"A-And it is my... regret to inform you, Your Highnesses, that..." The servant swallowed tight, looking terribly out of place with his sweaty palms and pale skin, in the throne room where everyone sat politely and coldly. "...the Princess, her Royal Highness Jaida Steele of Atheia, is destined to die the night before her 21st birthday."
The Queen cupped a hand to her mouth in a rare display of emotion.
Jaida, however, who had not been sitting politely in the first place—instead lounging on her throne like one would a couch—immediately righted herself. In contrast to her mother, she was beaming.
"You said I'm destined to die, right? The night before my 21st birthday?" She was speaking fast, forcing out all the words in a single breath. "And there's nothing that can change that date? I have to die then? On that day only?"
The servant nodded, somber. "Yes. I am so sorry, your Highness, beautiful Jaida Steele of Atheia, daughter of our fallen king—"
"Oh, dude, that's rad." Jaida was glowing. "So I'm basically immortal now, right? Until my death day."
"Jaida!" Her mother's hands tightened into fists, the points of her crowd glinting like knives in the chandelier light. "Have more respect! Do you not understand how dire the circumstances are?"
"Mother dearest," she said flatly, "I'm the one that's destined to die in 5 years, not you. And you're the only one overreacting."
Queen Steele scowled, face pinched in rage. "Overreacting?" Her voice went high, threatening to crack. A whine. "You are my only heir! My only daughter, my only child."
The servant dotted his brow with a towel, unable to move from his spot, rooted to the suede red carpet. This was far more interesting than any court jester—Royal drama!
"I know. But now, I also know that I'm pretty much unkillable for a time. I'm going to go learn how to juggle swords. Or something." Jaida hopped to her feet, grinning wild. She wore a long, simple dress with flats—and, beneath it, unbeknownst to her mother, a much simpler outfit. Shorts and a tank that her mother would faint at the sight of.
Her mind was already running amuck with ideas, crazy ones she didn't dare try before—or, well, most of the time.
"How does it work?" Jaida asked the servant. The sudden question, and the princess' close proximity, made the servant flinch a bit. "The curse or whatever. If I get stabbed, will I just regenerate? Not feel anything?"
"I-I don't know, Your Highness..." He stammered. The princess did not smell at all like he figured a princess should—not delicate with scents of flower petals or other girly things, but rather she smelled of the outdoors, of dirt and mud and hardships.
Looking at her, he could even make out marks—scratches, bruises maybe—on her face, carefully concealed with makeup.
Was she really a princess at all?
"It doesn't matter." The Queen answered coolly. She had returned to her usual emotionless facade, expression one of barely contained annoyance. "I forbade you from doing any sort of... juggling. That's saved for the jesters. People beneath us."
She cast a pointed look to the servant, who withered beneath it. The throne she sat upon suddenly seemed so much more sinister. "Who told you this foolishness? This... this false prophecy?"
"A witch, Your Highness—"
"A witch?" The Queen hissed, long nails rapping methodically against her throne. "Those... things died out years ago."
"Apparently not," Jaida retorted.
"It was a witch, I swear it! I saw her, she came to me, she told me all of these things—"
"Find her then. Bring her to me." The Queen's mouth quirked into a grin, slow and deliberate. "I'll make it so she never opens those lips of hers ever again."
THIS IS THE ENDING BECAUSE I CANNOT WRITE IT WITHOUT MAKING THIS AU TOO LONG FOR YOU TO READ - Jaida runs away from her mother, to find this fortune telling witch so she can do all this cool stuff (it's Tabatha). She makes the court jester, who never really made the Queen or anyone else laugh—ever (he was quite poor at his job) come with her, since the two are friends. The jester is Araimir.
