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“You did what?!” The voice of the youngest princess rang through the Great Hall.
“Petal-“
“Don’t petal me, Father! How dare you!“
“Aemilia.” He warned sternly and his youngest daughter snapped her mouth shut sullenly. “You’re nearing the end of your twenty-sixth year. Your brothers and sisters had all given me grandchildren by this age.”
“There must be some other way to secure this alliance.” The dark-haired beauty whined, full bottom lip jutting out.
King Matheo dragged a hand down his weathered face. “Aemilia.”
“Father, I beg you.” She approached her father, her two-toned gaze desperate. One eye green, the other blue, just like her late mother. “Please do not make me do this.”
“Aemilia. That is enough.” King Matheo stood from his throne, cutting a formidable figure even at his age. “You will marry him, and you will do so graciously.”
She huffed and spun on her heels, gathering her skirts in her hands so she could storm out of the room more effectively. The castle staff gave the irritable princess a wide berth, scuttling into the shadows as she stomped back to her quarters. Barricading herself in, Aemilia threw herself upon her lush mattress, eyes leaking.
This wasn’t fair. She was meant to marry for love when the time was right. Her five brothers and sisters had been married off as prizes in some negotiation or another. She would run away before she let herself be shipped off like a trophy boar. She would run away first….
She would run away first.
But where to? There were not many places a princess could disappear too. Except maybe another land. She laughed humourlessly as the plan formed. She would disappear into the very kingdom that her hand was to secure. Her father’s army could not follow. They would never find her.
And that was how, almost weeks later, the youngest daughter of King Matheo, and eventual heir to the throne of Kedeirin, came to be sitting in a small roadside Inn in Palyra. By no small miracle, she had managed to elude her father’s guards, secure her horse, and ride out of the castle largely unnoticed. After spending days on the road, filthy and exhausted and wet –why had it rained so much-, she had sought sanctuary in the tavern. The barmaid was pleasant enough to her, ensuring her tankard of ale never emptied and even gave her the choice pie of the day. Instinct kept her shrouded in her dark green cloak, though she had tossed the hood back and was enjoying the warmth of the hearth, letting the crackling fire dry her long black braids. They did not have a room available for her but offered her a stool for as long as she wished. She had tipped the stable hand generously, potentially too much so, to give her beloved horse a well deserved rub down and feed.
Aemilia tapped her soft boots against the dusty floor, drinking deep from her cup. The alcohol warmed her belly and reinvigorated her soul.
Running away was hard. Practically impossible. She was certain she had spent far more gold that she should have, the pouches she had secured were starting to feel alarmingly light. Her slender body was unused to being the in saddle almost constantly, and her muscles ached and chafed. Thankfully her riding pants, the only garment a princess had that wasn’t a dress, were of the best quality money could buy, and seemed to be holding out for her.
But freedom? Freedom tasted better than she had ever imagined.
“Petal-“
“Don’t petal me, Father! How dare you!“
“Aemilia.” He warned sternly and his youngest daughter snapped her mouth shut sullenly. “You’re nearing the end of your twenty-sixth year. Your brothers and sisters had all given me grandchildren by this age.”
“There must be some other way to secure this alliance.” The dark-haired beauty whined, full bottom lip jutting out.
King Matheo dragged a hand down his weathered face. “Aemilia.”
“Father, I beg you.” She approached her father, her two-toned gaze desperate. One eye green, the other blue, just like her late mother. “Please do not make me do this.”
“Aemilia. That is enough.” King Matheo stood from his throne, cutting a formidable figure even at his age. “You will marry him, and you will do so graciously.”
She huffed and spun on her heels, gathering her skirts in her hands so she could storm out of the room more effectively. The castle staff gave the irritable princess a wide berth, scuttling into the shadows as she stomped back to her quarters. Barricading herself in, Aemilia threw herself upon her lush mattress, eyes leaking.
This wasn’t fair. She was meant to marry for love when the time was right. Her five brothers and sisters had been married off as prizes in some negotiation or another. She would run away before she let herself be shipped off like a trophy boar. She would run away first….
She would run away first.
But where to? There were not many places a princess could disappear too. Except maybe another land. She laughed humourlessly as the plan formed. She would disappear into the very kingdom that her hand was to secure. Her father’s army could not follow. They would never find her.
And that was how, almost weeks later, the youngest daughter of King Matheo, and eventual heir to the throne of Kedeirin, came to be sitting in a small roadside Inn in Palyra. By no small miracle, she had managed to elude her father’s guards, secure her horse, and ride out of the castle largely unnoticed. After spending days on the road, filthy and exhausted and wet –why had it rained so much-, she had sought sanctuary in the tavern. The barmaid was pleasant enough to her, ensuring her tankard of ale never emptied and even gave her the choice pie of the day. Instinct kept her shrouded in her dark green cloak, though she had tossed the hood back and was enjoying the warmth of the hearth, letting the crackling fire dry her long black braids. They did not have a room available for her but offered her a stool for as long as she wished. She had tipped the stable hand generously, potentially too much so, to give her beloved horse a well deserved rub down and feed.
Aemilia tapped her soft boots against the dusty floor, drinking deep from her cup. The alcohol warmed her belly and reinvigorated her soul.
Running away was hard. Practically impossible. She was certain she had spent far more gold that she should have, the pouches she had secured were starting to feel alarmingly light. Her slender body was unused to being the in saddle almost constantly, and her muscles ached and chafed. Thankfully her riding pants, the only garment a princess had that wasn’t a dress, were of the best quality money could buy, and seemed to be holding out for her.
But freedom? Freedom tasted better than she had ever imagined.
