The Hunted Princess

DARKNESS

The pitter-patter.

Hurried steps and the splashes caused by stepping on pools of flooded grass.

The smell of sweat.

Bouncing, gasps of somebody moving despite being out of breath.

A hiss of pain.

Darkness...

More movement, now it feels like floating sideways on something hard.

The smell of sand and horses, of stale bread and simple water.

A gentle hand caressing my head.

Warmth.

Darkness...

Darkness...

I...

When I come to my senses, I'm lying on something soft yet firm, like one of the mattresses of the barracks where I used to sneak in to rest after practice. The air smells pristine, sweet and delicious like only the countryside can provide; I can also hear the birds chirping nearby.

In the room's silence that is only broken by my breathing and the rustling of my clothes against the bedsheets as I move, I open my eyes to stare at an unfamiliar ceiling. The ceiling, made of cut rock instead of square bricks like the castle, has a grey color with small white dots, and as I look on, I even spot some small roots growing from it.

My head feels woozy as I look around the small airy and clean room where I lay. There are no other beds, but there is a desk and a chair with many objects lying on top. A weathered, green travel cape, a leather bag, a sword inside a red and white sheathe, and a pair of reddish well-worn boots.

The pain thwarted my wish to rise and look coursing through my head and torso.

"Ugh!" I can't help but groan, wondering what happened. Was I taken down by an instructor? There are very few who can stand up to my level, but I heard there were still many accomplished swordsmen in the world. Perhaps Father finally called in some favors and got me a new instructor?

But if so..., why didn't I remember anything beyond the party?

Vivid memories are swimming inside my head of the smell of food and wine, the many dresses and colors, the music and even sharing a dance or two with some people, and then nothing.

Nothing at all.

Strange.

My hand moves gingerly to my head where, to nobody's surprise, I find a thick layer of bandages. Dragging my fingers back to my nose, I find they smell like poultice and some other herbs I have never experienced.

Just to check, I make a small effort to move my head forward so that I can look at my body.

Thankfully, nothing is missing, but where there would normally be a shirt, now there are only bandages.

The teacher my father hired must have had me at a serious disadvantage if I was injured as thoroughly as I am.

The sound of steps alerts me to someone closing in on the room, and I drop my head back and close my eyes, feigning sleep like I always do whenever someone catches me in bed. I used to do it all the time as a child so that I could prank my siblings, but the habit stuck even as I grew up and it was now a second nature.

A door to my left opens and I hear two people walk in. They are arguing in hushed voices.

"...and I tell you. I will not let any 'strange men', your words, 'waltz into this room', your words too." A woman said in a frustrated tone. "We abide by the strictest code of conduct and the hypocritic bow. No man will enter," She halts her progress into the room to, apparently, stop the other person from coming closer "and that includes you."