"You look so beautiful, Miss!" My maid exclaims as she finishes putting up my hair.
"Thank you." A tight smile and nod, and she leaves me to my own devices for the few minutes I have before the ceremony. My hair is pulled back into a tight braid, woven round and round till it forms a bun on the top of my head. My dress is woven of yuca fibers from my mother's kingdom, and they let me move freely and lightly, with wind being able to move freely in and out. It is as pretty as it is functional, and perfect for Aikido. Perfect for fighting, which is exactly what I am about to do, except I feel like my body is full of stones. I let myself fall to the floor and laugh at my stupidity one last time before I meet my husband-to-be. My arms and legs are pinned to the ground by an invisible weight, and I can only lift my head a few inches of the ground.
"Saoirse." I stop laughing immediately and pull myself off the linseed floor with immense effort.
"Yes?"
"You look beautiful." My Father looks on the brink of tears, and he hugs me so fast I can barely try and dodge.
"Don't call me that please." I say, and he pulls back quickly.
"I'm sorry." I smile at him a bit, and he smiles back.
"I'm sure you'll be in good hands." When he says this, though, my smile drops from my place completely, and there is barley any hope of getting it back.
"Yes." I answer stiffly.
"It's time! My lord you must take you place by the King!"
"Ah! Of course." He look at me one last time, but doesn't say anything.
I sigh. My father can be quite oblivious sometimes. He acts like it is him who is getting married. My maid comes in and leads me to my place for the ceremony.
And the drums begin and the torches are blown out.
The ceremony begins.
We take our places and I catch a glimpse of the crown prince in the shadows, fidgeting with his robes and hair. He wears ceremonial ghi, and I can tell they are stiff and unworn. A pity, he won't be able to move as quickly. My yuca dress has been broken in and the fibers have been woven loosely, but are stronger than any kind of wool.
A servant hands each of us a lit torch, and I can finally see his face clearly. Up until now, the name of Imrie was not attached to a face, but now I can see the fine features and long eyelashes. His black hair is double mine in length, and he is my height. His demeanor is solemn, to say the least. He looks like he hasn't had a good nights rest in ages, and when he moves his left foot forward to start his kata, he stumbles a bit. He pulls his fists into a fighting position, although his back isn't straight, and his weight is too much on his back leg.
I move the torch to my left hand, and pull out a paper fan with my right. The drums get louder, and we start. I come to center and do a half moon step back, turn sideways, palm strike with my left, and bring my fan down hard on what would be a lunging attackers hand. I am graceful, and I switch the torch easily between my hands.
Imrie seems to be keeping up as well, but he isn't as fast as I am due to his clothes, and how tired he appears to be, and he falls behind by a fraction of a movement. Even though it's incredibly short, we catch each other's eyes for a moment, and he suddenly flounders, and recovers himself by doing a block and punch. He regains his footing quickly, and continues with his katta.
He doesn't look tired anymore, he just looks sad.
I understand. He doesn't want to marry me. The feeling is mutual, although I was hoping that if he was excited to unite our kingdoms it would somehow rub off on me. But no, it was foolish to think that.
We both know we're not ready to rule.
Unfit, is what you might call us. We're too young, and to immature to even think about governing over hundreds of thousands of lives, and we wouldn't be able to choose the right decisions either.
Unfit to rule, are exactly the words to describe us.