Royal flower

Chapter 1

- I said you're leaving! - the King's voice was stern and relentless.

- I don't want to go and I won't do it! It is like that place was deserted for years...

- Dealana! - King Telerig shouted; he couldn't hide his irritation, born of her stubbornness.

The princess pursed her lips and glared at her father dead in the eyes. Both of them stood their ground for quite some time. It was their way for negotiating. Or most like a battle, as the servants, who had the misfortune of finding themselves in close proximity to their seemingly quiet clash, would call it.

Just then someone knocked at door. Without waiting for permission, the old butler Batoya entered the King's study.

- Your Majesty, the lords are awaiting you in... - when he saw the scene before him, Batoya immediately fell silent. The princess stood still with her hands folded on her chest. Her dark blond hair fell on her back. Her emerald eyes threw thunders toward her father who was seated on his comfortable chair behind the desk. At first one may thought the King was completely calm, but the ones who knew him could see his hands tensing, the clenched jaw and the barely noticeable moving of his nostrils.
After a couple of seconds the butler bowed and got out of the room silently. His experience had taught him that when the King and princess have a fight, one better not get involved in any way.

Both of them kept glaring at each other. The King's cinnamon eyes, gracious and benevolent by nature, now looked more like a deadly sand storm; one that could make all the bravery of a warrior melt away in a second. Dea turned away from her father and growled. Although she didn't look at her father, she didn't miss the smirk on his face. She went near the window, turning her back on the King and folded her hands again. The battle may have been lost, but the war wasn't, she still had a chance of winning. This method proved to be working every time she used it, so she mentally congratulated herself for the upcoming victory. The green in the gardens down caught her eyes and she was taken aback by their beauty and vividness - they looked so radiant after the winter's departure.

Her father cleared his throat behind her. Dea took in a breath, then put on her mask one more time and turned around slowly. She had to stand her ground just a few more minutes and then she could just go for a walk in the gardens, or she could take Hitam for a ride. Her thoughts were interrupted when her father put his hands on her shoulders. She could see the plea in his eyes. At the same time his hands acted agains him; she could feel the uncertainty in his touch, eating him from within. And she took pleasure in knowing that. As if the confidence melted away when she turned her back on him. Her chances of winning grew with every passing second and she anticipated her victory over the King. Would it be too much if she shed some tears? Her father sighed and his hands melted on her shoulders when he bent his head.

And victory! A joyful voice declared in her head. It was just then that her luck played a practical joke by snatching the mask under her nose. Before realising she had put a smile on her face, her father recovered and took the fearsome image of a Lord of the stormy seas. His fingers clutched at her upper body, narrowed his eyes and told her slowly:

- You're leaving and that's not request!

For a moment Dea stood there unmoving, with wide open eyes and unbelief written all over her face. Did her plan really failed? How did she lose control over her mask?

She would have more time to think over these questions once she was in her room. Her father kept narrowing his eyes at her. Under his look princess felt like a wood tossed into the blazing fire of a fireplace. So she did the only thing she came up with. She lifted her head up, straighten up her shoulders and stormed out of the study, slamming the door behind her.

King Telerig watched his daughter go until she vanished from sight. He massaged his temple with one hand. It was quiet. He could hear his thoughts again. The King sat on his chair behind the desk and took out a thick book with dark brown leather covers with gold edgings and hand-painted ornaments. His fingers grazed the cover.

-Tamira. - he said in a soft whisper.

Grief rose in his soul again, he shut his eyes closed and he clenched one had in a fist. He could feel her dark tentacles to twine around his body. He could surrender into her caress, into her embrace of self oblivion. Her music enchants everybody whose ears are ready for her. She weaves her way with soft and gentle steps, barely noticeable. She dances beside the window, she goes through rooms and corridors so she can reach the door.

There she is, she is coming! Her footsteps echo in the darkness of the stone tunnels. There she is! She's getting closer as her body dances under the candle lights. There she is! Standing at the door. She presses gently the door handle with her delicate hands and she's about to enter.
She presses gently her delicate pitch-black hands. Something flashed in her eyes.

Startled, the King opened his eyes and took a deep breath. When the influence of the nightmare-thoughts weakened, his eyes returned to the book.

I hope it works, Tamira. I can't loose her too.