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thewinterwitcher · 9 months ago

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The path up to the fortress was lined with flowers.

I could see glimpses outside the curtains of the palanquin that carried me forward. People didn’t line the road, precisely, but they had stopped their work to watch us pass.

Their faces weren’t close enough to see if they were laughing at me or not.

Then there was the sound of boots on stone, and my attendants pulled me away from the curtain, fussing with my veil and jewelry.

I was dressed in all the finery of a princess of Skelda: finely woven spiders’ silk draped around me; polished wooden and opal beads clacking together gently as I moved; the heavy perfume of a hundred flowers tucked into the intricate braids of my hair. It held me in place, the slightest movements like swimming through porridge with the weight pressing down. Sounds around me were just slightly muffled. Faces were too obscured to truly see. I was adrift. My punishment for failing to be the princess I was destined to live as was finally crashing down around me.

I shouldn’t be here, I thought. I wished beyond anything that I could be living as Prince Ashley of Skelda, Star Nestled in the Night Sky, in my home, able to make my own choices. Instead, I was in this blasted dress, tens of thousands of paces from everyone I have ever known, about to be married off to the ruler of the country that everyone says wants to conquer our lands, slaughter our men, and enslave our women and children.

Before I had been sent away, my mother had lectured me at length. I had knelt before her, hands flat under my knees as instructed. The pain cemented her words into my memory.

“You won’t be able to play your stupid little game anymore, Alexandria. Goddess knows we’ve tried to control you, but those brutes should beat you into line now. And if you fail to please the barbarian king and he sends you back, I’ll slit your throat myself.”

Surely I would fail. I could see the disappointment on my father’s face as I walked out of the castle, the condemnation in my mother’s gaze as she watched me climb into the palanquin. The look in her eye as she stared me down, gleeful at the idea that she would finally be rid of me, one way or another.

I was startled from my grim remembering by the gentle swaying motion I had felt for hours finally ceasing. We were slowly lowered to the ground.

The women around me fluttered silently and began to disembark. No one said a word to me as they took my hands and pulled me to standing. My slippers rested on fine mosaics, and the hazy stone around me was bright and reflected the mid morning sun down onto us. I closed my eyes and felt the faint warmth on my face.

Before I could truly begin to look around, I was again pulled forward. The enormous wooden doors of the keep slowly swung open, and incense wafted on the wind to me even through my veil. The attendant pulling me stopped before her feet crossed the threshold, and her hand moved from mine to my lower back, firmly guiding me in while she stayed outside the fortress. Her arm reached its full length, and I stopped, the tiles beneath my thin slippers oddly warm.

The attendant’s footsteps pattered on the stone behind me, growing softer. The doors swung closed with a ‘clunk.’ Unceremoniously, I was alone in my new prison.

“Princess Alexandria?” I jumped at the deep voice to my right.

I grimaced under the veil at my accursed name, hoping my face was as obscured as the man speaking to me. He was tall, much taller than I, dark-skinned and with the outline of someone wearing armor.

Realizing my hesitation had let a moment pass, I nodded.

“Welcome to the keep, your highness. My name is Leold. On this, the first of our meetings, let it be known that you may refer to me as ‘they’ or ‘them.’ I am here to escort you to the ceremony.”

I had been warned the Illurians had customs unlike those in Skelda, but I was not expecting to be unsure so soon. I had been barred from meeting any of the Illurians that came to the palace to negotiate, and my mother had mentioned “uncouth” members of the delegates had been sent away soon after discussions had began. I could now hazard a guess as to why.

The person in front of me, for I must assume my initial assessment was wrong, held out their hand.

“Would you do me the honor of allowing me to guide you, your highness?”

Their voice was warm, and their head was tilted slightly. Maybe they were smiling.

My voice had left me, so I nodded again and reached for them.

We walked slowly down the hallway, no one passing or approaching us that I could see. The light changed colors around us as we passed ornately stained windows, and incense burners must have been lit every hundred paces.

“We are approaching a short flight of shallow stairs, your highness.” Leold slowed to walk beside me, allowing me to rest more of my weight on their hand if I needed. As much as I hated being treated as frail, I was touched by their noticing my obscured vision.

Unfortunately, the stairs led to another large set of doors, behind which I could hear the clamoring of many voices.

Leold paused, letting my hand fall. I jumped when their warm palm gently alighted on my elbow.

“Forgive my familiarity, Princess, but no one yet knows we have arrived. We can pause a moment. I know you strode many lengths to reach us.”

I couldn’t help but turn my face to my guide, outline such that they were. “I would appreciate that, kind steward.” My voice left my lips in a whisper.

They stepped away from me, facing the doors. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, praying to the goddess that abandoned me years ago in some vain hope that a great bolt of lightning would strike me down before I reached the wedding shrine.

