Dissonance

the third chord - "her journey"

                The man who delivered the first meal never looked Alaeca in the eye. He was stocky, and wore a well-groomed beard of ebony curls. Without a moment to lose, he exited with an abruptness that she could have called disrespectful. Alaeca eyed the tray of food in front of her with some suspicion. Apart from the dainty cup of tea and goblet of a transparent green liquid at one side, the rest consisted of an assortment of salads.

                 The tea spilled over when the carriage nearly hit a pothole. Alaeca gripped the cup's handle and gently dabbed away the mess with a rosy napkin. Before standing up, she removed her heels. She walked near the windows, parting the curtains to watch the calming flora and occasional fauna. The landscape alternated between dense forests and bright savannahs. Now that her mind was crystal clear, Alaeca cringed at how she had behaved at the time of her departure from Fyndan.

                A stupid, self-pitying woman. Why do I always wreck the most important moments?

                Alaeca lightly punched the window, her fists trembling and eyes fiery. It was all his fault. Grance had shattered Alaeca's remaining composure. Despite knowing that he would never ask for it, Alaeca would never extend her forgiveness. Because of him...

                Because of him... Papa is probably hurting inside. With regret. God damn it.  

                Until he was old enough to realise his position as heir and crown prince, Grance had been Alaeca's saving grace from the iron bars that imprisoned both of them. Grance would allow her to come and leave as she pleased, often covering for her. Sometimes he would tag along. The change in attitude was not gradual, or it wouldn't have scarred her so. Within the span of a day – his twelfth birthday – Grance built his icy exterior. An exterior exclusively for Alaeca.

                Alaeca turned around, sitting on her knees in front of the food once again. Unusually, she put away everything on the tray barring the goblet of liquid she didn't recognise. Her stomach churned and objected, but Alaeca ignored the peculiar colour and gulped down the drink. The taste or effect of the unidentified drink mattered naught.

                Crawling away from the tray, Alaeca dropped onto her back. Every accessory was ripped from her hair and put aside. The carriage, while spacious, irritated her nerves from its constant motion. She felt like a blindfolded child, stowed away in a large black room.

                Constantly on alert... in case I bump into something or fall down a hole.

                -

                Voices. Muffled, but close. Right outside this carriage?

                They weren't moving anymore. Alaeca shook herself awake and sat upright. The low table that had been brought in for her meal had disappeared. It was eerily quiet without the turning wheels scratching the earth. Alaeca peered outside her window, where the moonlight rendered it far brighter than the interior.

                "The Fyndanian princess is still asleep," a man spoke. Was it time for dinner?

                Bile rose to her throat at the very thought. Stiff from her deep sleep, Alaeca placed a hand over her lower stomach. She would not eat for another four hours, at least. Xena's herbal tea would have certainly helped. Alaeca turned her attention back to the ongoing conversation.

                "Has she asked for anything?"

                Alaeca's mind froze. Him!

                The Xindinan language, Zinde, was soft, even on the king's lips.  

                "Not at all, Your Majesty." The same man replied sourly. Alaeca smirked; had he expected otherwise? When Alaeca shifted her weight, a pang of discomfort shot through her body. Her bladder certainly wouldn't hold out for two days of travel, much less another hour. As far as she could see, not one female servant was present. Alaeca's silver eyes became as sharp as diamond. She could attend to personal hygiene alone, but it was hard to believe that such an influential ruler had not taken precautions for unforeseen circumstances. They hadn't even spoken.

                Is this what he thinks of me? Baggage?

                The sensation of her hand in his returned. Hot iron grazed her fingers where he had squeezed them. Alaeca flinched. Panic and unease bubbled to surface, and she quickly pressed her burning hand against the cold glass for relief. As Alaeca plopped down on the floor and crushed her knees to her chest, it was almost impossible to deny the reality of her state. It would erupt without warning.

                I'm scared... Sydelle, I'm scared of him...

                -

                It was almost over. Yet Alaeca still wasn't prepared to face a foreign land with pride or confidence. She had easily made herself presentable in a matter of minutes, even while her hair was uncooperative because of the natural oils building up at the roots.

                What do I say? Should I smile? Curtsy? Follow his lead? No!

                All the research she had done concerning Xindinan politics and etiquette were locked away as she walked – and thought – in tiny circles despite her heavy limbs and eyelids. Her teeth were grinding against each other; her footsteps became heavier with frustration.

                This is hopeless. I'm hopeless. All that mental preparation for this?

                The creatures that pulled the two carriages were faster than those found in Fyndan, Alaeca noted. They were also larger and far more aggressive. Finally, she stopped near the windows, peeking into the city they were situated in. In place of elegant, hanging branches, there were brick buildings and bustling Xindinans. She looked at her skin, and with a jolt of envy saw how much darker and healthier the citizens appeared. Most of them stared into her carriage, but Alaeca had ascertained that she would be invisible by standing at the very corner of the windows.

                They were so, so different... Alive. Free. Large! Alaeca's body was small, but by no means was it frail. The bulkiest of men from Fyndan could be crushed like ants by the Xindinans. Even so, the wondrous citizens paled in front of the king she remembered from over two days ago.  Alaeca seemed to comprehend the source of his seemingly inborn confidence; it was a result of the love he received from these unified people. Perhaps, she considered, the Xindinans harboured a deep-rooted fear of change and instability that drove their coldness towards outsiders.

                Alaeca bit her lip. If her husband – this word made her stomach lurch – treated her with such indifference, then it was meaningless to try and earn the people's acceptance. He hadn't even troubled himself to check on her, much less greet her, over the entire trip. As Alaeca contemplated what she would look like to the Xindinans and the king, the obvious answers arrived faster than she expected.  

                Unworthy of the king.

                A worthless queen.

                Alaeca clutched her own elbows. They were thin. As were her arms. Somehow, she was inclined to believe the self-demeaning comments that whittled her mind. She was still unprepared when the creatures up front roared, and the carriage came to a screeching halt.

                -

A/N: I realise I spent an entire chapter on her basically talking to herself, but I tried to make it as interesting as possible. Hope it worked ;;