandr sighed, tiredly adjusting the valet uniform he had gotten tailored for himself. “Now, if you would please relax? Focus your energy on making yourself presentable, or something.”
“Yes, Sire,” Captain Nejem replied. The captain fidgeted in his dress uniform, tugging on the thick, stiff black wool. He appreciated the warmth, but would have preferred the freer movement that came with the tunic and loose black pants that were normally tucked into his worn leather boots. He was a swordsman and hated to be constricted so much, but as the prince’s personal guard, he had little choice in his wardrobe when they traveled. He ran a hand through his black hair and left it at that, knowing that it was perpetually disheveled unless he shaved it all off. Each member of the party had bathed that morning in their last stop prior to reaching Emerley Castle, so his mocha skin was unmarred by dirt, though his sliver eyes still made a quick check of any skin he had to expose by default.
Kylara scrambled up the front steps of Emerley Castle just as her parents strode out the massive double doors. Kylara faltered and fell against the last few steps, twisting her ankle and biting her lips together to stifle her surprise and pain.
“Stand up, girl,” King Dian said. “You’re late.”
“I am sorry, Father, I was teaching Riley how to waltz for my birthday and-”
“Enough. Prince Brandr arrives at any moment, and you were supposed to look your station, not like some common farm girl.”
“Listen to your father,” Queen Aveline said absently.
“You see? Your mother agrees with me. Now, straighten yourself out before the prince arrives.”
“But he is almost here,” she protested. “There is not enough time.”
“Then you will spend the next week in your room, Kylara.”
“I would rather sit in my room than go to that stupid ball, anyway,” Kylara muttered.
“What was that?” Dian asked.
“Nothing, Father,” she said quickly, moving to stand behind her parents.
“Which ball, exactly?” Dian snapped, seizing her arm and holding her in front of him.
“Ah!” She winced, trying to pull away.
“You shall remain in your room unless I deem you otherwise occupied, is that perfectly understood?” he said.
“Yes, Father, I understand,” she replied.
“The Prince approaches. Now remember your place or so help me to be rid of you.”
“Yes, Father,” she repeated as she took her place behind her parents.
As the Hikmati carriage drew closer to the front steps, Kylara rubbed the spots on her arm where her father’s fingers had dug in. She glared at her father’s back and wished she’d been born to parents that understood her – who cared about her for more than bartering purposes. She thought about running away for the millionth time just as Prince Brandr’s carriage pulled to a halt.
“Remember, Tariq,” Brandr said as he prepared to use his meat puppet. “I am Baqir, he is Prince Brandr.”
“Yes, Sire,” Captain Nejem said, moving to block the windows.
“That will not be necessary,” the puppet said. “I have finished.”
“In that case, Sire, we should not keep our hosts waiting.”
“Indeed,” Brandr agreed through the puppet.
His true body stood and opened the carriage door, kicking out the steps before stepping out in the late March sunlight. He bowed as first Captain Nejem, then the puppet moved out onto the steps.
“Prince Brandr.” King Dian beamed as Brandr came near. “Welcome to Emerley.”
“King Dian,” Brandr replied, grinning broadly. “Your home is even more beautiful than I had been led to believe.”
“Our gardens are famous for their beauty,” Queen Aveline added with a smile.
“Perhaps this daughter of yours would be so kind as to show them to me?” Brandr suggested glancing at the green-clad form behind the King and Queen.
“Not in your wildest dreams,” Kylara said just under her breath.
“Oh, of course. Prince Brandr, this is our daughter, Kylara,” Aveline said, pulling her forward.
“Your Highness,” Kylara said stiffly, bobbing a curtsey and lowering her eyes.
“Princess Kylara, it is an honor,” Brandr replied softly, bowing low to her. “I had heard rumors of your beauty, but I had not expected any of them to be true.”
Kylara’s eyes flicked up to meet his for a moment before she curtsied again. “I assure you, sir, that such rumors are the idle chat of peasants.” The phrase tasted like ash, but it was the sort of response her father and, she assumed, the prince expected.