I exhaled, trying to release my fear with everything in my lungs. It was a good thought, at least. My hands still shook.

My voice was steadier than before as I spoke. “I am ready now, steward. Your kindness is a cool balm on a warm day. My thanks to you.”

Leold opened the great set of doors with a heave, warm air heavy with the smells of roasted meat and sweet incense washing over me. The boisterous chatter inside slowed to a sussuruss of whispers, then silence as I stepped forward.

There was a long, long woven mat rolled out from where I entered to the shrine at the far end of the fortress’ grandest hall. A great crowd of people gathered on either side, sitting where they were close to my path and standing further away. Still I could not see details, but great fires burned behind the shrine, and I could see silhouettes at my destination.

I couldn’t delay. I began to walk forward.

I was reminded of the flowers that had lined the path we arrived on as a few children, giggling, ran out in front of me. They picked the petals off of flowers they held and threw them in the air, letting them fall as they ran back out of the aisle. I heard the embarrassed whispers of parents in the crowds off to the sides. I was scared, still, almost crying, but something about the exuberance of the children and their joy reached my heart.

Each step down the hall was as slow as a nightmare, my heart pounding and jewelry weighing me down. The further down the path I moved, the more the hum of the crowd behind me turned to cheering.

It did not feel like mocking laughter, but it surely was celebratory. Skelda had bent the knee to Illura, and sent its first-born princess as tribute.

Or rather, they had sent me.

I was too close to the shrine and those who awaited me there already. The bag tied to the delicately braided belt around my waist was secure, and I tried to gracefully retrieve the scroll contained within.

When I reached the foot of the stairs up to the shrine, I knelt, presenting the letter. Predictably, I had not been struck down, and now my voice could not fail me.

“Great rulers of Illura, I, Princess Alexandria of Skelda, She Who Wanders as a Comet, come bearing word of our acceptance of your offer of peace. Let it be known that I pledge myself to the land of Illura, that my union to your king and finest warrior may seal this friendship for generations. Please accept this scroll bearing the seal of He Who is the Avatar of the Sun Above, His Highness King Saulor of Skelda.”

There was silence, enough I had a moment to fear that I had offended the Illurians greatly.

Before I could beg forgiveness, a figure separated from the group around the shrine and stepped down to me. He stood above me, but still I could not see much of him. “My name is Eoin, and Illura claims me as her finest warrior. I am honored to meet you, Princess Alexandria. As this is the first of our meetings, please know you may call me ‘he’ or ‘him.’ On behalf of our collective, I accept this letter, and…” All I could make out was that he looked behind himself then back down to me. “And I accept your hand in marriage.”

King Eoin, for this was the man I was intended to wed, took the scroll from me with one hand, then held out his other for myself. I took it, gingerly, and found it warming my nervous fingers through as he led me up the stairs.

Illurian marriage ceremonies had not been condoned within the borders of Skelda, and even with their purple flags now raised above our castle, I had not yet been privy to the specifics of what I would be promising my new husband. I could only hope the words I had never wished to speak to another Skeldari would be binding enough here.

There was one other person besides myself and Eoin at the summit. The priest, or druid perhaps, was tall and willowy with a melodious yet scratchy voice. She spoke first: “Blessed family and friends, welcome all, and let it be known this union between humble Skelda and gracious Illura will be secured not just through the binding of Princess Alexandria and mighty Eoin of the Direbears, but also with the quest to support our new kinsfolk. The delegation from Skelda has arrived with much that will ease our troubles, and they will return with our gifts in kind.”

I knew the tithes asked of our people were great. The most delicate and gossamer spider silks from hours of toil; the finest preserved fruits in colorful and uniquely shaped glass bottles; even roasted coffee beans, a delicacy even among my own people; all sent north to warmer climes with my entourage. I had been told the gifts sent back were riches from the Illuran ports, oils and spices and salts to grace meals I’d never eat.

I hoped it would all turn to ash in their mouths.

As for myself, I came with very little beyond a few sets of plain dresses and underthings, my wedding dress and jewelry, and what few books I could save tucked into the bottom of my small bag. I was not to be rewarded with finery my family could keep for themselves, nor was I to be sent to my punishment with the “foul tools that had lead me astray,” according to my mother. In other words, my shirts and breeches, practice sword and leather arm guards, most of my books of sword forms and fae tales… All my connections to the person that may have become Prince Ashley had been left behind.

More specifically, if the towering funnel of smoke I saw as the palanquin lumbered away had been what I thought, they had been burned in the garden outside what had used to be my rooms.

The king let go of my hand, breaking me from my memories. He reached towards me, and my veil was pulled up and over my head. I blinked.

