The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Thirty-Six

One thing that the princess had not expected to learn about herself, was that she was an excellent actress. Despite a life-time of deportment and elocution lessons, she was fitting into the role of 'run-away servant' very well. She let her shoulders slump forward and her mouth hang open, she even touched her neck, rubbing the back while she rolled her head around, just as she had seen women do when carrying heavy loads.

Her new travelling companion did not appear to be paying her much attention, which she took to be proof of her great skill. The thought of his expression if he ever found out he was walking beside the crown princess of Serrador made her crow delightedly inside.

"So, what are you then?" she said, trying out her new accent. He frowned, as if torn from some inner debate and looked at her in surprise. Perhaps the accent wasn't as good as she had hoped. "What I meant was, what is your profession?"

"Profession? Well, I suppose you might call me a procurer."

"Like a merchant?" Trade. How disappointing. Although, the princess reasoned, trade was necessary. It kept her people busy, and work was beneficial to the souls of those inferior minds incapable of great learning.

"Yeah. Kinda. Although I tend to work to order. Speciality items you might say."

"Like what?" She paused, trying to get her breath back. John was walking at an alarming pace, striding on even though the past mile had been up an alarmingly steep hill.

"All sorts. Herbs. Fairies. Whatever people need." As if realising his audience had slipped away he turned. The princess clutched at her hip, trying not to contemplate how red and unattractive her face must look.

John grinned.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said, flicking her hand at him.

"Like what?" He was still grinning.

She rolled her eyes and with a great surge of effort, starting walking again. John, clearly doing his best to infuriate her, decided to walk backwards, so that he could watch her torment.

"Must you always be so..." she paused, searching for the words. "So infuriatingly agreeable."

He opened his arms, tipping his head back to the sun. "Why not? It's a fine day and we're out in the fresh air, getting exercise. What could be better?"

It must be different for the peasants, the princess supposed. They had a limited understanding of the world. Perhaps if she had no knowledge of good wine, fine silks, and poetry, she could find joy in clumping around in the countryside too. But travelling by foot was so infernally slow. She could have travelled ten times this distance if she had her hunter, the landscape would have flowed under the mare's beating legs like music.

As it was, her feet burnt as blisters rubbed against her shoes, her arms were draped with the heavy weight of her skirts, and the skull clunked against her ribs with every step.

"What is that thing?" he asked, eyeing the heavy lump in her shawl.

The princess shot him a look of pure hatred, and gathering up her strength stormed ahead, overtaking him. Behind her, she could hear him laughing easily as she struggled to keep up the pace.

At the top of the hill, she stopped, allowing herself the chance to catch her breath. There, laid out before her in a perfect patchwork, was her kingdom. Tiny villages lay nestled between the fields, joined together by winding brown roads. For the first time she felt it was hers. The land belonged to her, utterly. And she was not going to let anyone take it from her.

Just as she started forward, John grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him. Before she could catch her breath she crashed into his chest. She tried to push him away, but found herself spinning with him, as if they were dancing. She let out a scream of rage, and aimed kicks at his ankles until he eventually let her go.