Princesa (gxg)

1: An Introduction

A gentle wind kisses my face as I lean against my window pane. The night air is crisp, and although it's freezing out with the inch or so of snow on the lawns, the sharp pricks it leaves on my nose and cheeks gives me something to feel. I breathe in the cold and it burns my lungs, leaving me breathless. The wind presses against me, and my eyes begin to fill with tears as it dries them out. I close them, letting a tear fall and dry on my frozen skin.

The grounds are so pretty this time of year; when the first snowfall blankets the grass but the blades still poke through, desperate to stay above air just a little longer. The horses have been given their coats, yet many of them remain in the barn. Only Old Stan paws through the snow, munching slowly at the last blades. It's like he knows he's going to have to settle for dried feed, and he's wanting one last good meal before the snow completely ruins his pantry.

I listen to the cries of the battle over the treetops. It's miles away, but the sounds of weapons clashing together at such force reach the castle walls. The booms of artillery and hisses of fire are muted but still, I hear them.

My eyes close again, and I pull my legs up to my chest and hug them close. I rest my chin on my knees, running my fingertips over pale goosebump-covered shins. I'm cold, but I'm grateful for it. Everyone in my life has only ever kept me warm. Always a fire in the room I'm in, always a guard holding a blanket or a cloak, always a carriage to transport me in the winter instead of riding horseback. It's not just me, it's my whole family. Always requesting warmth because of their cold hearts. Always needing extra just because they can have it.

I sit in the silence, allowing myself the cold.

I don't hear the clammer of metal until it's right in front of me.

My eyes snap open just in time to see a large figure burst through my open window. I don't have time to scream for the guard behind my door. The heavy clash of armor rings across my wood floor and echoes up my walls, forcing me to cover my ears instinctively. The figure scrambles on the ground, falling into a crouch in the patch of moonlight that streams through the window.

Thick armor scrapes against itself, covering their legs, torso, arms. A dented helmet covers their face, leaving me to look at bright and fearful brown eyes and a panting mouth. Dual swords are at either side of their hips, sheathed in heavy leather with embossed figures I can't make out in the dark. Chainmail sits under the armor, swishing aggressively as the figure sways on the ground. A hand is stretched out in front of them, fingers splayed on the ground for balance as the other is on one of the sword hilts. Black wrap curls around the wrists, palms, and knuckles. The hand shifts that's on the ground, and it smears a dark smudge on the wood.

Blood, I realize.

I look closer at them and a flash of crimson sparkles in the moonlight. Their armor is splattered with it, the wrap is not black from dye, but from blood soaking through. I open my mouth, drawing in a breath to scream for the guard, but the figure jumps up in front of me. They slap a blood-soaked hand to my lips, the wrap of their palm seeping into my skin and I inhale the smell of iron. They wrap around behind me, standing with legs spread so my feet are between them, their other hand snakes around my waist and stomach, crushing me against the hard armor.

It's cold. But it's a good cold.

My guard finally knocks on the door, not entering in the protection of my privacy.

"Your Highness? Everything alright?" he calls through the door.

The figure holding me tenses, holding me tighter. "Send him away or I'll slit your throat," they growl, close in my ear.

I nod, tears running down my face, and they release their hand slowly.

"All is well, Devolt. Just knocked over some jewelry."