Once a Princess

"Johnes. No. It's a mistake, my uncle won't allow it. He... he..." Lucie couldn't finish her thought. She was stunned, and had been since the ceremony. After the prince had made his proclamation her uncle, who she could tell was almost as shocked as she was, had abruptly ended the ceremony and the procession had filed out. He hadn't said no or made any outcry about the prince's decision, simply nodding and saying "so be it." But she had no doubt that he was in a flurry somewhere in the castle right now, surrounded by advisors and stewards, all trying to determine if this was in line with the agreement, or how he could change the foreign prince's choice.

Now Johnes was pulling her along through the halls, which were full of people preparing for the ceremony. It all seemed ridiculous to Lucie: obviously no ceremony was going ahead. Everything had gone terribly wrong and her uncle was going to banish her, treaty be damned. Maybe once he'd done that he would give the Morganian prince a chance to choose a daughter, properly this time.

"I mean... I'm not a princess. He was supposed to choose a princess!"

Johnes was barely listening to her, rushing ahead of her through the halls and dragging her hand behind him.

"Johnes! I'm not going, am I? He's wrong, my uncle will stop it!"

At the panic in her voice, Johnes stopped ahead of her and turned to face her.

"Lucie. My dear... no one was expecting this, obviously. But you are a princess of Sarren, and that it what the treaty set out. The prince will wed a princess of Sarren and the trade route will be secured." His voice was soft and calm. But his eyes betrayed him. He took a deep, steadying breath. "I don't know what the king will do. You've done nothing wrong. He won't want to anger the Morganians."

Johnes was oversimplifying things. Lucie couldn't imagine the king letting something so offensive just happen!

"For now, Lucie, you have to get ready. Until we hear otherwise, you are getting married this afternoon."

~

Across the castle's sweeping sandstone ramparts, in a chamber set with dark red drapes and heavy wooden furniture, Ingram was being cajoled by his advisors. This turn of events had been unexpected by all, and Ingram had not taken it well, seizing his goblet as soon as he entered the room and throwing it against the wall, spilling wine over the floor like dark blood oozing into the crevices of the stone.

Loosely arranged around where the king now sat, spread in his chair with head in hands, the advisors spoke in hushed tones, poring over the letter that had announced the treaty, pretending that they knew the right thing to do either. Morgania was much more powerful than Sarren, both in their military capabilities and their political sway, and this marriage was their last recourse to maintain open sea channels for trade and defense. Of course, it was not ideal that the princess chosen wasn't one of Ingram's daughters, but the cousin was an appropriate choice; that is what the laws and the treaty lying on the desk between them all set out.

You have no choice, Your Majesty...

She is a viable bride...

We would be foolish to anger the Morganians when this deal was so harshly fought and won...

The advisors all opined the same thing, and eventually Ingram was persuaded down from his rage to begrudgingly accept the situation.

His niece would marry the prince, and the deal would be kept.

~

Johnes and Lucie had eventually met Mirtha in the base of the princesses' turret, where he had passed Lucie onto her, muttering that she needed to be made ready. Mirtha now began pulling Lucie along as Johnes had, and Lucie was bewildered by their shared ability to carry on as though this wasn't insane. How did Mirtha even know where to take her? She hadn't been in this tower since she was a child.

"Where are we going?"

"To the dressing chamber. Everything we will need is there."

Lucie pulled her hand from Mirtha's, forcing her to stop and whirl around onto her.

"But what am I supposed to... to do?"

The idea of actually marrying the prince was madness. Not an option. Maybe Johnes thought it was but Lucie knew her uncle- he wouldn't allow it.

"Well. You have to marry the prince," Mirtha replied, her matter of fact tone defying the pinched worry Lucie saw in her face.

"Mirtha, you know that's crazy, don't you? I can't! I'm not the one who is supposed to go! I'm not even really a princess!"

Mirtha's frown turned to a look of anger. "Yes, you are! The prince is right about that, at least. You have just as much right as any of Ingram's girls to be considered. And the prince has chosen. Wisely, if I do say so myself." She softened, seeing Lucie's distress. "Sweetheart. You don't have a choice. I wish I had more to tell you. I don't know what will happen this afternoon- I'm not sure anyone considered this happening. But for now, as far as we know it, there will be a wedding and you are the bride. We have to carry on as planned."

Lucie choked back tears, overwhelmed by everything that was happening. Mirtha was so good to her and her perspective always provided so much comfort; how could it be that she was suddenly going to be taken from her and forced into this new reality? Her voice broke as she tried to speak.

"Can you come too, Mirtha? On that boat, if I have to go?"

