My cheeks stung where Father's palm struck. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat, blinking back the tears that filled my eyes. I would not cry.
"Look at me, Chandra. Look at me," Father gritted through his teeth. He only spoke that way when he's angry. I felt his fingers pressing my cheeks together, forcing me to look up. Defiantly, I stared back. "You are an Arundell and so long as you are in my household, you will listen to me. You will marry the king."
A whimper escaped my lips when he let me go with a forceful shove. He looked at me, stared me down, and it was all I could do at that moment not to cry in front of him. I felt weak, sitting on the plush carpet of the sitting room. Fire crackled in the hearth, and I thought of how close I was to the flame, that if I allowed myself to remain there, the fleeting sparks would singe my hair and burn my skin. It was a welcome feeling.
Father, as if reading my thoughts, pulled me to my feet. My knees swayed, my vision swam, and the throes threatened to overwhelm me. "We will meet the king tomorrow to discuss your engagement. Until then, you will keep yourself out of trouble." I held my tongue, refusing to respond to someone else's decision on my life. "Get out."
It took everything in me to display a calm composure, bowing politely from the dismissal, and left the sitting room with hardly a click of the doorknob. But the moment I closed the door to my chambers, the tempest came.
Time was a notion in my head. There was no rhyme or reason to it. It ran faster when it wished to, slower at times, and there were moments when it was warped intensely that it felt like picking up shards of a broken mirror.
For a moment, I was the oceans clashing together with the rage of a million storms. Then I became land. My body hardened then cracked, the way the land thirsted for freedom and rainwater, a deluge to wipe away the traces of emptiness and drought that scorched my skin. I became the sky outside my window, the grey bordering to black, where lightning clapped in brilliant streaks across the expanse of thunders and snowflakes.
The knock at my door was out of place among the clamour in my head. A sweet voice called out and I was back in the world again. "Chandra? May I come in?"
My face was buried in my pillows with the duvet tangled with my limbs. She took my silence as a response and the heavy oak doors of my bedroom creaked on its hinges. Oil, I told myself. I kept forgetting to have it oiled.
Gentle footfalls headed in my direction and I felt the bed shift from her weight. Amaris began stroking my hair, consoling me with a voice of rose petals and honey. "It's okay," she whispered. "It's going to be okay, sister. I promise."
For tonight, I believed her. The dam opened once more.
Sometime in the night, I awoke to the dying stubs of the candles, and I made a move to replace it. Amaris was curled up beside me, her cinnamon hair spread around her. In the dimming light, my eyes traced the ridges of her puckered skin. The fires consumed her. From the left side of her forehead, the scars crawled over her jaw and down her neck, where they disappeared beneath the neckline of her nightgown.
Amaris was the other side of the same coin as my mother, while I was the murky reflection on the water. Even with the scars that marred half her face, she was beautiful. She always kept it covered with her hair, but tonight... my heart clenched at the sight of her here, her truths and vulnerability bared to me, and me alone.
When the candles were replaced, I crawled back to her side, holding her hand like the promise that everything would be okay.
Ꙍ
Morning seemed to come sooner than I wanted it to.
I sucked in a breath when the corset was tightened around my waist. My ribs complained at the snug fit but Amaris refused to listen, simply shaking her head as she gave another pull. My knuckles turned white as my fingers held on to the bedpost. "One last breath," she told me.
The dress was made of yellow silk, with a formfitting bodice, a rectangular neckline, and sleeves of lace reaching down my elbows. The skirt cascaded into a bell of tulle and silk from the inverted peak at the waist, with whorls of gold thread embroidered to look like vines and leaves. The colour completely set off my tanned complexion, and despite my reluctance, I found the dress perfect on me. If only the circumstances were different...
"I don't want to marry him, Amaris." She gently pushed my hair back with gold comb and flipped it into place.
The woman in the mirror was a stranger. Her eyes had been lined with kohl, lips stained with rogue, and face dusted with powder. She was me, at the same time not. It was her eyes, emerald orbs gleaming with defiance that let me know I was in there somewhere beneath the layers of cosmetics my Father forced to have me wear.
Where Amaris was the spitting image of my mother, I was my father's waxing moon. From the widow's peak at my forehead to the arched eyebrows, the high cheekbones and aquiline nose, down to the curves of my lips and strong jaws—I looked like him. Amaris was a gentle breeze, I was the rugged tornado.
On the mirror, Amaris' gaze softened. She turned to me, cupping my cheeks in her hands. "Oh, sister, I know. And I'm sorry that you have to do this." Her fingers began tracing the lines of my face. I shook my head, looking away.
