Lys chuckled to herself as she watched the crowd below. Simple people, she thought, mocking their attempts to find her. She'd been gone for nearly half an hour and they had only just now noticed. Shaking her head, she leaned back against the cool, marble wall of the building on which she was perched, smirking down at the hustle and frantic searching around her now empty palanquin. Scrounging beneath her cloak, which was draped over her left arm, she managed to produce an apple, a gift from a nearby vendor, and took a sizeable bite. She looked up, shielding her eyes from the penetrating sun, and was thankful she had traded in her normal attire for silk. Though more conspicuous in silk, at least she wouldn't cook to death amidst the mid-summer Kulthastian heat, though the cloak did look at odds with the finely wrought wrappings. Her normal garb sat stashed away in her chamber, far away. Or, at least, what she considered normal, though her parents didn't much approve. Though, they don't approve of much of what I do, she thought with a rueful smile. Princesses were not to be running amok, getting in trouble, and wearing the clothing of peasant boys. It was indecent. She took another large bite from her apple, savoring the sweetness and the refreshing juice on such a windless, placid day.
She loved the bustle of the city, the noise, the smells. The world was so alive with people, each one a story unto itself. Even the most mundane of things were interesting once you paused long enough to consider the motivations behind them. The street urchins begged for food and coin, the merchants cried their wares in an effort to corner more business, and the guards. Well, they guarded. I suppose they are rather boring, she amended somewhat sardonically. She watched as the various craftsmen and artisans went about their labors, some intricate, some menial, and others flashy; a showy style that left people clapping and clamoring for more. Jugglers, minstrels, and other entertainers also cramped the street below, amusing the crowd with their various bits of trickery and spectacles. On the corner directly below her, a colorfully clad man was intent upon his daring act, whirling knives drenched in flame in intricate patterns. Lys hummed appreciatively as the man began making shapes from the blur left behind in her vision from the odd flames, first semicircles, and then on to full crescents, and then onto triangles. She would be sure to toss him a coin or two before she departed.
The ringing of hammers shaping steel echoed along the market square, smiths about the tasks of everyday life. Filling orders for horseshoes, forging blades for a local lord, or even mending tarnished mail. Skilled labor that was all but punishing under this intense sun. These were the sounds she most enjoyed, not the idle gossip that seemed to pervade the castle and its tenants. Not the courtly functions that demanded formality and obedience and tradition. She felt nauseous just thinking about them.
Suddenly, a weight fell heavy on her shoulder, the one that had not been against the smooth circular outer wall of the market tower. She reeled, caught in complete surprise, as the hand clamped down. She turned just enough to see a familiar face caught halfway between a grin and smirk, his black hair and beard flecked with a little grey, shining in the blazing sun. His high cheeks rose into a grin, and a slight sense of merriment at her being taken off guard danced in his green eyes.
"Maybe if you weren't so busy daydreaming you would have heard my approach," A deep voice remarked, the hint of sarcasm coloring his words. Lys rolled her eyes and moved forward from the tower wall, her long dark braid sticking to her sweat-soaked silks. The man's hand dropped from her shoulder, though he made no move to back away. Instead, he moved forward, towards the edge of the market wall and peered down into the milling crowds, taking note of the guards below still searching for something. "Randall!" He yelled at the guardsmen. A head swiveled and a face peered up, a guard in full mail and a golden crescent hawk on his shoulder denoting his rank as an officer, polished disc helmet, and long broadsword looked up at him, using his hands to shield his eyes from the sun's onslaught. "I have her," the deep voice finished, sounding equal parts amused and chiding. The Officer, Randall, made a face. His eyes shone with relief, respect, and annoyance. Relief that his elusive quarry had been found, and annoyance that neither was he the one to find her, and at the futility of searching for someone who did not want to be found. Catching himself, Randall nodded. He turned to the men under his command, and with a few sullen words, they were marching out of the square and back up along one of the main thoroughfares towards the towering palace in the distance.
Lys watched them go, frowning.
"Randall is going to scuttle right back to mother and tattle on me, wildly inventing details of my escape," she remarked sullenly. The man smiled, his black half-beard quivering with suppressed laughter.
"You make yourself out to be such the victim. It's not his fault that you have a knack for escape, as you so eloquently put it. He has a job to do, and escape plays no part in it." His words were tinged with the sound of amusement, but his eyes were steady on her. Not quite chiding, but neither was it fully joking. Lys blushed, realizing she had indeed used the word "escape". That was how she thought of it in her head. Nobody had dared attack a noble, let alone one of the royal family, in living memory, yet here she was saddled with a large entourage that didn't allow her to actually see any of the things in the city she wanted to see, nor learn about anything interesting. Instead, she was propped up on a pillow in a stuffy palanquin and hauled around like some sow for sale at market. Well, maybe that's a bit dramatic, she thought, but still. A palanquin is boring and hot.
"Fine, fine. I suppose we should head back to the palace, the longer we wait, the larger Randalls story will grow," she mumbled, huffing in annoyance. Today was supposed to be a grand day, the last day of her relative freedom. She sighed again. Her free time would be setting with the sun, not that she minded that overmuch, but there were things she would miss, and most definitely things she was not looking forward to. Tradition had her bound as tightly as ever. The man in front of her knew that more than most, though, and she knew complaining would not aid her.
His smile returned as if he could read her mind. "In such haste to escape your escape? I was under the impression you wanted to see some of the world, my girl!" He chuckled, putting his arm around her shoulder. "Come now, let's visit some of these stalls and hawkers and see what they're all about, eh?" He phrased it like a question, but he knew there was no way Lys would refuse. After all, this is why I came up here she thought with not a small amount of reverence. She hadn't really thought she would get to see many of the merchants since Randall and his guards would be covering ground as quickly as possible once they realized she had absconded with herself, but she had hoped.
Lys looked up at the man and stared into his emerald-like eyes. "Are you sure? Don't you have important matters to attend to? Dealing with the preparations for the celebrations in the coming weeks or the yearly pilgrimage?" She sounded rather surprised, even to herself.
His eyebrows rose, looking at her with an incredulous stare. "You know that your mother quite prefers me out of the way when it comes to handling the affairs of celebrations. Apparently "more wine" is not an acceptable answer to her endless queries." His chuckle was deep and rich, if a bit sardonic.
She returned his smile this time, remembering the disaster of two years ago and the warpath her mother had been on. It had taken weeks for her to calm down over the rather hilarious magical display he had put on. She imagined the townsfolk had spent quite some time discussing it. He gestured towards the stairs carved into the outer wall, and they descended towards the market square, the hustle and noise rising in a whirlwind enveloping them. As they made their way to the first shop, a sign depicting a jewelry smith and gemcutter working side by side above the wood and thatch building, she slipped her left arm around his waist and whispered, "Thank you, father."