"Oh, sweet child." The older woman gathered Lucie up into her arms, shushing her softly as the tears broke and fell onto her best dress. She moved them into an alcove off the hallway where they sat on a bench and swayed together. "You know I wish I could. I don't know what I'll do without you. But you will be alright. You will be better off than you ever were here, that's for sure." Mirtha stroked the tears off of Lucie's face, pinched her cheeks like she used to as a child. "And, it doesn't hurt that your prince is a handsome one. My goodness, you're lucky, girl. You should have seen the last one who sailed in. You would've jumped into the bay and swam off to Dalfor rather than go on that boat with him!" Lucie laughed through her tears, Mirtha's joke having the desired effect.

"I suppose he's not a bad husband to have from that perspective..." Lucie trailed off, an unfamiliar sick feeling sinking into her stomach. She knew why Mirtha thought it was good he was handsome. She knew that a wedding meant consummating a marriage but not many more details. She'd heard talk about it from other young women around the castle, of course, and one night by the fire in the kitchen with all the scullery maids gathered around, Meera, who had got married to one of the stable boys last year, had waxed poetical about how awful her wedding night had been, going into details that made Lucie squirm uncomfortably. Now Meera had a little baby, an adorable little girl that Meera said was the only good thing to come out of her marriage bed. And now it was Lucie's turn for... that. She chewed on her nail as she thought of everything Meera had said, a crease appearing between her brows. She wanted to ask so many questions, be reassured by the matronly woman who had been her only mother figure. But Mirtha had already stood again, focused once more on her task. Lucie forced the thought down and allowed herself to be pulled along towards the dressing chamber.

~

Hader strode into the quarters the Sarrenians had prepared for him and threw off his furs, already feeling oppressed by the sticky, crushing heat of this place. Behind him his advisor, Ruthus, hurried into the room. He already knew what Ruthus was thinking.

"Hader. That wasn't what we discussed. The king is not going to be happy with this choice-"

"Ruthus. I know, and I don't care. The deal was a princess, I've chosen a princess."

"Yes, you're technically right." This conversation was doing nothing to ease the frown on the older man's face. "But Hader... It's not what the spirit of the deal was."

Hader scoffed. "Why do you care so much about the spirit of the deal? The king is a coward, he is lucky we agreed to this deal in the first instance. He knows we could have taken those seas regardless. The deal is just a token."

"Hader, I just think you should have chosen one of his daughters..." Ruthus rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "Things would be much smoother if you'd just chosen one of the daughters."

Hader grinned at his friend, who had long suffered with trying to advise the headstrong prince. Hader had known of course that the thirteenth princess was the kings niece, and knew that despite the lore of Sarennia, the expectation was to choose a daughter of Ingram's to wed. He had planned to ask for the thirteenth to be brought out, but would ultimately choose one of Ingrams daughters. That was what they had discussed.

"Perhaps, but it wouldn't have been near as much fun, would it? And you saw her. I had been planning to listen to you, I had Ruthus. But how could I not have chosen her?"

The other princesses were beautiful, sure. But they looked so similar to Morganian women, their colouring almost the same, apart from the pale skin. And they were tall like Morganian women too. Twelve raven haired ivory skinned beauties, so similar you could mistake one for the other. But the thirteenth princess... she was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Where her cousins were tall and brunette, she was petite and golden haired. He could pick her up in one arm, he thought. Closely followed by the thought of how much fun he could have doing it. Her skin was fair but glowed with a lustrous undertone that mimicked the golden red of her hair. Certainly, she was not as well kept as the sisters; that was given away not just by her slight frame, but also her well worn gown, so thin in places it was as if it were gossamer. As he'd taken her in, he'd even thought he could see the rosy tint of her nipples through the unintentionally sheer bodice, rising and falling with her shallow, nervous breaths. He hadn't been able to help himself but look at her eyes, tilting her chin up and taking in the sea-glass green for the shy second she gazed back up at him. She had freckles too, scattered across the bridge of her upturned nose, that spoke of time spent in the water under the hot sun. As soon as he'd seen her face, he'd made up his mind. She was what the Sarennians of old looked like in the stories read to him as a boy; delicate golden creatures from this sun-drenched island. And here was one, a honeyed beauty offered up to him in a diaphanous dress. He didn't have a choice.

Ruthus made a noise in his throat, half laugh and half defeated sigh. "Well... I can't argue with you there Hader."

~

Lucie stood on a small dressing box inside one of the spare chambers in the princesses' turret on the east side of the castle, one she hadn't been in since she was a little girl. It was the room that had been prepared for dressing the chosen bride. Mirtha faced her, and behind her several maids were in a flurry of activity. Lucie had been shocked to see them there when they arrived; her uncle must have allowed them to be sent. But that would mean that he was permitting the wedding, and she still couldn't believe he truly would. Nonetheless, here she was, in this chamber with these maids bringing various dresses forward from a delicate wardrobe at the back of the room. There were twelve dresses in total. One prepared for each girl, in case they were the chosen one.

Best laid plans, Lucie thought dully. All these dresses and none for the bride.

The chambermaids of the chosen princess would likely have dressed her, the Queen standing by to ensure she was perfectly lovely, but Lucie had no chambermaids, had no dress. Instead, Mirtha evaluated each dress as it was brought out and slipped over Lucie's head, tutting as she did.

