"The taste of your lips is true satisfaction and pleasure. Hence your name is Zevki"
Francesca Fortuna is the unlucky sister of Isabella Fortuna, princess of Spain. Francesca is condemned to a marriage she doesn't want, and the only way out of it is...
"¿Dondé está mi hija?" My mom yelled as I bit my lip. Where is my daughter? she had asked, in our native tongue of Spanish of course. I could hear footsteps getting ever closer in the hallway as I tensed up in my hiding place.
My hiding place was...The closet. The only place I could get away within our palace, the Alcázar of Madrid. I sighed as I knew I was going to be caught soon. I was never given a break and this time, it was a desperate attempt to escape my inevitable fate as a princess: marriage.
"Princesa Francesca Fortuna, come out right now!" My mother barked as I solemnly walked treaded out of the closet and to the hall where my mother was standing, with her arms crossed over her chest. And of course, my brat of a twin sister, Isabella, was with her. I bowed.
"Lo siento, madre," I murmured, my voice trembling slightly. I did have a hint of sarcasm in there though, because to be honest, I was sick of playing hide and go seek with her at every one of our palaces whenever she wanted something from me.
My mother, Queen Isabella, looked down at me with a mixture of exasperation and concern, her emerald eyes piercing through the dim light of the hallway. She was a beautiful woman, and it made sense why my father fell in love with her. Besides her being a noblewoman too of course.
"Francesca, this is not a game. You know how important this meeting is," she said, her tone softening slightly. "The Duke of Aragon is waiting in the grand hall. You cannot keep him waiting any longer."
Isabella smirked beside her, clearly enjoying my discomfort. She was always the obedient one, the perfect princess, while I struggled with the constraints of our royal duties. I was the elder twin, and yet everyone always treated me as though it was the other way around. Convenient for Isabella, not so much for me.
"Yes, Madre," I replied, straightening up and smoothing down my dress. The heavy, velvet gown felt suffocating, its intricate embroidery a reminder of the weight of my responsibilities.
Spanish clothes these days were suffocating, especially for us woman. I yearn for a day where we can wear more...open clothes, without constraint. Still modest things, as we are devout Catholics, but just something a little more comfy out and about.
As we walked down the grand staircase, my heart pounded in my chest. The thought of marriage, of being tied to someone I barely knew, filled me with dread.
I'm hardly 20. I knew some people might say I'm practically a spinster, but it was still considerably young. I am in no position to get married yet anyways.
I had heard stories of other princesses, trapped in loveless marriages for the sake of alliances and power. I didn't want that fate. Some princesses were even condemned to marry ugly noblemen. Ew.
The grand hall was filled with courtiers and nobles, all eyes turning towards me as I entered. At the far end, near the throne, stood the Duke of Aragon. He was tall and imposing, with a stern face and piercing blue eyes. He bowed slightly as I approached, and I curtsied in return. He was, from what I heard, about a decade older than I, about 30-ish. Ew. Old. That's all I could think of that.
"Your Grace," I said, forcing a smile.
"Princess Francesca Fortuna, it is an honor," he replied, his voice deep and formal. He reached out to take my hand, and I had to fight the urge to pull away. Disgusting, honestly. His grip was firm and unyielding.
"Shall we take a walk in the gardens?" he suggested, and I nodded, unable to find my voice.
As we strolled through the palace gardens, the scent of blooming roses filling the air, I struggled to make conversation. The Duke seemed content with silence, occasionally glancing at me with an inscrutable expression.
"Do you enjoy the gardens, Your Grace?" I asked, desperate to break the silence. I wasn't one to talk with icky, 10-years-older-than-me strange men, but I'm trying my best here.
"They are quite lovely," he replied, his tone distant. "But I am more interested in getting to know you, Princess."
His cringey line almost made me blush for no apparent reason. I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. "What would you like to know?"
He stopped walking and turned to face me, his gaze intense. "What are your thoughts on our future together?"
It hit me. I knew that our marriage was inevitable- it had been planned for several years now, but... it just seemed too soon for me. Again, I'm only 20 years old.
I hesitated to respond, my mind racing. "I believe that...our union will be beneficial for both our kingdoms," I said carefully, reciting the words my mother had drilled into me.
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Yes, of course my responses are scripted.
The Duke's expression softened slightly. "I am aware of the political advantages, but I am more interested in your personal feelings. Do you truly wish for this marriage?"
His question caught me off guard. No one had ever asked me how I felt about the arrangement. Not even my own family, let alone this practically stranger. I looked down at the ground, unsure of how to respond.
"Honestly, Your Grace, I do not know you well enough to have an opinion," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. "I appreciate your honesty, Princess. Perhaps in time, we will come to understand each other better."
I nodded. "God willing."
Without any further words, the Duke escorted me back to the palace and I retreated to my rooms undisturbed by any other people.
____________
That evening, as I prepared for bed, Isabella burst into my chamber, her eyes alight with excitement.
"Francesca, you must tell me everything! What did the Duke say? Do you think he likes you?" she asked, her words tumbling out in a rush. This was, random. Isabella actually cares?
I sighed, sitting down at my vanity. "He is...different than I expected. He seems kind, in his own way."
Isabella's face fell slightly. "Oh, I was hoping for some grand romance," she said wistfully. This infuriated me. Of course my twin sister, also 20 years old might I add, could say such things, knowing our parents were nowhere near planning a union for her.
"This is not a fairy tale, Isabella," I replied, my tone sharper than I intended. "This is real life, and we must do our duty."
She looked taken aback, then nodded slowly. "I suppose you are right. But still, I hope you find some happiness in it."
"Thank you," I said softly, touched by her words. Despite our differences, Isabella was still my sister, and she did care for me in her own way. I suppose.
