The Arranged Marriage

Chapter 1

The sun rose over the hilltops and peeked out over a grim, mist shrouded valley. It was the sort of morning minstrels would say whispered of of ogres who would begrudgingly refuse to go peacefully to their slumber just because the sun had risen. Who was Death to command them? Anything for a few moments in the sun before they turned to stone. Today, those retched beasts were her small band of Artorian warriors who hid in the mists and tall grass of the valley only a thousands yards from the Luxorian Imperial Forces  encamped on the high ground. They would not go to sleep quietly. No, they would take their chances and stand for just a moment more in the morning light. 

After generations of battle between these two families, the war was finally going to end for the last princess of Artoria. She would be sure of it. They couldn't go on with Artoria practically in ruin, a natural consequence of a hundred year war that had been fought predominantly at their door. Perhaps this decision could have been seen as a suicide. Maybe that’s really all it was. Nevertheless, the princess leading this small band of soldiers had given her men the option to leave her to face this fate alone with no shame to their house or name. All had chosen to stay by her side and to see their mission through to the end. Her mother and father had taken their place in paradise. It was time she joined them, along with her beloved men, to make room for her betters to serve the kingdom in her place.

Alexandra Monica Raybrandt was the only child of King Jiordan Leonard Raybrandt and Queen Victoria Emelia Raybrandt whose royal house had reigned over a small kingdom called Artoria for six hundred years. Yet in all those years the Raybrandt family had yet to see a princess as ferociously spirited as Alexandra. While the women of her line before her preferred the comforts of endless leisure within the decorated walls of the palace, Alexandra had always been a woman of immeasurable action. A warrior princess, ever devoted to her people, even now at the bitter end of it all.

The breeze picked up several strands of golden hair that wisped over her shoulder and into her sight momentarily before she tucked the unruly strands behind her ear with a gloved hand. Her sharp sapphire eyes scanned the terrain, still looking for weak points, before she turned to give her men one final rallying cry as their princess. She was dressed in a royal lavender dress a blacksmith had fashioned for her with silver armor plates over her chest. Beneath the skirt of the dress she wore chain­mail, leg armor, and metallic boots that clanked with her every step. Armored gloves would shield her hands and wrists leaving only a helmet that she would put on just before the battle. Hopping onto her chestnut steed with a sigh, she beamed out over her quiet men with as much courage as she could muster.

"There is nothing I can say to any of you that would be adequate enough to thank you for your love and dedication to my family and this kingdom. Please know of your eternal reward in paradise, the honor you have earned in this life, and the damnation that we will bring to those men just over that hill in a few moments. With each of you, I have the most beautiful memories and my time with you has granted me more than my share of happiness! Now, let's show these bastards that Artoria was home to the bravest men in the world!!!" She called to her men a final and heartfelt goodbye to spur them into battle.

A loud roar erupted from the valley and her horse reared in surprise as they surged forward. Alexandra quickly threw on her helmet as she galloped up towards unsuspecting camp that housed thousands of swordsmen, archers, cavalrymen, and two Luxorian princes with lethal intent. There would be no talks, no compromise, and no settlements. The war was over and all that was left was for the final chess pieces to be toppled over so that her cousin Nicholas could reset the board to lead Artoria back to prosperity and peace.

Meanwhile, the second son to the Emperor of Luxor, Marcus Vindicus, stood on the battlements his legionnaires had built around their camp the night before. Marcus kept to strict legion doctrine and his troops never slept without walls around their camp. His elder brother, Antonious Vindicus, was leading the army in the campaign against Artoria, though, and he did not hold the same disciplined stance with his troops. Thus, only one quarter of the camp was enclosed in a wall, while the rest was open campground. It set him on edge and littered his sleep with illease.

Marcus shook his head in the predawn light. It was foolish. He had said as much to his brother the night before, but he had been laughed off. Artoria no longer was capable of fielding an army that could challenge the combined strength of Luxor’s legions. As such it was inconceivable that they would attack. They were just waiting to be killed or sold off as slaves. That was the common wisdom of his brother’s advisers, of whom, none had ever been to war before. Marcus had been waging the war against Artoria for the last three years, slowly grinding them down, winning a battle of attrition while avoiding their surprise attacks and ambushes. They were led by canny commanders and the walls around his camps had saved his life more times than he could count.