"You're much shorter than Priana, but it'll be easy enough to take the dress up, and there'll be less to take in," Mirtha mused, pinching and tugging at a fold of excess fabric at Lucie's waist. "Odella, bring Priana's dress! That will be the closest fit. My God, girl, have I not been feeding you enough? You look like a waif in this dress."

Again, that bodice was slipped off and another on, while Lucie cooperated in shocked silence.

"This foreign prince better like bones. Although if he didn't he should have chosen Pendel! I was so sure he would, she's the most beautiful of the sisters. And we all know how the Morganian men are. Not that you're not beautiful, of course Lucie, your face is just angelic. But the Morganians are used to more... well..." she faffed at the bodice of Priana's dress, which hung loose around Lucie's chest and hips. She wasn't completely flat, but her breasts were definitely smaller than her cousins and her hips not as womanly. It didn't help that despite Mirtha's best efforts, she was underfed; they all were. That was the whole point of this treaty. The whole reason she was being given to this prince, why she was going to have to be the one getting onto the ship and...

The thought of it set that thick snake of anxiety moving in her belly again.

Mirtha seemed to sense her thoughts spiral, as she was so good at doing, and stopped fussing with the dress to run her hands down Lucie's arms.

"What is it, girl? You've gone elsewhere again."

How could Lucie even answer that question? She stood with her mouth opened, closed it again, faltering to speak.

"I just.... I'm nervous. For what comes after. Tonight."

Mirtha understood immediately. She'd been married once, to a kind and loving carriage master husband who'd been killed in the same battle that took Lucie's father. She knew about a bride's nerves for her wedding night.

"Well, that's normal. It is a new experience, and that will always be frightening." She sighed, seemingly weighing up what to tell versus what to withhold. "I won't tell you that it will be easy, because it might not. It has the potential be painful, and some young women find it very much so. But some find that it's not so bad, and if the husband is kind and cares for the wife it might even be enjoyable. It will be easier if you try to relax, both your muscles and your thoughts. Just let what needs to happen happen, trust your body and know women have been doing it for hundreds of years without issue. You'll be fine, sweet girl."

The knot in her stomach somewhat relieved by the older woman's advice, Lucie rested her head on Mirtha's shoulder.

"Thank you, Mirtha. You always make me feel better."

"You're welcome, sweet girl. Now," she held up the fabric of the dress. "This will have to do. Odella, bring the sewing kit. We need to take it up and in some. And do we have any ribbon? Perhaps we can cinch it a little here..."

Whilst the maids and Mirtha worked on altering the dress, Lucie was being bathed, soaked and scrubbed to within an inch of her life by a procession of maids armed with the sweetest smelling concoctions she'd ever used. Is this how it feels to be a princess? she thought. If so, she could get used to it.

A woman who was clearly Morganian was next to descend upon her, pressing a warm substance that looked like honey onto her skin, smoothing it along and then ripping it off, bringing her hair with it. Lucie cried out the first times it happened, but as she carried on was able to grit her teeth against the pain. The woman did this to all the hair on Lucie's body, including (much to Lucie's embarrassment) the curls between her legs. The maids averted their gaze appropriately, but Lucie could feel their fascination, the foreignness of this Morganian taste intriguing them.

Once smooth, clean and dried off, Lucie was rubbed in a sweetly scented oil, her hair smoothed with the same. Some rouge tint was applied to her lips and cheeks, and, at the Morganian maid's direction, her nipples too. The suggestion of why made that now familiar coil of anxiety return in the pit of Lucie's stomach. She forced it down.

Her hair was done in an elaborate style, braids crossing over one another and fixed in multiple pins, some hidden and some decorative. Finally, the wedding dress that Mirtha had taken up was pulled over her head. When the maids turned her to look at herself in the mirror glass beside the window, she was stunned. Lucie knew she was pretty; she'd been told many times that she took after her mother in that way, and her mother had been the most beautiful woman she knew. But Lucie wasn't manicured and brushed to perfection, not like her princess cousins, softened by years of lavish care in a tower without sun or wind or work. But there, in her white gossamer dress that draped effortlessly off her frame, gazing into that mirror against the glistening sandstone wall of the chamber, she looked every bit the princess.

"Lucie," Mirtha breathed. "You're so beautiful."

For the first time in her life, Lucie felt it.

Just then bells began to toll out from across the city, indicating the fourth hour, and the momentary spell was broken. Lucie whipped her head to the window, watching the curtains flow and float in the breeze, billowing out towards the city that, as of tonight, wouldn't be her home any longer. The faded pastel rooftops and glistening blue sea beyond had been her world for her whole life, and she was leaving it. Fighting back a resurgence of her tears, Lucie turned to Mirtha.

"I suppose we're ready, then?"

Mirtha nodded slowly, biting back her own tears.

It was time for Lucie to marry the prince.