"I promise you, sister. I will find a way to get you out of here. If I could do it for you, I would do so in a heartbeat." Amaris sighed. "But no one would take a damaged woman as a bride. Let alone a queen. So please, hold on, for a little while. I'll find a way out."
I stared into her eyes, twin emeralds, the same as mine, and reached out to touch her cheeks, obscured by a curtain of hair. There, her skin was rough, raised and sunk in few places. Sixteen years ago, when I was yet too young to remember, a tragedy befell the royal family. Veluinia lost its queen and its royal heir, and Amaris... to say that the effects of that tragedy lingered until now was an understatement.
"Do it for me, Chandra. If you can't do it for Father, then do it for me."
She was everything a queen should be—kind, compassionate and brave. I wasn't her; I was the opposite of who she was. And yet, she always brought out the best in me. So I nodded.
Ꙍ
Father smiled when he saw me and I forced myself not to frown. Growing up, I was taught ladies must not display any form of unease, discomfort or boredom. They must remain poised and graceful despite the circumstances. I kept that in mind as I smiled and descended the stairs, a hand on the railing, even if all I wanted at that moment was to run as far away as I could.
"You look beautiful, darling." Father extended a hand when I reached the last step. Hesitantly, I took it. I hadn't forgotten the feel of his palms against my cheek but for Amaris, I reined it in.
Marquess Seymour Arundell was a man whose face defied time. Save for a few lines at the corner of his eyes and around his mouth, he looked to be someone in his late twenties, almost half of his actual age. He remained spry, his body trapped in his prime. And his face, the face that looked up at me closely resembled the one I saw in the mirror this morning.
Father guided me to the carriage where I struggled for a moment in getting myself inside. The gown, although exquisite, was too puffy. It made me feel like a walking yellow bell. Father assured me I was not.
From a good distance, the bell at the cathedral's tower tolled seven times, its sound carried on to the ends of Veluinia. Arundell Hall was at the northwest ends of the kingdom, with the Braerid River at its west and the Salvia Forest to the north. I inclined my head to the open window of the carriage.
It had been two weeks since winter began showing. The sky was grey, bordering on black and heavy with the threat of the first winter storm, and below them were empty branches, gnarled and old, reaching out for salvation. Much like the starving people of this kingdom.
We rarely ventured into the capital. Father found it too much of a bother when there were servants to do his bidding. It was a half-day's journey and I suspected we'd arrive there at noon. The small villages we passed by were teeming with people-mothers with their children, fathers with their fellow workers. But what struck me was the thinness of their bodies, signs of hunger and depravity, and it was getting closer to winter.
The lingering redolence of autumn leaves and earth was beginning to dissipate, and a whiff of the briny, winter air seeped into my lungs until a layer of frost filled my chest. It felt good—the sting of bitter cold inside me against the hollow emptiness that only amplified the noise of my anxious heart.
The carriage jolted when one of the wheels was caught in a depression in the ground. The surprise had been enough to dislodge my heart from my chest to my throat, and I remembered where I was heading. It was an effort to swallow.
I stopped looking out the window after passing through two more villages, suffering from the same depravity as the first one. It was cowardly, but it was easier to turn away than watch them. Still, I couldn't stop myself from thinking there must be a better way to live.
The scent of brine hung thick in the air as Veluinians and foreigners alike mingled in the bustling streets of the capitol. The entire place was bustling with colours and noises. Although the sky was overcast, it was fairly bright as we rode up the streets leading to the castle.
It was the sight of the sandstone walls looming overhead that drove me in. Four towers speared through the sky like golden beacons, each on one corner of the castle grounds. The upper floors and roof of the castle were glass, reflecting off the noontime glare of the sun. Blue flags fluttered in the wind on each peak like a promise of summer skies and calm seas. But to me, they seemed like harbingers of a dreadful fate. It was instinct to look away.
I fell deaf. The hooves of the horses went quiet, as did the clatter of the carriage's wooden wheels against the narrow stone pavements. The pop-up shops and haggling strangers became a blur outside my window. I couldn't breathe. The corset was too tight. The dress was too tight. I couldn't breathe. I needed to get out.
It was Father's voice that brought me back, ordering me to calm down. I stared at him. Brown eyes like cedarwood stared back at me. Hands gripped my shoulders. Those eyes, I didn't get my eyes from him. Mother had green eyes, the same emerald that Amaris and I shared.
"Chandra, calm down!"
I stopped moving. My lungs ached. I looked down and saw the wrinkles on my dress from where I gripped it in my fists. "Breathe," he commanded. "Breathe."
