A Tale of Crown and Country

Reila

Reila finally understood why the nobility were always in a bad mood. She tugged at her patterned orange dress, something she would never wear of her own accord. The fabric was tight against her skin, against her arms, her chest, her waist. The neckline was much too low and the colour did nothing for her complexion. It was bright and tacky and she hated every bit of it. The shoes pinched her toes and her hair was pulled back into elaborate braids. She was in a bad mood and she hadn't even factored in the fact that she was being married off to a stranger in the place of the princess. Really she felt sorry for the young man she was to meet today. Her first interaction with him would be in this horrendous dress. He had probably been coerced into this as well.

    Reila had slept in the princess' rooms. Shut in and alone after Morto and the bandits had left, she'd explored the multi-room quarters. She ran her fingers over the silken curtains surrounding the four-poster bed, flipped through some of the dusty volumes on the shelves, and sprayed every one of the five perfume bottles around the room. Half-dazed, she'd absentmindedly wandered through the rooms, not fully processing what was going to happen to her. In her few minutes of calm and solitude she'd gone completely blank. Chances were no one even knew where she was.

    The wide window at the far end of the room looked out over Aldira and the Adith sea. High above the frenzy and excitement of the streets, Reila got a good look at the capital. Spread out before her, separated from its energy, she felt all the more alone. She felt small and insignificant, more like a pawn than ever. She wondered if this was how insects felt when she moved them from inside the house to the street outside; lost, transplanted, and disoriented. More than ever she felt powerless. Even surrounded by the riches of the castle, the silken fabrics, the bejewelled hair pins, the servants and maids and butlers and soldiers, she felt like a piece of a puzzle she hadn't asked to be a part of.

    Then the maid had come in to strip her of her travel clothes. A tub of warm water was presented and when Reila emerged her skin was pink from scrubbing. Wet hair hung like string off her head as the maid dried her off with the softest cloth she'd ever felt. The maid, a girl not much older than herself, didn't speak except to direct Reila. The girl either hadn't been told what was going on or had been threatened into not asking questions because she didn't seem startled to find a girl who was not the princess in the princess' rooms. Either way, Reila was glad for it. She didn't have to make idle chit-chat with anyone, and she could delve deep into her own mind to try and come up with a solution.

    The maid left and Reila was left to her own devices. She sat on the bed and stared at a blank spot on the wall. She had no plan, not even the hint of one. She'd always prided herself on her ability to think before acting. But now, now her mind had betrayed her. She couldn't sort out the jumble of thoughts in her head. They were like fish in the sea: they scattered at the first sign of danger.

    The door handle twitched and she turned her attention there. A royal guard stepped into the room and nodded silently. She didn't need any more of a clue. Reila pursed her lips and followed the man. She couldn't tell if she felt sorry for him or not; he'd probably taught himself to be detached from things anyways.

    She followed him down stone corridors that echoed with her heeled footsteps. It had taken her a few laps around her room to get used to the strange shoes. Only one guard, she noted. The king must have decided she wasn't much of a threat. He was probably right.

    Someone opened the double doors that led to the throne room before they reached the end of the corridor. The guard who'd come to fetch her ushered her inside. He didn't come into the room, however, and the doors shut behind her with a sickening thud.

    The room fell silent.

    King Crolimus and a dozen courtiers littered the room. Reila looked around hesitantly. Evidently everyone in the room was either unaware of her as an imposter of had been silenced on the subject.

    The king gestured for her to come closer. She did, stepping forwards onto the plush carpet. Steadily, she stood beside him.

    A door at the other end of the room opened. A man stepped into view. He stood, hand clasped behind his back. "His highness, Crown Prince Philton of Jayakan, son of Queen Neirieta of Jayakan, heir to Jayakan," the man announced.

    He stepped to the side as a new man entered the room. Everyone in the room bowed to varying extents. Reila hurriedly followed suit. Not that she wanted to sell the imposter act, but she always showed respect to those who deserved it. And Prince Philton was in the same sort of situation as her: forced to marry someone he didn't know. For that she transferred her own self-pity to him.

    Prince Philton returned the gesture with a long, flamboyant bow. His chin nearly reached his knee, and Reila had a hard time keeping a straight face. The man wore black breeches, a red blouse, and a strikingly blue vest. His hand rested on the gilded hilt of an ornate sword more likely made for show than use. She had to admit, his sharp features recommended him to herself, but the way he scrunched his eyebrows together made him look as if he was constantly squinting. Unless he was visually impaired, she couldn't hypothesize a reason for it.

    "Your highness," Crolimus said, nodding his head in the younger man's direction.

    Prince Philton strode forwards and abruptly bowed again. The sudden motion forced Reila to stifle a giggle.

    Crolimus gave her a stern look before turning back towards his guest. "This," he said in the most honey-coated voice she had heard from a man who'd threatened to harm her friends and family, "is my daughter: Amalea."

    Philton bowed again. "My lady," he said gracefully, taking her hand. He kissed the back of hand and looked up at her like a man in love with his own reflection. "It is my greatest honour to finally meet you."

    "And I you," Reila mustered. She didn't know if she should find him ridiculous or revolting. Though any man who fell for the ruse must be a mixture of both.

    "They were right," he noted.

    "Who, my lord," she added for good measure.

    "Those two peasants. You are sunshine itself, my lady." Philton flashed a smile of pristine white at her before moving on to the rest of the courtiers, giving them all the cordiality of a long-lost friend. Reila subtly wiped her hand on the back of her dress, but felt her cheeks reddening at the compliment.

    "Your highness," King Crolimus said, startling the prince who had just reached the end of the line of courtiers. "May I suggest you and Amalea take a walk around the castle?" he said warmly.

    "It would be my honour," he answered in earnest. Reila was surprised he didn't bow again.

    "You can talk, get to know one another."

    "A splendid suggestion, your majesty. And perhaps she may show me around the corridors. One does tend to get lost in such a marvellously large home." Out came the dashing smile again.

    "Oh I don't think I'm the best person to show you around," Reila said instantaneously. She realized her mistake as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but the fact that the two men had spoken of her as if she wasn't there was annoying.

    Crolimus stared daggers at her while behind Philton's eyes she could imagine a single, slow-turning cog sputtering about.

    "What I meant," she stammered, trying to back-step her way out her mistake. "What I meant was that you are completely right, your highness. One does tend to get lost in here. As a matter of fact, I still get lost!" she forced a laugh.

    Philton's eyes widened with understanding a few seconds after they should have. He smiled and tried to get the man standing nearest him to laugh as well, to no avail.

   A false smile adorned Crolimus's face while Reila felt his anger rising off him like steam off a cup of honey-water on a winter's morning. Deciding she was safer with her husband-to-be than with her fake father, she waltzed forwards to join Philton.

    If all it took to play Crolimus's game was to wear a smile and put up with a man who she was sure didn't know how bread was made she was confident she could win.