Marriage wasn't always such a liberated concept. Love, affection, a dream of growing old together—they weren't so common back in the day when women were viewed as commodities and men their dutiful owners.
Fathers would sell their daughters, beat their wives, and pay for the services of other women. That's how it was for a vast majority.
In the world of Black Rose, it's a lot less intense, but that's essentially how the system functions.
Women are lesser, men are kings.
That's not to say all marriages that start as a transaction stay in that state forever. There are a fortunate few who find love despite the norms of the time period.
I'm unfortunately married to Prince Valerius.
You see, there's not a bone inside my body that cares about the prince's whereabouts or his shenanigans outside of Aurelia. It's quite tactless of him, however, to not show up on the dinner after his wedding.
All that effort to look refined only to be stood up by my own spouse. It's hilarious! The disrespect runs so deep, I can't even be offended.
I'm not the only one waiting for him, listless. Valerius' brother sits across me with an unimpressed face.
The food's gone cold, the servants share frantic gazes, not knowing how to react to the situation.
It's awkward, there are no words exchanged, but Cyrus seems too murderous to mind the atmosphere.
The prince's smile remains intact—an impressive feat considering how long we've been waiting for his brother—but it's clear that he's glowering.
He's not the only one, truly. Valerius' audacity stretches far and wide, testing even my patience.
The ticking of the father clock feels endless. Minutes pass as quickly as the seconds do. We sit there, pretending to wait, fully aware that the seventh prince isn't showing up.
Aurelia leans down my ear to whisper, "I'm afraid prince Valerius isn't in his room either."
That's evident enough. He's probably not inside the palace.
I hum, considering my options. It would be satisfying to drag him out of whatever hole he crawled into and tear him a new one, but that seems like a whole lot of effort for a person who isn't worth any of it.
I exhale, "I wish to retire to my room early."
The disappointment on Cyrus' face is immediate, but knowing how the prince operates, he won't oppose.
"Of course, princess. I'm sure you're tired."
The air is heavy when I stand, every noise made louder by the silence—the rattling of the table utensils, the clicking of my heels, the creaking of the door.
When I've exited the dining room, a deep sigh escapes me.
The room was suffocatingly tense.
Hopefully, there are no similar situations in the future. Perhaps when Prince Cyrus returns to the main palace, there'll be less shared dinners. No point in pretending that Valerius and I like each other enough to eat together.
"Princess."
My soul almost jumps out of my body.
Right, Aurelia.
At times, I forget I have someone to answer to my every beck and call.
Aurelia awaits my next move. It's a new hobby of hers, almost like a clueless puppy obediently following its owner.
Neither of us knows where we're going. I thought I'd be occupied with making pretentious conversation over dinner, but that's obviously not the case.
My duties are done. My husband is nowhere to be found.
What else is there to do?
I look at Aurelia, "Don't you have plans?"
She nods.
-
"Your highness, I don't think this is safe."
It's been years since I last had to sneak out.
When I was younger, my friend and I made an elaborate escape plan, attempting to get past our parents' watchful eyes to attend an event I don't remember now.
Perhaps a concert? A convention?
Never did I think that I'd be doing something as reckless at my grown age, but here I am, squeezing through palace walls, carefully navigating the landscape of a dozen lavender trees.
We're attending a festival!
Without all the jewelry and the layers of clothing, Penelope blends in with the common folk.
The guards don't question the presence of two young ladies rushing past the gate. They shrug and continue with their routine.
I'm assuming Aurelia isn't the only servant who was planning to go.
There were probably dozens before us. Undoubtedly, dozens more will follow after finishing their responsibilities.
"We'll be okay." I reassure the girl, taking her hand in mine.
Her palms are soft and her fingers dainty, a testament to her ladylike nature.
How does she maintain that? Working hands are usually calloused but Aurelia's remains untainted.
Interesting. Maybe it's one of those blessings that are exclusive to heroines. Apart from the flawless hair and the unique eye color, Aurelia gets hands most noble women would kill for.
It's a short walk to the village. The trail is a bit risky, the road infinitely dark and surrounded by long grass, but we fortunately don't run into trouble.
That's a good omen. Perhaps tonight will turn out better than I expected.
The village, unlike the path, is sparkling—lit up by an ocean of lanterns. There's laughter everywhere. Sweet and spciy aromas come from every corner, every booth, every store.
My mouth is watering, eager to taste the local cuisine.
Perhaps I can start with the bread or the rice meals or the exotic drinks.
My elbows bump against two, three, an uncountable amount of strangers. For once, I don't find myself minding how rowdy everyone is being.
Dancers, merchants, and drunkards. There's a plethora of people dressed in interesting colors, dawning jewelry that draws the eye.
They're united, sharing smiles and drinks under the singular goal of enjoying the night. I myself can't help but pull Aurelia around, both our smiles wide as we explore all the booths.
"Look at that!"
It's a chicken, it's literally just a chicken, but some clever soul's dyed it green and placed faux claws on its feet.
My laughter is uncontrollable, as is Aurelia's.
"Quick! It's starting!"
Scrawny children excitedly rush towards a crowded area, joining the commotion.
"What is it?" I ask. Aurelia shrugs.
We push past the first group of people, halting when we get a good view of the main attraction.
There's two bodies in the middle of a circle—one cloaked in dark fabric and the other barely clothed, showing off large muscles and an even larger stature.
Witnesses have begun exchanging coins, placing their bets. If I had to guess, the two men are about to fight until one taps out or bleeds out.
Not my kind of show.
When I try to pull Aurelia back, we're pushed forward by a burly man. Before I know it, we have a front row view of the street fight.
This doesn't feel legal. But then again, in this world, what's acceptable in the eyes of law is vague.
A gong is hit three times. The fight commences.