I did so for a few moments. When I was calm enough, Father moved away but his gaze remained. It burned, but I dared myself not to look away. "I will not have you humiliate me. Do you understand?"
Unable to form words, I nodded.
Ꙍ
The war in my chest refused to abate despite the countless reprimanding I bestowed upon myself. But I could breathe properly. Or as properly as possible with the corset squeezing the air of out my body. For Amaris, I reminded myself. I would do this.
We passed through the gates and onto the courtyard of the castle. Sandcastle, it was how foreign dignitaries and storytellers called the mass of sandstone and glass. Legends said it was purely made of sandstone until dragonsflame turned them into unbreakable glass. It was a tale of a valiant king fighting dragons to defend his kingdom. There were no dragons now, the last of its kind hunted to extinction.
The Royal Guards in Veluinia's royal colours—blue and gold—were scattered along the ground in statuesque attention. When the carriage stopped by the front door, one of them approached us with a formal bow. I got a clear view of the insignia of a dragon and two swords crossed together over the guard's chest when he aided my descent from the carriage.
Father and I were led through the sinuous halls of the castle. It was like how I remembered them, with tall ceilings littered with glass chandeliers that glowed even in the daylight, seashells embedded on the wall in a myriad of colours and light, and windows—large open windows to let light and wind in. I schooled my awe into a mask of genteel indifference. Every now and then, Father glanced at me and I tried not to wither beneath his stare. For Amaris, I told myself again. It became a mantra in my head. For Amaris, for Amaris.
All my resolve, however, were thrown out of the window when we stopped into the lavish dining room and finally met my intended. Growing up, I heard tales of King Rolfe but the man I saw before me was nothing like the one depicted in the stories. There was none of the warrior who slew mighty dragons in his youth. There was none of the fierce boldness or cunning mind I came to admire in my childhood.
My breath hitched in my throat.
The opulent seat, made of polished sandstone and gilded with intricate carvings that even I found beautiful from afar, looked new and definitely wasn't enough for his frame, his limbs spilling over the seat. He deftly held a turkey leg between his fat, greasy fingers. Silver constituted most of his hair with only a few strands of black left. The lines of decades were written on his taut skin, giving me the impression that he was about to combust.
A feast was spread on the large dining table but there was no one keeping the king company. The nervousness I felt was replaced with anger. The people in Veluinia were starving while the king revelled in the excesses and luxuries. Last night, I refused to be sold off like a chattel to anyone. But now, more than anything, I refused to be tied to a man who didn't do right by his kingdom.
The footman hesitated by the door before squaring his shoulders. "Your Majesty, Marquess Seymour Arundell and Lady Chandra have arrived."
The turkey leg between the king's fingers fell to the plate and he, much to my horror, began licking his fingers as he stood from his seat to greet us. I fell into a curtsy beside Father who bowed in respect.
"Ah Seymour, my old friend," he said to my father, shaking his hand. "I am glad to see you after all these years. And this must be your daughter. My, what a beautiful lady she turned out to be."
I forced the words out of my mouth. "You are much too kind, Your Majesty."
He took my hand in his own, lifting it until his clammy lips are pressed against the back of my hand in a chaste kiss. I forced a smile and wished I'd worn gloves. When he let go, my shoulders relaxed from the tension I failed to notice.
"Join me for lunch, my dear," King Rolfe told me. "And you too, my friend," he said to Father. "We have much to plan for the wedding. Speaking of, I wish to hold our wedding on Yulemas."
"I will be honoured, Your Majesty."
Ꙍ
Heavy nimbuses sailed swiftly overhead, blotting the moon from sight. The chilly night-time wind nipped at my exposed skin as I stood at the balcony of my bedroom, overlooking the vast grounds of Arundell Hall.
"Are you certain of this, sister?" Amaris asked. She glanced warily between me and the distant horizon I set my eyes on. "Father will be most displeased if he finds out."
"He will find out." I turned to her, clasped her hands and in a pleading voice, I asked, "I can't do it, Amaris. Surely you won't allow me to be tied to a man I despise?"
Hesitantly, she answers a quiet 'no'. I perused my reflection in the mirror and decided I could pass off as a servant. The brown tunic and pants Amaris procured for me was a little large for my frame, making me look smaller and thinner than I really was. The soot and ask I painted on my face made me look filthy and gaunt. Unless someone looked too close or made eye contact with me, they wouldn't notice my emerald eyes.
"You are certain Father's already asleep?" I asked my sister who nodded. "Let's go then."
I took one last look at my reflection and pulled the old cloak over my body. I egressed from my bedroom, warily checking the hallway for any sign of anyone. Amaris followed close behind me. The pallor of the demeanour was not surprising. Poor girl, she's scared of almost everything. I gave her the signal to lock the doors to my chambers.