It was then as he stared off into the horizon that he heard a spine chilling roar and saw the horsemen break from cover.

“Sound assembly! The enemy attacks the camp! Legionnaires, to me!” Marcus roared, drawing his sword and leaping upon his horse, he charged out of his camp at the same time as the bugle set up the cry, and his men were rolling out of their tents. He was accompanied by the three praetorians charged with protecting his life, and that was enough for now. He called again and again, “Ware the camp, enemies are among us! To the east!” as he charged towards the east end of camp where his brother had set up his command tent.

The scene was mayhem. The legion was fragmented and hadn't had a chance to form up. Unprepared legionnaires were cut down by the skilled soldiers of Artoria. The Artorian warriors were seizing the moment by hacking away at the scattered front lines as an organized unit. The casualties from this raid were going to be horrific, but even as he sized up the attack, he could see they had no hope of victory. They had cut too deep into the camp, this was a death mission.

And then the fight was on. He found himself facing a red headed giant, his sword whooshing through the air with a roar like an enraged bull. It took every fragment of skill Marcus possessed to hold off the warrior. Finally, a clash of his own sword sent the giant stumbling back, but not for long. Behind the giant he could see his brother, fighting what looked like a... woman. He saw his brother’s blade slice into her bicep, seconds before her blade slid into his heart.

“Noooo!” Marcus cried out in rage, his vision going red as he charged the freshly grounded giant. His blade was a blur in the dawn light, it’s steel turned red from the blood of the man as he hacked down in a furious frenzy of three swipes to the chest. The man crumbled to one knee and then he fell. Marcus reached his brother’s sprawled, lifeless body shortly after. Helplessly, he knelt down, cradling his brother’s head, as tears trickled down his face. It had been a clean death. His wide open sapphire eyes indicative of just how swift it had been. He still had the look of pure murder and just a spark of glee in them.

Marcus’ praetorians circled around him fending off the skilled warriors with the sweat of their brow and the skill of their swords. There was nothing that could be done for it. Nothing now that could get him back on his feet and it was all they could do to defend him as their prince grieved his loss.

Only forty five minutes, that's how long it took for the encampment to grow quiet once more with only low groans and death's footsteps defiling the solemn silence. Princess Alexandra fully expected to be among those that death took into his pocket, but he had no interest in her for now. She lay in the middle of the camp bathed in her horse's blood. Her lower body was pinned under the poor nag’s dead weight with it’s shoulder digging into her abdomen. She couldn't breathe. Alexandra was going to die of suffocation.

All she could think about was how it was, ‘What a pathetic way to die’ as she lay there struggling to take in even the smallest of puffs of air under the crushing weight. Soon after the field grew quiet, her mind drifted and she reflected on the events of the battle as her raspy gasps grew softer with each futile attempt she made to wriggle her way out.

Her helmet had been knocked off by the skilled hand of a Luxorian warrior almost two minutes into the battle, but her sword hadn't missed and had gone through his throat. Another had sliced her upper bicep, and in return, she pierced his heart. She had heard a tortured cry that stood out from among the others, but paid no mind to it as she cut at the men around her with lackluster, looking for the one who would deliver the punishing final blow. None could touch her. Then, minutes later and well into the heat of battle and confusion, her horse’s heart was pierced. He toppled over onto her as she attempted to dismount trapping her as her men fought on until only a handful of incapacitated warriors remained.

Now, she lay trapped underneath this beast’s rib cracking weight. She felt her eyes growing heavier. Her body was giving up the fight after almost twenty minutes without a proper breath. The sound of her heartbeat slowing down flooded her ears as a numb tingle spread throughout her body. Above her, she could see the clear blue sky that she was destined for more clearly than she had ever before, but when she tried to focus on the dead and dying around her all she could see were mumbles. She couldn’t decipher friend from enemy anymore. All that she had left to wonder was if this was the true voice of death for she already knew his face all too well.

