Aline's hands were trembling, but her feet moved with exacting precision as she completed her dance. She bowed, curtains of raven hair falling to hide the furious blush that had come over her cheeks. It hadn't been perfect. It needed to be perfect if she was going to find a husband at her elder sister's wedding.
The most important men and women in all the Twelve Kingdoms would be there. And, this year, now that she was twenty-one, she would finally be allowed to walk among them rather than hide behind her mother's skirts or peek from faraway balconies. Her father, King Kelini, had expectations for her now. And- Aline looked up, met her father's eyes- she had disappointed him. He was looking at her with such seriousness. She swallowed hard and forced herself to straighten up.
"You will continue to practice." The king's words fell like stone onto the fine marble floors of his throne room.
"Yes, Father." Aline curtseyed, then turned her back on the king and walked out of the room. As briskly as she dared, defying every rule of propriety. She fled. Turned a corner. And crumpled into a ball on the floor.
Servants' feet darted quickly around her as she struggled to wipe away tears. She had failed. The dance wasn't ready. She was nothing like the perfect Crown Princess Cinika. Her sister's courting dance had been nothing short of spectacular, and she'd had her pick of the most handsome princes, lords, dukes, and even kings to choose from. Now, she was marrying the gorgeous King Sutwa, ruler of the Ram Kingdom. A well-built man with muscles bigger than his head, Sutwa was a fine warrior and a lacking diplomat. Cinika would be good for him. She would be his perfect, demure wife, with feet like floating feathers and a mind as sharp as steel.
What would Aline bring? She wasn't as talented as Cinika, wasn't as smart as her mother, wasn't as ruthless as King Kelini.
As she began to spiral into despair, Aline felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw her father's advisor, Chancellor Raingin. A tall, pale, hawkish man with hair of jet and eyes of deep brown, Raingin was often referred to as the Ghost of the Rabbit Kingdom, due to his reputation for stalking around in the dark with a brooding expression.
Right now, though, Raingin was offering her a kind smile and a hand. Aline took it and stood, brushing off her gauzy practice dress.
"I'm sorry you had to see me like that, Chancellor," Aline murmured, dropping into a slight curtsey. Theoretically, Raingin was far below her in the kingdom's ranks, and thus unworthy of even the smallest head nod, but he was her father's advisor, and had a certain power that went officially unacknowledged.
Raingin shook his head. "Think nothing of it, Princess Aline. Your father can be..." he hesitated, his angular face contorting with something akin to doubt. "Rude. Abrupt. Brisk." Raingin offered a rueful grin. "Try not to take it to heart. He wants what's best for you."
Aline glared at him. "He doesn't really care about what I want. He just needs to barter me off to a wealthy or powerful husband. Preferably both. If he has to, though, he'll marry me to grouchy old General Tantrim as a retirement gift!"
Raingin snorted, then swiftly schooled his features back into measured concern. "Princess, your father will not marry you to General Tantrim, I can promise you that." He hesitated again, opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Aline tilted her head. Was that the hint of a blush on Raingin's impossibly pale cheeks? No, that was pretty much impossible.
"He will not," Raingin concluded, nodding with finality. "Come, Princess Aline. I am to teach your lessons today. Your usual tutor has fallen ill. I will be as exacting as she is, so do not let down your guard!"
Aline smiled, and followed Raingin towards the castle library.
They walked in silence, for the most part. Raingin occasionally stopped to share a few words with a passing courier or scribe, and Aline strode purposefully with her chin held high. She was a princess, and thus was not supposed to make eye contact with servants. They were so far below her station, it was as if they were dirt. Her father had told her that. Had drilled it into her repeatedly, in fact, after catching her giggling with a pair of servant girls when she was only twelve.
They stopped at the library and Raingin held the door for her. Aline nodded her head- surely her father couldn't object, if it was his own advisor- and entered first. The small castle library was entirely empty save for the swirling dust dancing lazily in the afternoon light. Raingin sat down in her tutor's usual chair, but Aline remained standing.
Raingin was the farthest thing from a trusted confidante, and yet... she had not one person she could truly speak to honestly. Her maidservants were rotated monthly so that she could befriend none of them. Her mother was a cold, frigid woman who only cared for politicking. Her father was gruff and often cruel. And the Crown Princess Cinika, her beloved sister, had been so distant since her engagement to Sutwa. Aline was bursting with emotion, and had no place to let it out.
Raingin had been kind. Had looked at her, curled up on the floor, without pity. Had offered a hand. It was small, so very small. And he might tell her father everything she said. It didn't matter to her just then.
Aline swallowed. "Raingin," she murmured hoarsely. "I... I don't think I want to get married."
Raingin's head shot up from the book he had been perusing. His eyes were wide. "Princess, what-"
"I don't want to get married!" She was shouting. She coughed, lowered her voice. "Raingin. I don't want to dance in front of a crowd of old men knowing one of them is going to-" she lowered her voice to a bare whisper- "bed me."
In a fluttering of robes, Raingin was standing over her, looking down his long nose. "Aline. More quietly, or someone will hear." The man opened his mouth. Seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then, his jaw set, and he placed a thin finger lightly over her lips.
Aline jolted. His finger was cold, but her lips felt hot where he had touched her. Unbidden, her own fingers rose to her face. Brushed the spot. She felt her face redden. What the hell was she thinking? This was her father's advisor. A twenty-eight year old man. Young for the post, yes, and she had to admit he was attractive in a rather severe, pointy way, but... Aline bit her lip.
She hadn't masturbated in three weeks, since the dance practice had begun. Her bedroom had been filled with new faces, day and night. Maidservants, dancing tutors, seamstresses, couriers, painters. The list went on and on. She was simply pent up, that was all.
"Well?"Raingin spoke, and Aline started. She had forgotten everything she was speaking about. "Aren't you going to continue?"
She looked up, into his face, ready to glare at him, but when she saw the half-smirk he wore, she looked back down. Her cheeks were crimson-red.
"Shit." Raingin cursed.
"Wh-" Aline's voice was silenced as the chancellor placed one cold finger under her chin and tilted her face up so that her gaze met his.
