Roma woke to a throbbing streak across her temple, and groggily whipped off her tiara like a gorilla swatting a fly. Morning light pierced her curtains, and her eyelids too. How did I sleep more than an hour like that?

It only took a couple minutes to go from stalled to full steam – she was always proud of her ability to wake quickly – tossing her wrinkled dress on her wrinkled bedsheets, and strolled to the dining room in just the camisole and jeans she’d had on last night. Food first, hygiene second.

When she arrived, her mother sat at the head of a long mahogany dining table, bay window with open teal curtains to her left, accompanied by no one, plate being removed by one of the maids. Her mother’s eyes regarded her with some mixture of irritation and resignation, proportions unknown. Oops, must be later than I thought.

“Uh, morning,” said Roma, with a guilty smile and a wave.

“Good morning,” replied her mother. She sat in a perfect stance, straight backed, even shouldered, formal dress completely unwrinkled, and all silverware perpendicular to the table’s edge even as it was being taken. Roma couldn’t see her hands on her lap, but she didn't need to see them to know that they were folded right over left with no gaps between fingers.

“And as for the rest of your manners…” she looked over Roma and sighed, “I simply do not have the energy.”

“You know you love me.” Roma pulled out she first chair she saw, wooden table feet scraping against wooden floor. “Chelsea, I’ll have… uh, whatever it was you made.”

“Yes, Lady.” Chelsea bowed and headed out the corridor opposite Roma’s mother. Roma stretched her arms above her, making creaking noises as she did. Her mother sighed.

“So, what nonsense do you have prepared today, young lady?”

Roma crossed her arms on the table and lay her head atop them. “It wasn’t nonsense, mom. It was the protection of the princess’s dignity.” Her mother huffed, making Roma twitch. “Okay, fine, I also wanted to show up that stupid pig Oliver. Can you blame me?”

“From what I hear, you were the one who was ‘shown up,’ my dear.” Damn you, Marlene! “Now, I take that to mean you are free today.”

Roma groaned internally. Oh god, please don’t tell me to head over to the Bartleys’s and ‘entertain’ their ‘sweet’ toddler terror. No way that's happening. “Uh, no I’m not. History lessons, remember? It’s Wednesday.”

“You’re twenty years of age. You haven’t had lessons of any kind in four years.”

“Private history lessons. Personal study.” She was actually planning on going to see Carreia to apologize, but her mother thought it was taboo to drop in on royalty, even with the King's blessing, and wouldn't let her go without an earful.

Chelsea brought over a plate, two large pork sausages and scrambled eggs with red peppers, all steaming. She’d have to pick out the peppers, but she was aching for everything else, especially those lightly greasy sausages. She whipped the fork and knife out of the napkin fold and started cutting –

“I’ve set up a marriage interview.”

– the plate.

“What!?”

Her mother sipped tea.

Roma jerked out of her chair, causing it to clatter on the floor. “What the hell? Hold on, I never agreed to anything like that.”

“And you never will, dearest. I know you too well, you’re my daughter after all. But it’s been too long. Every other noble girl has wed, it’s your time as well.”

“Oh yeah? Have you heard how well those marriages are going? Remember Marielle?” She saw a twitch at her mother’s mouth. “Yeah, neither do I, because she hasn’t left her ‘beloved’ husband’s mansion in half a year.” Roma started gesturing with exaggerated wistfulness. “Maybe she just loves him that much, that Karl Karlstein, who is home smitten with her and definitely not whoring himself around to any girl he doesn’t have to pay? Or maybe it’s so she has time to recover from all the bruises he gives her whenever he pleases, just like his dad did to his mom? Or maybe his dad is the one giving her the bruises, and she’s actually pregnant with-”

“Roma Farland!” her mother snapped. “You will not disparage other nobles.”

“You know it’s true, mom. And all the noble guys still single are almost as bad. You really want me to end up with one of them? Hell no, if I’m going to get married, it’s going to be to someone I choose.”

Her mother put the teacup down, and sighed. “I did not say the interview was with a noble.” Roma’s eyebrows rose. “I am well aware of the state of this nation’s noble houses. They know the time of the aristocracy is at an end, and are abusing their dwindling power while they have it, instead of bowing out gracefully. I would not subject you to their whims.” She looked up at her daughter. “Perhaps you think less of me than I thought.”

Roma breathed in deep, and breathed out, eyes down at the floor. “I’m sorry mom. I just got scared. I should have known better. But, I still don’t like the idea of marrying some random guy, you know? I’d still like to choose.”

“I am well aware, and am of the mind to call off the interview entirely, despite going to great pains to set it up.”