Nearby, Marcus stumbled to his wandering steed, removing his helmet to reveal the thick locks of obsidian hair upon his head, silky and rich. His stride was long and predatory, his form looming. The handsome features of a strong jaw and stubble dusted cheeks were uncovered, yet drawn into a stoic expression as his cool icy blue eyes remained far from that of his brother who've grinned with pleasure over his bloodstained hands.

Petite gasps drew his attention towards a fallen beast... Reluctantly, Marcus withdrew his blade, striving to dim any sympathy for the animal. Best to end the valiant steed’s life swiftly than to allow it’s suffering to continue on. The blade lifted and glinted with the blood of his kill before he stilled. A golden mane emerged from beneath the chestnut colored animal... and the gasping grew far more faint. Feminine. Soft. The swell of a bosom beneath armor caused a confused grimace to cross his face. Instinctively, his body crouched and strong arms encircled the horses’ under belly to topple it from the lass. Other of his men swarmed towards the prince and began to aid him, revealing the female beneath... Broken and bloodied, the girl was armored well for battle. A female? In battle? Then it hadn’t been a vision or a mistake. This woman...this princess had been the one to rip a hole through his brother’s heart.

A few murmurs passed among the men as Marcus studied the woman carefully and considered his options. He stood after only a few moments, and spat down at the woman with the largest wad he could fix. True, the brothers had not gotten along, but dammit, Antonius had been HIS brother to fight with! Not hers to murder. He watched as the last moments of her consciousness were filled with relieving gasps of air as her blood rushed to her head. This was it, she thought, she was going home. A quick spasm and she was out like a light.

“Disarm the wench. Get that armored dress off of her and bring her to my side of the camp. Put her in a tent next to mine, and have the physicians see to her. I must write a letter to the Emperor to let him know what she did to his son. The Council Publicus and the Emperor must decide what to do with her, if she is who I think she is. See to it no one else harms or touches her unnecessarily. She is mine to interrogate.” Marcus ordered his praetorians before he turned and marched off. He needed to arrange for someone to transport his brother home.

With a grunt, his men complied, picking the limp princess up off of the ground to do their prince’s bidding whilst she slumbered in their arms. Still, a question loomed in the air all around them as they went about aiding the wounded, mourning the fallen, and imprisoning a few Artorian captives. The battle was won, but what about the war?

“Alexandra!!! Alexandra!!!" Alexandra jolted up from her slumber beneath an old fig tree in response to a familiar voice she heard calling out to her. It was a child. It was Thomas. Her eyes snapped open to the bright midday sun and she busted out laughing in her childish glee as Thomas chased her through the royal gardens at Windscape Palace almost fifteen years ago.

"You can't catch me, Thomas!" She taunted, running away to hide in the nearby honeysuckle bushes. She expected him to run in after her. She just knew he’d try to tackle her to the ground at any moment. Peeking out from behind her hiding spot she watched in horror as the scenery shifted to that of a more recent, harrowing memory. The last she had ever shared with Thomas. Her childhood friend, pierced through the neck by an arrow. His brown hair was matted to his forehead by the blood and grimy sweat. There, with his handsome face cradled in her arms he forced a smile over pink teeth moments before his eyes lost the glow of mortality. For all of her power and strength, she could do nothing to stop this. She could only cry day and night for her loss until her raw eyes refused to produce even enough moisture to allow her to comfortably blink.

A dream. It was always the same dream. A dream meant only one thing to her now, though. A dream of death meant she was still alive. As her heavy sapphire eyes cracked open nearly a full day after she had been dragged into this tent, the first indicator that she was still of this world and remained distinctly apart from Thomas struck her like a stone. Pain and lots of it. Pulling on her freshly restrained arms, she tested the ties only to find that they were strictly secured. They were in fact so tight she was surprised that her hands weren’t blue. This revelation left her with no hope that she might get loose without a free hand and if she couldn’t get loose then she couldn’t complete her mission. A couple tears of frustration slipped down the sides of her face as she realized what must have happened. "Damn horse..." She cursed under her breath as she struggled to take short, choppy inhales and gain a bearing for her surroundings.