In another life I might have been happy to court Eoin. He quite honestly was gorgeous. I was close enough to see now that there were streaks of grey through his dark, curling hair. His beard had been trimmed to a point along a broad jaw, and his nose followed a graceful curve. He was dressed plainly, but richly, in a simply cut, deep blue tunic and yellow breeches. The deep ‘V’ of his tunic dipped just low enough to allow some curls of dark chest hair peppered with more grey to be seen. He wasn’t much taller than I, solidly built, thick muscles evident in the lines of his neck and forearms.

Despite his beauty, I could not be even slightly assured of my safety after all that I had been warned of when dismissed to Illura.

To distract myself, I looked behind the druid, who I could now see was a woman with a willowy frame, grey hair streaked with black and white strands, draped in loose purple fabric. She waved her arms as she spoke, the words missing my fearful ears.

Behind her, I could see four great hearths at the shrine, each built of a different type of stone. The leftmost fire burned in a plain marble bowl atop a matching, smooth column. The next blaze was nestled in a crumbling pile of smoky grey rocks. The third was caught in shells and coral, and the final flame was in a swirling sculpture carved of sandstone. The fires were arranged in a half-circle around a well with a very large, very ornamental spool unwound, its rope extended all the way down to the bottom.

“…hear the vows of the bride, that the faces of the sea may look upon her kindly.”

While I had been distracted, the druid had finished her speech and turned to me.

I looked at her, then back at Eoin for only a moment. My gaze dropped to his chest.

For what I said next I could not meet his eyes.

“Great gods and rulers of Illura, forgive my blind ignorance of your customs. My words can only reflect the great light of our terrible sun above. I give to you my life as any Skeldari bride must. Let my actions and rare words be guided by your wisdom and passion. On this altar I forsake my ties to Skelda as its princess and pledge my sunless life to you alone. I seek only your mercy.”

There was a brief silence from those both in front of and behind me. My heartbeat pulsed through my temples, the sound of blood rushing louder than the water churning at the bottom of the well.

The druid looked down her nose at me, eyebrows furrowed.

In contrast, Eoin’s eyes were wide, frowning lips parted like he had been about to speak. He shook his head, then gave me a half-smile.

“Alexandria,” he began. His voice was deep and warm, almost softening the blow of that name. “I understand the deep gravity of our circumstances. You come to us bearing the weight of a great sacrifice, one we all must thank you for endlessly.” His eyes were a deep umber, catching the light of the fires. “I swear to you that I will do all in my power to help you find what home you desire among the Illuran people, with the family and friends I have.”

Eoin turned to look back at the druid at the shrine for a moment, maybe for reassurance, then back to myself. There was a care in the way he considered me that I was not expecting to see from a strange man I had just met, many seasons older than I. “Our customs are quite different from that of the Skeldari, especially because all we have must be for all that falls under our banner. Every Illuran is kith before we meet each other. It is my hope our people will one day be the same to you as well.” He smiled fully, almost sheepishly. “That one day we may be friends.”

I could only stare, a mirror to how he had looked at me after my own vows. It was blunt, but not in the way I expected. He did not seem eager to place his hands on me, to own me as any Skeldari man would leer at his bride. His words were not couched in carefully constructed layers of hidden meaning, but bare. Bare, and maybe even honest.

He hoped that we might one day be friends? Did that mean and no more than that?

There was movement beside me. The druid reached forward, taking our hands and gently laying Eoin’s atop my own. She smiled at Eoin and myself in turn. “Now. May all the faces of the sea, the joy and sorrow they bring in turn, smile upon the two of you.”

She turned away from us to the well behind her. We watched her slowly turn the handle of the pulley, until the rope had wound back around the spool. Carefully, she scooped water from the bucket she’d retrieved, and turned back to us. “Let these waters bless you both, washing away the individuals you used to be, and welcoming Alexandria into our fold.”

I looked at our clasped hands as the druid poured the water over our fingers. It was frigid, and smelled of brine. The water dripped onto the stone below us, spattering my skirts and the tips of my thin slippers. I shivered.

If only I could wash away what I wanted to leave behind about myself.

“One in the water,” the druid intoned solemnly.

Eoin grasped my hand, and repeated after her. I started when his voice was met with every other’s behind us, echoing in the vast chamber. “One in the water.”

A beat too late, I whispered the same.

My fingers and toes felt numb, the cold seeping up my limbs. Before me, Eoin’s face wobbled and went watery.

My knees were not yet so cold that they did not sting when I fell before my new husband and clasped my shaking hands together. There was a great susurrus of gasps behind me, and I winced.

Pitching my voice down in the hopes it would not carry, I pleaded, “Great king of Illura, please hear the one request of your new bride. I know not if your kind words ring true, but I beg of you, please spare me the worst of your divine rage, that I may continue to serve you faithfully for many seasons.” My voice broke before I could say more, and I watched my skirts catch my tears.

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