Roma beamed. “Really!? Oh thanks mom, you’re the best.”

“I only need a small favor of you.”

“Anything!”

----------

Roma grumbled with a hand on her cheek, elbow on the glass table she sat at. Bonnie Bartley threw teacups at the wall next to her, cackling like a demented serial killer. You never set up an interview at all, did you mom? All a ploy to make me more reticent. Double damn you. She swapped which leg was atop the other as aggressively as she could muster with a silk dress and jeans on.

A jiggling came from the other side of the lofty foyer, a jiggling that sounded like sweet release. Sure enough, in came the golden gowned Thelma Bartley, squeezing herself through the fully open door.

“Oh dear, I must have this doorway expanded. It's much too small, don't you think Roma?”

“Ha ha, definitely. So, I actually have to go-”

“And you, my sweet little Bon-Bon!” Thelma waddled over to the toddler, who now wielded a butter knife. “Did you miss mommy?”

Bonnie cackled again, carving symbols into the window overlooking the garden, symbols Roma could only guess were the words of the archdemon that surely possessed her.

Thelma cooed with her hand over her chest, stroking a locket that hung from her necklace. “She will be a great artist one day, she simply will.”

“Ha ha, she definitely will. So, it's been a lot of fun but-”

“Did you hear, Roma darling?” In a blur of motion Thelma reached into her overcoat and whipped out a newspaper, snapping it against the air. “Milk has been found to be linked to several long term health issues, such as rheumatism. The Batavion Gazette said so. Now, what am I supposed to give to Bonnie?”

“Hmm, water?” said Roma, one leg stretched out pointing at the door.

The bulbous woman shuddered. “Too much water can cause early blindness, so says the Batavion Gazette. You simply must try to keep with the times, dear. It's a dangerous world out there,” she said, rolling up the paper and tapping it against her head.

“Right, I will Mrs. Bartley. I hope you have a pleasant afternoon.” A light twist away from the door and Roma curtsied, and a twist back just as quickly when she saw Thelma was too busy nuzzling the hellspawn's belly to notice. She shut the door on the way out, then strode over to the horse trough at the gate, where Muffler was busying herself with one of many afternoon sips.

“Come on, girl,” said Roma as she mounted her saddle-less clydesdale and rubbed her mane. “We're headed over to the castle where you can see your buddy Night Lightning. Isn't that gonna be fun?”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Muffler nickered.

“Sounds like someone has a crush. Let's go girl.”

–

She made it to Batavion Castle in the hazy evening light. It towered over the surrounding forest, its stone cut at harsh angles with not a single arch to be found – Farland Manor was to a fawn as the castle was to a dragon. Its banners were shock white with jagged black lines streaking down them, the night lightning after which the princess's stallion was named. Even the gates were devoid of clemency, their finials sharp and long enough to display a head or two. Roma and Muffler sauntered towards the gates as if they were going to the park.

After a cursory glance, the guards let them through with a wave, letting Roma know Carreia was in the courtyard. She waved back and promised them a bottle of Farland Apple Wine as thanks, to which they both winced. Roma shrugged. It's not that bad...

The courtyard was the image of Batavion royalty. Small trees called dirgeas swallowed the whole of it, their black leaves and white trunks the basis of the royal family's insignia. The walkway was as smooth as a barnacle-smothered ship, and it wound woefully through the trees as if to ensnare those who dared to venture out of sight. Benches were made not of wood but onyx, seemingly made less for resting and more for penance.

And on one of these benches sat Princess Carreia Moonlove. She wore a blooming gown the color of lichen. Her black locks curled and flowed down either side of her face, which was angled toward the book at her lap. Roma figured she must be entranced to not hear Muffler's clopping, but whether for good or ill she didn't know – her expression was unknowable from her view between the trees. She knew the best way to change that was to cup her hands around her mouth and inhale all she could muster.

Then let it all out.

“Car-rei-aaaaaa!”

The princess yelped, flinging her book into the air and crashing her side on the bench. Her head shot up and searched for the bomb that must have went off, but found only Roma Farland on her horse, arms wrapped around her gut and laughing almost as loud as she'd just screamed. Whatever was on her face before, only a warm smile now remained.

Roma hopped off Muffler and slapped her on her rear, which made the horse jaunt over to the stables. Enjoy your hot date, she thought as she strolled over to Carreia, who'd gotten back up on the bench and started fixing her dress.

“Oh come on, it's just me. No need to look pretty,” she said, hands on her hips.

Carreia looked up at Roma, still smiling, her eyes the looming gray of storm clouds, the surest sign of her lineage.

“Are you implying, Lady Roma Farland, that your Princess is not always fair?”