She appeared to be alone in an undoubtedly guarded tent strapped to a small legionnaire’s cot. At the foot of her cot was a closed cedar chest with a tin pot on top. In the far right corner was a small tub, in the middle was a tall, metal support beam, and immediately to her right was a table littered with her bloodstained armor.

Wincing, she sat up as best she could as she whistled a soft tune like a little bird into the bleak silence of the night, hoping to hear a reply come in from the outside. It was a tune she had devised to allow for communication in case of just such an event, but the stillness of the midnight air damned her hopes. Still, she knew she couldn't lose herself to despair for all of her men quite yet. If she had survived, perhaps so had some of them. Perhaps Timothy... She had to believe that if she was still here, that her red haired giant with a heart more precious than gold would still be by her side.

Just then, a chill ran up her leg and this was the very moment when she realized that she was dressed in nothing more than the thin slip of a white silk gown, stained red in places, that came up to her mid­thigh displaying every shape and curve on her lean body. Thin straps had slid down her shoulders and her nipples had peaked from the cool air. Doing the only thing she could think to do, she curled her legs defensively underneath her, though it did little for her modesty.

She felt exposed and humiliated on a level that she had never before and it infuriated her, but relief was quick to take its place. She hadn't been bathed nor the cut on her arm even really tended to short of a quick bandage. Chances were she had just been placed on this cot and stripped of her armor and weapons until they could figure out what next to do with her. Thankfully, the dull pain throbbing from her ribs must have woken her before they could do more. Maybe, if she could just break the cot she was on she could slip away without any of them noticing. Nicholas had to be more than satisfied now that his men had left her camp to report her compliance! He just had to be...

Suddenly, a heavy pair of footsteps heading her way broke her train of thought and made her heart surge with uncertainty. What should she do? What could she do? Thinking quickly, Alexandra did the only thing she thought was safe. She made a play to buy herself some more time. Silently, she threw her head to the side until her golden tresses blocked her captors from seeing her eyes and waited to see if they would be foolish enough to try to loosen her bonds so that they might tend to her while she slept. They would have to have a weapon on them, even if it was the lowest ranked guard or nurse of this godforsaken camp. Even a scalpel would at least be a start.

One unfortunate thing about Alexandra's decision to cover her eyes was that she had also denied herself the ability to see the cold, wet awakening that was coming. She heard his steps come to a halt just in front of her, but assumed he'd either loosen her bonds or leave at the sight of her supposedly restful body. Damned if today just wasn’t her lucky day. “I know you’re awake, wench. I heard your call.” She heard him say in a cool, quiet voice right before he heaved the icy cold river water upon her.

His words sent a shiver up her spine seconds before the crisp clap of water and her stunned gasp filled the tent. She bolted upright, or at least tried, but immediately regretted the sudden movement. She was rewarded by a sharp pain that contorted her face as she strove to silently compose herself whilst her mouth fixed itself into a silent cry of agony. She hissed a breath of composure before she gnawed on her lower lip to draw her mind away from her bruised ribs that were taking the brunt of this abusive wakeup call.

Her heart thundered violently as the clean, white fabric began to cling to her skin like a translucent glove revealing to him every inch in embarrassing detail. The chilly night breeze made her soft, pink nipples stiffen almost instantly while her thighs curled up protectively to cover her mound. The rest of her tight body lay upon pins and needles and she looked just as uncomfortable as he had intended to make her.

Alexandra knew right then and there that she'd make him pay. She’d make him rue the day he was born. In this life or the next, he'd suffer for this humiliation. No, not just this. Everything. Instantly, the blame for a life time of loss, suffering, and pain transferred onto him. He was the cause of this. It was him and his damn family. There was no mistaking the person before her who bore the crest of the Luxorian imperial family on his chestplate.