Amaris pulled me in an embrace. "I love you, sister. And I will pray that you get away from here."
"Why can't you just run away with me?"
She shook her head. "I can't leave Father behind."
I didn't reply and instead, swiftly bolted to the closest entrance of a secret passageway. Yellow light from torches illuminated the hallways where I ran, their flames flickering from the draft entering the Hall. The alcove where empty twin vases resided was in the shadows. I used my hands to feel for the impression on the wall. The cold was sharp against my hands which craved for the warm comfort of my bedroom. Finally, I found it.
I pressed the palms firmly and push. The wall shuddered, scraping lightly against the floor. It shoved open and revealed a dark passageway smelling like mould and mud. No hesitations, I took a step insides and close the stone door with another push. I groped for the oil lamp in the wall. Locating it, I struck the flint against the stone wall.
There was a spark then yellow light filled the narrow walkway layered with dust and grime covering every available surface. Gods, this place stank!
I grew up wandering forgotten passageways, seeming as if every single excursion was an adventure. It worked well when I needed to escape our governess's lessons about being a proper lady. Not that any of those lessons would be of use to us when war broke. What was I supposed to do? Drink tea with my pinkie finger out?
I lost track of how long I walked. Darkness was tricky. The stone floor made way to moss. I was near the egress which led out to the clearing along the border of the Salvia Forest. I could tell by how the sole of my sheepskin boots slipped over the floor. Caution was a necessity unless I wanted to die inside a forgotten tunnel with a broken skull. It would be years before they discovered my remains.
I reached a dead end. The heavy, oak door groaned on its rusty hinges when I pulled it open. The frigid wind greeted me, a gentle caress at first before turning into a sharp bite. The trees were thick here, hiding the door in the blur of browns and greens. The moon was full and bathed the forest with a tincture of blue. I pulled the cloak tighter around me to shield myself from the cold.
My hands fished the pockets of my cloak for the map of the kingdom. Amaris prepared this the moment we came home from meeting the King. She made no arguments when I told her that I couldn't bring myself, no matter what, to marry such a man. That I would rather run away.
So this was what I was doing. Running away.
Ꙍ
Sweat streamed to the edges of my chin, forming heavy droplets before they dripped to my neck and seeped into the fabric of my clothes. The low branches scratched my face even if I focused my entire attention on pushing them away. The ground was wet and muddy, and if it wasn't for the boots I was wearing, I would have suffered from sore feet. It could've been worse if I left in the fancy dresses I had at home instead of the tunic and pants.
For the first time since I left the Hall, I frowned in regret. How long would I have to run before Father found me? I didn't even have a plan. I was too focused on getting as far away from the Hall that I forgot winter was coming. Frost was starting to form in the dead branches littering the tender forest floor. I had to keep moving unless I wanted to freeze to death.
I chided myself for my stupidity. I couldn't believe I actually left. But I didn't think I could bear to stay either, knowing I would be bound to the King for life.
The sun was already beginning to set, the sky drab with grey clouds turning a shade darker. I'd been walking for a night and an entire day. I had to find shelter before nightfall. The forest was dangerous in the dark with enchanted creatures lurking. The evening breeze rattled the branches next to me, startling me with a jolt. Really, Chandra.
I walked farther until I reached a clearing by the foot of a mountain. As the last remnants of sunlight left the world, I came upon an opening of what looked like a cave. I debated coming in. Who knew if there's a bear, or worse, a dragon inside? But if I stayed outside, it would be more dangerous.
Dragons. I snorted. It's been a long time since those creatures made an appearance. Surely they wouldn't be making themselves be seen by me. There were rumours about them still existing in mountains. I looked up, craning my neck to the unseen zeniths of Crimson Mountains.
I bit the insides of my cheeks until I tasted blood. No matter, I had no choice. The dagger hanging from my waist felt heavy as I unsheathed it. It felt cold, in stark contrast to the heat permeating my body from all the running I've done. I cautiously approached the opening, the blade drawn out and my body tense.
No fires, I told myself. Fire would only attract creatures and this was not the time to make them attracted to me. I entered the cave, slowly and as painstakingly quiet as I could until I was in the shadow. It was silent, and for a few minutes I let myself listen, straining to hear anything apart from the loud beating of my heart—from exhaustion or nerves, I couldn't tell.
When I was sure there was nothing but me, I allowed myself to relax. Despite the protest of my empty stomach, I fell asleep while sitting, with my back pressed against the stone wall of the cave, clutching the dagger close to my chest.
Just in case, I told myself.