I scatter my belongings atop my bed, laying out silk gowns on white silk sheets, representative of my purity. Comfortable as the sheets feel to the touch - cold, smooth - I know what they mean, and that's enough to make me want to vomit.
Father, our Lord, wants to make me impure for his own political gain.
I could offer our kingdom much more than union with a neighboring kingdom or ravager clan. Like Master Alvan says, I am more intelligent than any roadside wench, and more genius than my father's minister of affairs.
Yet, our Lord does not see it. Nor will he ever. Thus, what choice do I have?
Either I wait to be forced into a marriage - in this turbulent political climate I can picture a swift union with the aggressive Azurstone kingdom just South of here - or I flee my nation and make a living as a field-hand. My green thumb will enable me to do the latter. My royal status demands that I perform the former. Would marrying the eldest prince of Lord Bluecrest serve me in any way? No, I doubt it. But my supervisor Lady Silvia would come rushing into my room with a decree sealed with my father's wax stamp. Silvia, dimwitted and dull, would smile as she delivers my death sentence.
So, it is best that I pack my belongings carefully in a bag, before Silvia gets the chance to deliver this marriage decree that I know in my heart is sure to come.
Letting out a sigh, I take a moment to sit on the bed amongst my gowns. Perhaps I should take fewer with me, if I don't want to be recognized immediately as a woman of status. However, I do love the feeling of silk in my hands, and the way the light layers of fabric shift and hiss when rubbed together.
I can make do without the fine and fancy. But it will be a harder life out there compared to what I have so far lived.
I pause to look out the long window, on the stone wall across from my locked bedroom door. The blue sky calms my spirit. No clouds threaten to darken the golden, mid-afternoon sun.
And below the sky, when I peer beyond the gardens and past that initial castle gate, I can see the tops of our peoples' homes, shingled with gray or brown bricks.
My people will recognize me. I have been paraded too many times during the Days of Celebration to hide amongst my countrymen.
I will have to leave, and live, somewhere beyond the walls of Ezelgrave.
It's no matter. I'll do so just as well.
There's a knock on my door and my breath catches in my throat. Oh no.
This is no good.
In a hurry, I fold the top sheet over my gowns. Nothing to see here, nothing at all ...
"Lady Oria!"
It's Silvia!
"Godes hit!" I hiss under my breath, before drawing in air and piping up, "Come in, Silvia!"
She swings my bedroom door open just as I turn my back to the bed. Her lightly tanned face radiates heat from the kitchen she's just come up from. She carries a tray of hot soup in one hand. At least there's no decree. I sincerely expected my father, our Lord, to send one immediately after my studies with Master Alvan finished. Not even three days have passed.
I watch my lady in waiting approach with the dangerous tray. I never trust Silvia on soup days. She's far too reckless to carry steaming broth around on one arm. She has already scolded one servant, and that poor wretch became so disfigured from the burn we had to move him out of the castle and out onto the field.
I shuddered at the thought of becoming another one of Silvia's victims. She headed straight for me, so I stepped to the side, forcing her to pause and recenter herself before she could walk the tray straight at me.
"I brought this for you, Lady Oria," she said through a chuckle, tilting her carroty head to one side.
My head nods, but I bite my lip. I don't want to say anything rude or unbecoming. I have already developed quite a reputation amongst my siblings for being the least repressed of us. Our Lord dislikes that very much. It's one of the reasons why I am certain he plans to get rid of me as soon as he hears from another kingdom looking for a queen or princess with excellent birthing hips, like mine.
Being a princess forces me to think of myself as a "breeder," to some extent. It's rather dehumanizing, although I suppose the role of mother is a necessary one in most instances. My intelligence is a bonus, as I can tutor my children and other children in the castle. My hips, obviously, will one day bear the fruit of a man's seed into this world, Gode willing. However, the way mothers are treated in this kingdom, and kingdoms abroad, from my understanding, is a dutiful life served inside the castle, and a body worn to death after laboring as many times as one can before their essence is completely drained from them and they perish like old vegetables left to rot in the back of a cellar.
"Thanks for the soup." I take the hot bowl in my hands, carefully, and set it on the table beside my bed. "No need to stay and spoon-feed me, Silvia. Begone with you."
There's a strange muttering behind me. I turn from the bowl and face my long-time servant. I wish, oh, I wish she would go.
"There's more." She switches the tray to her other hand and my heart drops. I grit my teeth and stare at the white envelope in her once tray-holding hand. My fate is sealed in that blasted envelope. "Here's our Lord's decree," she snickers, handing it over to me.
"Why ... thank you ... Silvia." I take the decree and a shiver runs along my arm. Holding it gingerly between my fingers and thumbs, I stare at my father's seal for a moment. Perhaps I do so for too long, because Silvia makes an uncomfortable grumbling sound, and I have to tell her, "You are excused, Silvia," before she finally takes her leave.
Sitting on my bedside after she closes the door, I open the envelope and read the contents sealed inside. I knew it. Gode dum! I should have left the day I graduated from my studies!
--- The 3rd Prince Getheth Azmeth of Azurstone humbly requests ---
--- to marry thine Princess Oria Bevaniva of Ezelgrave ---