“Not so idle, Highness,” Brandr protested.
“Perhaps Kylara would be willing to show you to your chambers, Prince Brandr?” Dian suggested. It was part of the plan he had worked out with Brandr weeks ago.
“That would be very kind of her, and I would surely be fortunate to find a princess beautiful of both face and heart,” Brandr said, deigning to kiss Kylara’s hand.
Kylara glanced at him and pulled her hand away. “If your escorts will take your luggage, I shall lead you to your chambers.”
“Certainly. Captain Nejem, if you would-” Brandr started, turning back to his real body and security officer. “Baqir is apparently more ill than we had assumed. Help him upstairs.”
“Yes, Sire,” Captain Nejem replied, instantly moving to support his master’s body.
“Lead the way, Your Highness,” Brandr said, bowing ever so slightly before Kylara turned.
Kylara silently led the way to the guest wing, wishing like mad to just go back to the Glade – where she’d been trying to teach Riley how to dance. She hated playing hostess, and she hated even more the fact that she would have to dance with Brandr for most of the evening.
“Your chambers, Your Highness,” she said, opening the double doors to the suite and showing Prince Brandr and his entourage into the foyer.
“Your father has given me a beautiful suite; I shall be sure to thank him this evening,” Brandr’s puppet said.
“If there is nothing else, I shall see you this evening,” she replied, bobbing briefly as she turned to leave. She wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible. After seeing how easily the prince and her father got along, Kylara felt certain that Brandr was just the same.
The moment Princess Kylara closed the door, Brandr – the real one – collapsed to the floor, his puppet unceremoniously landing on the couch against the wall.
“Sire, are you alright?” Captain Nejem asked quickly, kneeling at the prince’s side.
“I will be fine.” Brandr snapped. “Is Baqir alright?”
“He is fine, Sire.” Nejem replied quietly. “He landed on the couch.”
“Good, good,” Brandr sighed, getting to his feet painfully. “It seems that I am out of practice,” he chuckled.
“You need rest and some decent food, Sire; you have been weakened on our journey,” Nejem said, helping Brandr into a bed. “I shall fetch something for you from the kitchens.”
“That will not be necessary.”
“Sire, you have barely eaten anything since we left Rahikmat. You need to keep your strength up.”
“There will be plenty of food this evening.”
“That Baqir is going to eat, not you. I am going to be back shortly, just stay here and rest,” Captain Nejem insisted.
Kylara sat quietly at the bottom of the grand staircase. Her father’s orders to keep her in the Castle had been passed to the guards at every exit. Whether she liked it or not, she was stuck.
She so hated how constricting her life was – particularly in more recent years. She was barely ever allowed time with her friends and even then an escort would usually accompany her. Kylara supposed that she would be chaperoned even more often after what had just happened.
She heard footsteps behind her and quickly stood to curtsey, assuming it was her father or the prince.
“Your Highness, that is not necessary; you need not bow to the likes of me,” Captain Nejem said, stooping to kneel at her feet as protocol dictated.
“Oh,” Kylara replied softly as she rose. “A-are the rooms to your master’s liking?” she asked, more out of courtesy than curiosity.
“Yes, Highness. He simply needs a little nourishment before the feast this evening.”
“In that case, I suggest seeking out the smaller kitchen – the larger is already preparing for this evening and will pay you no attention.”
“Thank you, Highness,” Captain Nejem murmured, standing as the princess turned to go upstairs.
He watched her retreating figure for a moment, wondering why she had bothered to help him when she could have simply ordered a servant to do the same. Suddenly he felt sorry for her. Prince Brandr was going to kill her and she had no idea… She did not even seem to want her station, unlike the others he had encountered.
Captain Nejem’s heart felt heavier as he went to find the smaller kitchen as the princess had suggested.