“I've seen you eat raw lemon before. You can look damn ugly if you try.”

The princess giggled, the sound of a bell chime in the breeze.

“Please, take a seat next to me.” Carreia shifted and patted the space on the bench next to her, which made Roma's face curdle just to look at.

“I think I'll pass today, thanks.” She plopped down on the semi-wet grass next to the bench and laid on her back, her dress already slightly staining. “How about you join me instead?”

“But, my gown...”

“You've got plenty. You don't like a stain, I'll take it off your hands. Or you could just get naked.”

Carreia poked Roma's gut, both of them laughing. The princess daintily made her way to the ground, as if the ground might fall away beneath her, finally rolling down next to her friend. Her hands were locked over her stomach as she took a deep breath. Roma's were behind her head as she did the same.

“I was just doing this with my maid yesterday. Jealous?”

“Most certainly. I was practicing the violin.”

“Practicing what? Music, or street fighting?”

“Are violins oft used as implements in plebeian combat?”

Roma thought for a moment. “I meant it as a dumb joke, but if a violin's what you got nearby, I guess it could work. Better than nothing.”

“I see...” A black leaf fell on Carreia's chest. The two sat in silence.

“Listen, Carreia...”

“There is no need to apologize, as I know you believe you ought. Lord Deepseat's countenance is foul, and his deceit is an admonishment against himself. His supposed gain was in actuality his loss.”

Roma closed her eyes and tensed her brows.

“You aren't just saying that? I know it was just a dumb game, but what if the Cowled Court uses it as an excuse to pressure you into marrying him? Maybe Rosebud will challenge me next and pay the whole damn team off; you know a duchy's subjects aren't as loyal as they used to be. Or maybe Buckstead will try to demoralize the team by bunting all day like Snell or--”

Carreia rolled onto her side in a fit of barely suppressed laughter. Roma got up on one elbow and frowned down at her.

“Come on, it's not funny!”

“It, ah...” Carreia barely managed to breathe, “it is quite... humorous.” She stopped to take several deep breaths, then turned and looked up at Roma's pouting face, her cheeks still flushed. “You truly believe my betrothed shall be chosen over the results of sport? Over a game of base-” She pressed her hand against her mouth to keep her composure, though a few convulsing chortles made their way though.

Roma started fussing with her braid with her free hand, face now almost as red as Carreia's. “I-I don't know! You know I don't keep up with this stuff, I'm no good at politics. Maybe they want the richest guy, maybe they want the hottest guy, maybe they want a guy who can trick another guy into winning a baseball game. Who the hell knows with those creeps?”

“I suppose you are right, Roma, it is a complicated game they play. Perchance the Cowled Court do favor the most aesthetic lord, which of them might we surreptitiously seek to disfavor among the nobility?”

“Hm...” Roma clutched her chin and shut her eyes in reflection. “I'd have to go with—wait,” her eyes shot open, “are you trying to trick me into telling you who I think the hottest lord is?”

“Certainly not, my dear Lady Farland. I merely hope to cooperate with our mutual interests, and so I must... ah, gather information.”

They stared at each other.

“You're no good at politics either.”

“It is an arduous learning.”

They stared at each other some more. Then they laughed again.

Carreia reached her hand up to Roma's cheek, her smile somewhat forlorn. “You need not toil yourself, Roma. I will be fine no matter who I must wed. I only want you at my side, not at the van.”

Roma grabbed the hand that had cupped her cheek. “There's no way that's true. You deserve to be happy with the right person, not these sleazeballs. I'm going to keep moving forward, I'm gonna make the noblemen of the Six Duchies look so bad the Cowled Court has no choice but to open up your marriage prospects. Hell,” Roma's grin turned devilish, “if I do it good enough, maybe they'll annul your marriage requirement completely.”

A breeze sailed through the courtyard, blowing black leaves between and around the two of them. Carreia closed her eyes, and inhaled through her nose.

“Hm... A distant dream, that. But thank you, as always. All of my years alive, you have been the only one who I could trust to speak the truth. That is why I want you nearby, no matter the whims of the future.”

“Bet your cute butt I'll always be there.” Roma stood up, bringing Carreia up too with her still-clasped hand. “But you're right. I'm taking things a little too far. I don't need to take on every silly little fight, just the ones that'll hurt them the most.”

“That would be delightful.”

They gave each other a look only they could understand. Roma held up her hand for a high five. Carreia met her hand with her own, with less of a slap and more of a tap.

“Alright then, I'd better get going, gonna get dark soon. See you la-”

A shuffling came from the large bush to their side. The bush shook, like a wild fox was ready to pounce from inside it. With a jolt Roma stepped in front of Carreia, fists up.

