The Lost Princess

Chapter 3 || Naive or Foolish

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The sun's rays forced me from my uneasy sleep, leaving me confused and disoriented on the hard ground. Where am I? Did I fall asleep in the garden? As I shift, I realize my wrists are bound!

No. No. No. The events swirl in my memory like an unwelcome push into an ice-cold bath. The faint scent of lavender, a remnant of my perfume, mingles with the unfamiliar earthy smells around me. 'Tis so different from the carefully tended flowers of the castle gardens.

"I see you are finally awake," says a familiar voice. 'Tis that voice!

Though my eyes are still adjusting to the harsh light of day, I glare at the man, yanking at the bonds that hold me fast. The coarse rope scratches my skin, so unlike the soft silks I'm accustomed to. There is little I can do, tethered to a wooden post like a common beast. The rough texture of the rope is a reminder of how far I am from the comforts of my chambers.

He laughs softly, and if I weren't fuming, I might describe the sound as melodic. 'Tis a stark contrast to the harsh bark of the castle guards or the affected titters of the courtiers. The sound mingles with the rustle of leaves and the distant call of unfamiliar birds, creating a symphony so unlike the carefully orchestrated music of the royal halls.

"Oh Princess, you're so..." He pauses, considering the best word to describe me. He raises one of his large, tanned hands to pat his chin in contemplation. The sight of his sun-darkened skin is foreign to me, so different from the pale, unblemished hands of those who dwell within the castle walls. His fingers, I notice, are calloused and strong, speaking of a life lived beyond the shelter of stone fortresses and silken gloves.

"Delicate," he finally decides, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. The word hangs in the air between us. I have never been filled with such vexation as I do in this moment. Who is this man to taunt me so?

The audacity of this sun-bronzed brute, with his unrefined manner, to label me thus! I, who have borne the weight of royal expectations without complaint, who have faced the shadow of illness with quiet strength. The familiar ache in my chest flares, as if to remind me of the daily battle I wage against my own body.

I think of the vials of medicine Idean had urged me to take, now far beyond my reach in my chambers. Would she call me delicate, knowing the fortitude it takes to face each day? The metallic taste of blood threatens to rise in my mouth, but I swallow it back, refusing to show weakness before this impudent captor.

"Do not struggle; we wouldn't want you to break, would we, little flower?" he adds, his voice a mixture of mockery and something else I cannot quite discern.

The pet name, "little flower," brings to mind the carefully tended gardens of my home. How different they are from this wild place, where flowers grow unbidden and untamed.

I snarl at him, longing more than anything to wipe that smug look off his face. But alas, even if he doesn't realize it, he's right in ways he cannot fathom. I am weakening by the moment, the lack of my usual remedies taking its toll. Yet, I am more than my illness, more than the delicate princess he perceives.

I am Arabella Ravencroft, heir to Eralibaen, and though I may be bound by ropes, I am far from broken. I straighten my back, ignoring the protest of my aching body. My discomfort only aids in igniting the spark of defiance within me.

"Why-" I begin, my words dripping with venom, but then I stop myself. I should conduct myself in a more "Princess-like" manner, as I've been taught. Taking a breath, I compose myself before continuing, "Why are you acting so cruelly?" I ask, curiosity lacing my words. How could someone from a kingdom as lovely as Eralibaen be so terrible? Or is it that the Eralibaen I know exists only within the confines of the castle walls?