Forever and a Thousand Times

Chapter One: No Choice

Within the utterance of three words, the day had become a plague upon Ismene's soul. She gripped the arrow and string, pulling them back just below eye level. Her arm muscles burned at the effort, but she'd prefer that pain any day to the dread squeezing her heart. After a deep breath, she released the string and screamed one long, anguished cry that tore at her throat, leaving it raw and clogged with unshed tears. The arrow whizzed along the short rock wall and thwacked the old cypress beyond the turn of the stone.

The murmuring buzz of crickets paused only for the briefest second to acknowledge her misery. The lazy pasture beyond the wall, forever swaying in the breeze, took no notice whatsoever of her crumbling world. How could the whole of creation not recognize the injustice?

She imagined this barrier of mossy stone was all that stood between her and freedom. "Climb over and run. That simple." The words, when whispered, sounded even more ill-advised than they'd been in her head, but Ismene could almost—very nearly—see herself doing it.

With another heavy sigh, she let her bow and last arrow rest against her skirts in a loose grip and wandered aimlessly along the worn path, picking at dried stalks of grass. The world around her didn't exist anymore as her thoughts consumed her.

Being the daughter of a lord of Taisce meant these moments of solitude were few and far between; being princess of Taisce—wed to the future king no less—surely meant having none at all.

Unwelcome tears blinded her, but she didn't bother to wipe them away. Instead, she stopped and sank to the wall, leaning over to rest her head on her folded arms. Hot tears soaked through her sleeves, and if she were upon the sea, her body would sink like a stone.

Head still resting upon her arms, a nuzzling and soft lips pulled at her hair. A huff of warm breath mingled in, and Ismene let herself indulge in a small smile despite her dread of the future. Lifting her face, she reached out with her hand to stroke the horse's muzzle.

"You think a little attention will make me feel better?"

Rising Wind, Ismene's own beautiful stallion, huffed and stamped in reply, dipping his head as if to nod. Ismene wiped the tears from her face and sat on the rocks, her heart lifting at the presence of her friend.

"Well, thank you for caring. I'm beginning to think you're the only one who does." Her smile fell at the thought, but Rising Wind pressed his nose back into her hair. Ismene giggled softly and hugged him around the neck. "You always know just what to say."

The rustle of swishing skirts edged closer. She pretended to ignore whoever approached, thinking it must be Helein again, and continued to rub Rising Wind's face and under his mane.

"Ismene, my love." It was her mother, Lady Victara Tenbow. "Helein told me where you were. Did you really send the poor girl to your father? That was unkind. At least she had the sense to seek me out first. I spoke with him, but soon we must go in and finish the conversation."

Ismene refused to look at her mother and kept stroking Rising Wind. "Where were you, Mother, when he decided to drown me?"

Victara stopped behind her, silence lingering as Ismene imagined her choosing her words carefully. Mother always chose her words with great deliberation when she expected they be attended with all obedience. She wrapped her fingers around Ismene's loose hair and slid them down its length.

"He wanted to save us both. Me from seeing your face at the news and you from finding a source of pity for what we both know must happen. Unhappily, for nobility, 'tis not a thing of the past but an inevitability that must be observed to protect and nurture the unity of the Realms."