My armour is not one of steel.

Chapter Six

"The second son? A second son! I don't believe this. My father won't allow this!"

In case you are unaware of the system most royal families work under I will explain to you. When a king dies the oldest son will inherit. Then his son. Then his son. And only when there is no more sons the second son inherits. In short that means in marrying a second son I would never become the queen I was raised to be.

"You are a mutation. Not worthy of the Heirs hand," he tugged my white hair, pulling a handful out. So naturally, I turned and slapped him.

That was when he pulled out his sword.

The blade was thin and easily hid in the folds of his cloak, the light hilt of bronze glinted in the candle light as he pressed the weapon to my throat.

"Now you listen to me my girl..." his drawl made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as he hissed into my ear.

"You are going to marry the Prince. And you will obey every single thing he orders with out question or I will personally end your worthless, mutated existence slowly and painfully."

He paused for what seemed like eternity as the bite of the blade stung my vulnerable throat.

"Now go to your room. Put on the gown laid out for you. Get yourself as pretty as possible, which I know must be a challenge for someone like you, and go and meet your betrothed in the left wing drawing room."

He released me with a look of smug success at my shaking hands; the smirk fell as I drew myself to my full height and sweeped a curtsy my mother would have been proud of.

I swept out with the airs of a Queen and straight to my chambers. I smiled at the single handmaiden as I picked up the gown laid out for me.

It was a gown of a sickly green with pale yellow underskirts and petticoats. No embroidery in sight; most unflattering for my hair and skin colour. It was almost as if they were trying to make me seem as drab as possible.

I turned to the girl holding up the gown. She was a pretty child of around eleven, her brown waved hair stuck out in messy tufts under her clean pressed muffin cap.

"Now darling, this will never do."

I paused, smirking.

"I'll show them that they've bought more than they've bargained for," with a flourish I pulled out a gown from my own chest. Dark red, like the blood that stained the path and my heart I was sure to hold as my own; with white petticoats to show my pure and untamed spirit. All embroidered with gold, to show the queen I was born to be.

Turning to the girl I smile with cool collected confidence, "this is my armour... and I am ready for battle."