He was the picture of a prince of the Luxorian imperial family. He stood six feet tall, with raven black hair and blue eyes like chips of ice, filled with a cold rage, and an echoing sense of loss that stilled Alexandra’s otherwise defiant tongue. There were lines around his mouth and eyes that suggested a ready smile, but at present his face was more befitting one of Satan’s juror’s, cold, harsh judgment without any sign of mercy or compassion. Alex could tell this imperial was a warrior at heart. His face was rugged and worn, his hands cracked and bloody, his stance spread and balanced by the balls of his feet, all were signs of a man accustomed to hardship and tribulation alongside his soldiers. An oddity, much like herself.

“Now then, why don’t we get acquainted? I am Marcus Vindicus, second son to the Emperor of Luxor. I was the general of his armies, and am the man who has run the campaign in your land to grind it beneath our heel. I did this reluctantly. I did it because it was my duty to my father and my empire. I thought this war was a fool’s errand and ill concieved.” The man’s voice was cold and grating, each word forced past a clenched jaw, pushed out of a chest heaving with emotion. He seemed to take a deliberate pause, throwing the bucket away, and stopping to peruse her water soaked figure.

Alexandra glared him as he admired the look of her wet body spread before him. With a grin he dared to look into her eyes, before his face fell once more. All she could see was a searing hatred being rammed into her soul as he uttered these next few words. “You are the woman who killed my brother, the heir to Luxor. You are the woman who made me heir to the throne. You are the woman who made me hate Artoria rather than see this war as an onerous burden I wished to end. Think about what that means for the people of this land. Think about what it means for you.”

She couldn’t help it. A contented grin of her own passed her lips when he said that she had, in fact, killed Antonius in her suicidal raid on the camp. She couldn't help but to wear it proudly, even as he threatened her people and her own being with his vengeful hand.

Finally, she spoke, "I am Alexandra Monica Raybrandt, the sole daughter of Jiordan and Victoria Raybrandt, Princess of Artoria. What fate awaits me...is irrelevant." She said, meeting his eye with her own war torn gaze. "Whether by the swiftness of a warrior's blade or the slothfulness of a burning ember, death will come for me all the same. I am glad to know that before death could collect on my debts I was able to send that bastard to his grave, though." She taunted as if he were the one spread eagle on a bed beneath her.

The two hot blooded royals were at a stalemate for a moment in time as Alexandra grinned into the grieving brother’s face with a proud look of accomplishment. Though he clearly held the upper hand in this match, you’d never of known it by looking into her eye. She felt Marcus’ anger, could sense his utter hatred for every breath she took. Perfect. It meant she was digging under a nerve. It meant he might make a mistake.

"You can’t possibly fault me for cutting down a man on the battlefield, no matter his station. This war is between two families, not two kingdoms or empires, and the people of Artoria have suffered enough because of it. Tell me, what is it you want so that they might be spared a violent transition? They should be allowed to keep their lands and livelihoods as they have not much else..." She asked softly, dying to be allowed to sit up and cover herself. Already, her lower lip was beginning to quiver from the cold and her teeth were gently chattering.

"The fate of your kingdom, for now, is in the hands of the Council Publicus, and my father. They will know you are being held here, and terms will no doubt be arranged for your kingdom to surrender." Marcus growled as he stared at her lying bound on that damnable cot. He wanted to wipe that stupid grin off her face. He wanted to see her punished for what she had done to his brother. No, that wasn’t quite true. He wanted more than that. He wanted to see her suffer for the lives lost in this foolish war that she seemed to carelessly revel in at times.

Alexandra’s hopes for a fool hearted captor crashed as he unbuckled his belt, dropping his weapons by the entrance before he stepped further into the tent. He wasn't going to take the chance of her palming one of his weapons. He was angry and he was a little buzzed from the wine he had drank before entering this tent, but he wasn't stupid. Damn.

"I see you're shivering. How rude of me not to consider how wet clothing would make you uncomfortable. Let me remedy that." He muttered just inches away from her quivering body.

"Don't. Touch. Me." growled Alex as she tried to scoot away from him as best she possibly could. Without warning he reached down, his hands gripping the top of her shift, but then he paused. He stood there for a moment above her, gazing down at her tattered form, and found himself desiring her. The air seemed to change in the tent for just a moment with lustful eyes prying the clothes off of her back long before his hands did.

