Golden Swords

Mycena

a/n: before you start reading, I'd just like to say: thank you so much for clicking that read button! I hope you enjoy the story.
Don't worry if the main character seems a bit spineless in the first few chapters, it gets better I promise!
Thanks, Cassie

Mycena looked with disgust at the powdered wig that was all she could see of the father she thought she could trust. The carefully preened back of her mother's head received the same cutting glare, and the tall handsome man in his twenties seated beside her got a double dose, albeit only whilst he wasn't looking. It would do her no good to displease him, as her entire future would be, in a matter of twenty minutes, be tied to his will. Damn her parents. 

All her life, she'd been sure that they would battle their way back to their stolen kingdom together, but they'd sold her at the drop of a hat in favour of taking her older brother and her new husband-to-be's army. It wasn't fair. Her brother couldn't even fight. Her brother wasn't the one who crept from his bedroom window every night to practice swordwork by the light of the moon.

What she would give to be him, given a sword before he was even strong enough to lift it, encouraged at every turn to use it, despite his frequent protests. She couldn't believe he didn't want to learn to fight. But sometimes in the evenings he would come to her, shy and embarrassed, begging him to teach him how to sew.

It was hard not to hate him, then when he got everything at the price of her freedom. But he turned huge damp eyes on her, far larger than should be allowed for a boy of his age, and she knew that he was the only one of her family who knew enough to care what she was going through.

He had resisted her father's attempts to find him a wife, and judging by the glances he was attempting to hide throwing at her future husband, she wondered, not for the first time, if he liked men rather than women.

She couldn't really blame him when it came to Dastar. There was not really anything you could fault physically on the warlord. His tunic pulled tight across the muscles of his chest and shoulders, embroidered with his coat of arms, a lion and a phoenix. His inky hair fell around his high cheekbones in feathery locks, and his honey tan made his intense purply-blue eyes shine brighter than sapphires.

If she had met him at a party, she would have instantly declared herself in love, but it rankled her pride that she didn't get to choose who she married. Even Dastar's stunning eyes couldn't change the fact that she was fifteen, past the age at which many girls were married away, but, in her opinion, not nearly old enough to give up her freedom. She wanted to know the man who she would let decide the rest of her life, know that his character was as beautiful as his face, know that he would love her and care for her and come with her when she went off on crazy adventures rather than telling her she couldn't go.

Mostly, she thought, she didn't want to get married. She wanted to travel, to fight, to fly and adventure and see the world before she tied herself down to a home and a place and a person. She wanted to be sure that that was where she wanted to raise her children, who she wanted to raise them with. She wanted, always, to be free. Ever since she was little, she couldn't wait until she was nineteen, when she didn't have to do what her father said anymore. When she could sail away with only her sword and a sense of adventure to guide her.

But now she was back to square one, back in a cage of tradition, back on a path where a man she had never talked to had all the power. Could do whatever he liked to her. The thought made her want to run, rip off this stupid wedding dress and run, run anywhere, so long as it was far away from there.

Y'all know, the usual. If you liked, please comment, vote blah blah blah. If not, I'd love some constructive criticism :) Anyway, hope you enjoy!!