Kylara grumbled to herself as she made her way back to her suite. She wished she could at least hold a weapon more intimidating than her letter opener. Even more so, she wished that she knew how to use one. She sighed yet again as she opened her door and moved to the low bookshelf that stood by her bed.
She knelt and gently ran her fingertips along a series of journals that she’d kept over the past year. Those journals held a life that she wished she could have, and yet never wanted to see. They were full of the dreams and nightmares that she had had almost every night for the past twelve months – her own death, among other things. True, she had discounted the nightmare until the one she had the next evening came true: her parents informed her of their desire to have her marry the Prince of Rahikmat in order to form an alliance. She was unsure whether or not Prince Brandr was aware of this, but she had decided to assume that he did until proven otherwise.
Most of the dreams that Kylara could remember, to her increasing dismay, had come true. A lot of those things had been small – Riley stepping on her feet repetitively that morning, for one – and some were larger, but of the hundreds of dreams that had interrupted her sleep, none troubled her quite so much as her dream of Brandr confessing his love to her. This nightmare worried her more now that the person who had done the confessing had arrived; it was another reason that Kylara refused to trust Brandr. No, it had not yet happened, but that didn’t matter to her.
“Snap out of it, Kylara,” she told herself. “Just shut up and have a nice, long soak.”
Just after she muttered this, two of the Ladies-in-Waiting that her parents had assigned to her entered to draw her bath. She knew that they were only doing their jobs, appearing when needed, but she still wished she was allowed to do things for herself. Worse still was the fact that even the personal servants were cowed into submission so much that they never spoke in their own defense, even if they were accused of something they did not do.
“I swear you people have the hearing of wolves,” Kylara sighed.
“Yes, Highness,” they replied in unison before slipping into the bathroom.
After that, everything seemed to go by in one big blur. Her bath seemed to last only moments before she was attacked by brushes and sponges. Even more quickly, the moment she climbed out of her tub, her Ladies-in-Waiting slathered on lotions, perfumes and make-ups. Once she had dried her skin and donned her undergarments, she was hastily seated at her vanity, her hair combed through and styled while her nails were filed and painted to compliment the dress that she was to wear that evening – still two and a half hours away.
“My father wants to make sure that I am punctual this time, does he not?” Kylara asked as her head was jerked back for the seventeenth time.
“Yes, Highness,” the Ladies-in-Waiting said, again in unison.
“Do I have to wear the pink?”
“Your father, the King, instructed us to ensure that you wore the pink, Highness,” the Lady on Kylara’s right said.
There was no point in arguing with the girl; the King had more authority than the Princess. Kylara knew that nothing good ever came of disobeying the King, even in a matter as trivial as this. The princess sighed to demonstrate her futile frustration. “As the King commands.”
“Prince Brandr, come in,” King Dian said as he shuffled through some dossiers on his desk.
“Your Majesty,” Brandr said, once again appearing through his puppet.
“Ogden, you may leave. Close the door on your way out,” Dian said, addressing his assistant.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lord Ogden replied with the slightest hint of irritation.
“We have a problem, Dian,” Brandr said easily after Ogden had closed the door behind him with a sharper-than-strictly-necessary crack.
“What? We have no problems, Brandr, our plan is working perfectly.”
“Your daughter wants nothing to do with me. If there is no interest to start with, I cannot do anything with her,” Brandr replied curtly.
“Is that all?” Dian chuckled. “Whether she has any interest in you or not has no bearing on the situation. I will order her to spend time with you and after you spend some time with her, just ask my permission to marry her, and everything will be set for you to kill her on your wedding night.”
“Do you honestly think that you are not underestimating her intelligence?” Brandr asked, folding his hand behind his back.
“She is only a girl-”
“What does that have to do with intelligence?”
“Women are designed to be unintelligent,” Dian shrugged.
“You know nothing, King Dian. Women have just as much capacity for intelligence as men. They are simply forced not to use it.”
“There is nothing to worry about; my daughter is not very intelligent.”
“Most women find a way to exceed their imposed limits, Dian. I would not be surprised if your daughter did the same.”