Alexandra shrieked out in protest before he could collect his thoughts and thrashed against the ties now despite the sharp pains radiating from her lower rib cage. She was beside herself with the humiliation and injustice of this. He was going to rip it. She just knew it. He was going to rip open her dress! Oh, why? Why couldn’t he just snap and give her an honorable death or at least a way out of this Hell? Only once he backed away without even fraying the collar did she stop thrashing long enough to hear his snide question.

"There, better?" He asked, a slight grin forming on his face as he allowed what he had done to sink in. She was no longer shivering, no. Her blood was all but boiling as evidenced by a bright crimson mask that had blown up over her cheeks as he laid his eyes on her taut little body. Even with her rosy peaks and creamy cheeks still veiled he seemed to be enjoying the fact that he could achieve such a rise out of his prisoner who just a day and half ago was ready to die.

As a matter of fact, he seemed to all but ignore her unnessarily defiant display as he pulled up a chair beside her cot to resume prodding her with another set of questions."You plead for your people, but tell me, why should I care about them? What could you possibly give me that would convince me to raise my hand in the care of your people? What could you possibly do that would make me choose to be your people's champion to my father, and gentle the harsh terms I know he will lay upon them for resisting his rule? Think about that...”

Marcus seemed to be enjoying himself as he encouraged her fears that her people might fall to a tirant whilst she struggled to answer him. He was right, though. Why should he care about her people? Would she care about his if the roles were reversed? Before she could answer him or herself even, he shot up out of his seat to retrieve something from his own tent.

Alexandra strained to sit up, whimpering as the pain from doing so became too great. She really had messed herself up. She could feel the repercussions pulse all the way down to the bone. Then, just as suddenly as he had disappeared, he returned with one of the tools the interrogators had left in his tent for this sole purpose. Without explaining what he meant to do with that chain and collar, he stepped in close to her again, his hand closing around her throat as he forced her to look into his eyes while she gagged and struggled to take a breath.

"I never supported this war... I argued against it every time my counsel was sought... When speaking of terms of surrender, I always was the voice of reason, I was the voice calling for gentle terms, to speed the healing... You've ended that you wretch and yet you can’t even ANSWER ME!!!!” Marcus screamed as his grip grew tighter and tighter still.

“My brother may have earned his end. He may have been a mean, petty son of a bitch, but you made a grave mistake to show me the joy you felt at being the tool of his destruction. I may have hated him.... but he was mine to hate... not yours!" Marcus growled, his hand tightening just enough now to make breathing impossible as his other hand began to undo the ties that bound her to the cots legs.

His hands were strong enough, that if he truly wished, he could snap her neck with the proper twist of his wrists. The urge was there and his mind was spinning, pleading for him to exact revenge for his house.

Before he could act on his instinct, Marcus released her little neck to leave her writhing on the cot and gasping for air. Disgusted with himself as much as he was with her, he tipped the cot over, spilling her to the floor. Alexandra sobbed into the ground as air came rushing back into her sore lungs, but he gave her no time to react. As soon as she fell he reached over and attached the chain to the central support pole of the tent and he dragged her over to it before she could reorient herself.

With cruel casualty, he clasped the bindings on her hands to the chain of the pole, forcing her arms painfully high above her head as she was forced to sit on the floor of the tent. With a hand on her throat again he pressed her to the ground, not letting her regain her feet, or any measure of control. His other hand brought the last bit of this interrogation tool, a collar that was now connected to her hands, and he clasped it around her neck. Any time she pulled against her restraints, all she would succeed at was choking herself and pissing him off more. Once complete, Marcus stepped back from her, keeping out of range of her legs in case she wished to kick him, and just admired his handiwork.

“Sleep tight, princess.” Uttered Marcus before he stormed out of the tent to retire to his own quarters for the evening. A night on the cold hard ground in a drenched gown ought to be enough to make her want a nice warm bath and a hot meal come morning. That’s when he’d have her answer the really difficult questions.