By the time I get down to the throne room, the whole place has been transformed. The white and gold marble pillars are decked with lanterns and blossoming roses that wind their way up to the ceilings like snakes writhing their way up to the sky. The thrones have been pushed back on the dais, and a rather large canopy strung up in their place, along with an oak altar- the place where I am to be wed. I grimace at the thought and continue on. There are garlands of bright, shining gold banners, and tables along either side of the large courtroom piled high with cakes, and jellies and all manner of cuts of meat. Steaks, pork loins, lamb, and a rather large roast venison all make for a wonderful sight to behold: the perfect feast for a wedding.
My stomach growls and gurgles at the sight of food, my mouth watering in anticipation. All of these are a grand reminder that I haven't yet had breakfast- the perks of getting up late in a palace where its first come, first served, so as I walk by, I slip an apple from the fruit bowl and pop it into my mouth.
The apples from the orchards are always the best: ripe and juicy, and bursting with sweet summery goodness- especially picked fresh from the tree. My stomach seems to agree too, growling in content agreement at my small but hearty snack. But before I can take another bite, I spot that dreaded figure across the room, piled high in billowing white robes, the epitome of the city of starlight. Suddenly, the apple in my mouth goes sour. Panic bubbles in my throat. In a hurried attempt to rid myself of any reason to be yelled at, I burn the apple in my hand with a bright flash of white light, reducing it to cinders. The fresh morning air turns bitter with the scent of cinders and the lingering remnants of my magic- the magic of the heavens and the stars. So much for breakfast.
Almost immediately the Queen catches sight of me from across the room, her eyes narrowing as she stalks towards me, her heels clacking against the floor. In my younger and more vulnerable years, when I hadn't yet learnt swear words to push away the incessant remarks of the Queen, those tip taps of her heels were the sound of death. Alastor and I used to scatter like ferrets in the bushes whenever we heard her coming, but he is a kitsune, and much swifter on his feet, he never got caught. It was always me.
It is all I can do to keep my ground as she sweeps herself up in front of me, her cool blue eyes piercing through me as she pulls herself up. She flicks her long, curly blonde hair away from her face, nose wrinkling in disgust as she catches the smell of cindered apple on the air.
"Daughter," she says, looking me up and down, then grimacing again. "Did you burn something?"
"No," I lie, doing my very best to ignore the auburn haired kitsune loitering around the food tables, eyeing up a particularly delightful looking hunk of meat. I hold back a grin.
"Right," she says, clearly not believing me- not that I expected her to. "Well, the Prince of Etheria will be here in-" she checks her golden watch "-thirty seven minutes. I pray you know your place?"
I suck in my cheeks. Of course I know my place. I have been practising this setup for weeks- albeit reluctantly. But instead of this I simply grumble.
"Yes, I know."
The Queen nods, tilting her head to get a better look at my dress.
"You look good. The dress looks beautiful on you. And your hair is perfect- the Prince will love you."
I huff a little. The last thing I want is the Prince to love me. But my mother speaks of it like it is the most honourable thing in the world- maybe for her it is.
"Right."
The Queen narrows her eyes at me, pointing at me with a solitary gloved finger.
"Tone, young lady. You are to be married today. Your husband won't be pleased if you speak to him in that manner, will he? Prince Yariel is a respectable young man, I will not have you show him up."
In my head, a thousand curses pass in a matter of seconds. It's always 'don't do this', 'don't do that', 'be good to your husband', 'don't make yourself a disgrace'. Of course, in the rules of courts and politics, it is not unusual for a marriage to be arranged, in fact, in some parts of the Upper Realm, it is fairly common- Etheria (the place of Prince Yariel's homeland,) included. But Vriryn was always supposed to be a kingdom of free love, expressing the beauty and simplicity of love at its core. How ironic it is then that I didn't even get a choice in my own marriage- that would surely cause quite a stir in the public. But to be honest, I doubt they even know. I would not put it past the Queen to spin out some fantastical story of how I met him- calling it love at first sight, that I have never been happier. In truth, all of this seems more a rather grand excuse to get rid of me, play me off into the hands of another kingdom in some political power play to extend her authority to the regions less under her control.
As is the way of royalty. And royalty is brutal.
But none of these are concerns that should ever be voiced to the Queen- not unless I would like to end up with a royally metaphorical beheading. So instead, I say:
"I need some air."
And walk right out.
For once, the Queen doesn't protest. Perhaps she has seen the paleness of my face, or maybe she is simply not in the mood for arguments because for once, she lets me walk out unattended. Alastor does his best to follow me, but upon seeing the disgruntled look on my face, thinks better of it. Half of me feels upset that he doesn't make it the whole way, take me by the hand and go sprinting out the palace with me like we always did. But perhaps for now it is better this way.
Outside, the courtyard is milling with rowdy people, creatures and nobles alike. Bunting is strung up around the hedgerows, hanging in garlands of sparkling stars from the trees- even the flowers seem to be dusted with something, some fine, unnatural dew that causes them to sparkle like iridescent gems under the twinkling brightness of the sun. A perfect day for a wedding. If only I could enjoy it.
Some nobles stop to watch me as I pass, curious as to why the bride of the wedding is suddenly making her exit from the palace. Others simply attend to their business, knowing all too well the chaotic nature of my instincts and continue to tend to fixing lights. The wedding dance will be held here later- another prospect I am not looking forward to. It's not that I hate dancing, in fact I rather like it. But the prospect of dancing with a Prince I hardly know the first thing about does not sit well in my stomach to say the least. Sighing heavily, I look down the cobblestone pathway with a slight melancholy, twiddling my thumbs anxiously as movement continues to bustle around me. It would take one good move to grab a horse from the stables and ride down this path out of town. One good move to grab Alastor and get out of here. Maybe this time, we might actually find one of the entrances to the Downside. Or maybe we would just get caught by the guards and dragged all the way back home.
I sigh. The chances don't seem great.
A smooth voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
"Why the long face, Princess?"