“Don't worry, I've got this. The best way to take on a small animal...” she stepped forward, at first cautiously, then normally, then at a brisk run right to the bush, “is to land the first strike!”

Out of the bush popped a portable young man with oiled hair and tuxedo, all scratched and mussed. Roma skidded to a halt and pulled her fist back from his wide, beady eyes.

“Whoa, holy shit! Buckstead, what the hell are you doing?”

“You brute, you ruined my surprise for the princess.” He stood up and wiped the dirt and leaves off his clothes. His attempt to flatten his hair ended in more of a mess than he'd started with, and his oiled mustache wouldn't keep from going in two directions. Nonetheless, he puffed his chest up and crossed his arms behind his back, standing as tall as he could, which came just short of Roma's shoulders and Carreia's eyes.

“My lovely Princess Carreia, it is an honor to see you. This evening feels like morning, my soul slake with the dew of your visage.”

“I am flattered, Lord Ebert Buckstead,” said Carreia with a formal yet friendly composure.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? thought Roma with a twisted sneer.

“I am glad. Compliments of that caliber and more shall be yours once we are husband and wife. As you know, none of the three louts – Lord Oliver Deepseat, Lord Gemini Rosebud, and Lord Lindon Nonaveer – have any measure of my sophistication, and Raymond Stillwater is merely my equal. Even if you cannot see my charm,” he snorted as if that were impossible, “the Cowled Court surely can. Thus have I arrived, to give you a taste of our future together. I hope this tease does not make you thirst too greatly, for there are some things that must wait until we are wed, no matter how much you or I may want it.” He gave Carreia a greasy grin with raised eyebrows.

“You're disgusting!” snarled Roma. “I shouldn't have held back earlier. Let me fix that mistake.” She stomped toward him with a reddening fist.

Ebert fell on his rear and put his hands in front of his face. “N-no! Wait! I have something for you as well!”

“The only thing I want from you is a black eye on your face.”

Just before she reached him, he grabbed a plain white envelope out of his coat pocket and held it up between trembled fingers. She paused, and after contemplating whether to give him one black eye or two, relented and snapped it out of his hand.

“This better be a goodbye card. You leave the country, I won't have to waste energy beating the shit out of you.” She tore the envelope along the top and took out the letter inside, while he stood up and wiped himself down again. After she finished reading, she dropped her arms and stared at him flatly.

“Seriously?”

“I'm sure you don't wish to believe it, Roma Farland, but yes, you will be losing yet another challenge. This time against yours truly, in a contest of knowledge and wits. I daresay you are out of your league with this one – at least with Deepseat's foolish game, your primitive nature stood a chance.”

Roma sighed, and looked over at Carreia. She looked back, with a knowing smile of resignation.

“Yeah, we're doing this. Buckstead, hope you got some chamomile tea ready for the mental beating you're about to get.”

“Hmph. Very well. I shall be off. Details of the arrangement will arrive at your miniscule manor within the week.” He bowed to the princess. “It has been a pleasure to see you, my future Queen.” He went through the actual exit instead of the bush he'd destroyed.

The two turned to each other.

“God what a pig.”

“I believe swine are quite a bit cleaner, both body and soul.”

“You said it.”

Roma patted Carreia on the shoulder. “Sorry, this time it might actually make a difference. If someone as dumb as me makes him look stupid, nobody's gonna want him on the throne.”

“Do not disparage yourself so. Nevertheless, it will be rather satisfying to bear witness to his hubris.”

“You're gonna come see? Great, that'll make this all the sweeter.” Roma took her hand away and headed towards the nearest exit – there was one closer to the stables, but she knew she'd get lost. “See you soon Carreia. Gonna go work out my brain muscles.”

“I wish you well. It has been a lovely rendezvous, as always.” The two waved at each other as Roma was walking away, when suddenly Roma stopped.

“By the way, what was that book you were reading?”

“Eh?” Carreia's eyes went wide for a moment, looking over at the black-jacketed tome that lay on the ground, splayed open from when it was tossed into the air. Its pages were hazy, and looked as if they were flapping from a breeze was no longer blowing.

“Ah, nothing of terrible import, merely...” her expression was distant, almost as if she was someone else, “...poetry. A solemn and lurid sort of poetry.”

“Wow, didn't know you were getting into that kinda stuff. Sounds kinky. You'll have to show me when no one's around.”

“Yes... yes, I shall have to do that.” Princess Carreia's gaze was misty, waning, as if to mirror the book in the grass. And when wind blew through the courtyard, its pages did not move.