The Tragedy of the Petite Princess

Separation

The petite princess sat near the window, looking out the dreary town. It had been days since the general left with an order she knew came from the red lady. In her heart, she truly hated him. In a heated moment, she had revealed more than her pride would allow and she hated how he ignored her still. She hated that with a mere letter from another woman, he decided to leave immediately. She blamed him for the emptiness in the castle now desolate in his absence. She hated him for the loneliness she knew had always been there. 

But she did not know that he was ordered to quench a rebellion far off in a different land. The general rode on his horse, his heart filled with anger as he relentlessy pursued the rebels. They tried to evade him but he caught them, eyes reddening with the thirst for blood. They confessed their sins in fear of his retribution which fell heavily upon them. But it was not enough, the ones he pursued were mere pawns - a greater hand must be moving the rebels hiding somewhere in these lands. Irritation welled within his impatient heart. He cursed at his men for their incompetence, demanding that they hasten their investigations. They feared the general for he acted differently from past battles. He used to be cold and calculating no matter the circumstance but now he was burning for blood and lashed at every failure. His eyes used to turn to pleasure with the spilling of blood but now his eyes were hazy, dark embers seeing far away. They could not understand his sudden change, so did the general whose mind wandered off at the memory of a pale face surrounded by golden locks and glowing amber eyes that caused his heart to hammer in his chest. 

Months passed, the investigations drew close but the rebel leader was yet to be captured. His heart ached as he felt a sense of dread he could not pinpoint the cause. A physician had examined him when the general feared of a weakened heart but the man merely gave him a prescription to cure his disturbed sleep. Yet his eyes were always open in the dead of the night, his mind forging plans against the elusive rebels, plans that required immediate enforcement. He would wake the next morning and demand results. For so long he harbored this tormenting cycle of sleepless nights and angry mornings until one day, he was called to a meeting with an unannounced important guest. Entering his tent to meet this high-handed visitor, a low growl against the grievance of being interrupted escaped his parched and pale lips. The visitor was examining the messy map that he had placed in front of his bed and upon his voice turned to meet his eyes. It was then the general realized that the pain in his heart was the pining for the presence of a woman with amber eyes which now met him with an angry gaze. He lost his breath as she approached him with a hand raised. It fell heavily on his cheek but it was his heart that burned. She screamed and cursed him to his face using her pale and small lips which he smothered with a deep kiss. 

He spent the afternoon kissing her flesh. She cried with every touch as she felt her longing appeased. But she would not allow him to continue for in her heart, she loathed him still. She pushed him away and left. He dared not pursue but boiling within him was a great impatience he now understood only her flesh could pacify.  

In the days after, he was like a lion roaring after an elusive prey.