The seas echoed a tale of sorrow and mourning, but that wasn’t anything new. The waters had been whispering this warning for months on end and still this fated calamity that they seemed to be foreboding never came to be. Bridget Opal stood on the balustrade of her balcony and listened to the haunting song. She couldn’t help but to worry, as she always did; the future seemed so daunting, especially for a princess who wasn’t very good at being a princess, or so she had been told. Her father’s scorn was especially bad today. It wasn’t anything he said in particular, but his scorn towards her and her efforts were abundantly clear. Perhaps it wouldn’t have hurt as bad as it did if her mother had defended her, but she just sat with a grimace pasted on her face.
All she could do for now was weep; weep because of her father’s lack of approval; weep because her mother refused to do anything, neither defending her nor the king; and weep because she really was a terrible princess and her father was probably right.
After crying at her windowsill for what was probably only 10 minutes, though it felt like an hour, the young princess dried her tears, tidied her dress, and went out to do her duties. She stopped by her mirror first to make sure she could at least look presentable enough so that no one would look with pity on her.
Bridget Opal, on the cusp of turning 18 and entering the full front of the political theater, still looked much like a teenager; Short for her age and skin so soft and fair that was indicative of her pampered and innocent upbringing. The only thing lending themselves to her status as a royal was her round purple eyes and long green hair tucked tightly into a braid that reached down her back. There were none outside her family with that shade of eyes, but her hair color was completely unique. She had often thought that she looked like a personification of the ocean itself, and she loved being out there. But she wasn’t. She was in her room, loathing her status as a princess.
She looked every bit as disheveled as she felt, complete with tear stains on her dress and her braid coming undone with hair hanging out in strands. While she would normally call in her handmaid to help her clean up, she found she didn’t want to call for her. As if to prove a point to herself, she proceeded to swap out her court dress with a more loose and all purpose one. It was pure white with red accents along the waist and collar, the latter of which was wide enough to come below her shoulders. Bridget normally didn’t like wearing such a revealing dress, but she decided it was best to show a little more of herself so people wouldn’t look so closely at her now very red eyes. She redid her braid and looked one more time in the mirror before heading out into the castle hallways. Disheveled or not, she was still a princess and had responsibilities to meet. If she ever hoped to be a queen worthy of her father’s respect, this was one aspect where she could not fail.
She would check in on the cooks first, who were preparing for the feast tonight. It was not exactly how she wanted to spend her birthday, but when the king declares a birthday feast, by Tash Almighty, there will be a feast. She made her way to the opposite side of the tower from her landing site and entered into the tight quarters that were the royal kitchens. Fireplaces and stoves were everywhere. Dishes, pots and pans were stacked in towers along countertops, the dirty ones notably far from the clean ones. Even here in the kitchens, the castle was still the epitome of efficiency. The normally wide walkways were now all but blocked by cooks and waiters as they shuffled around each other, trying to prepare all the meals in time for the party. Bridget entered in a near sidle and looked for the tall hat of the head chef.
“Good evening, Howard. How are preparations coming along?” She inquired, trying her best to sound as commanding as her father.
The head chef, a burly man with strong features, stood a good head taller than Bridget, made all the more prominent by his comically sized hat. “All is well, Highness. Cattle be roasting, wine be moving to the ballroom as we speak, fish be fried to perfection.” His slurred speech was very reminiscent of a man who had already had a full bottle of wine before midday, though you knew better than to question him about it if you valued your life. With arms strong enough to wrestle a bull, Howard was not the sort of person one antagonized or even approached without good reason.
“That is well. How many are we prepared to feed tonight?” She asked, trying her best to sound unimpressed and unintimidated.
“As many of them pompous windbags as you bring within these walls, Highness. Ain’t no one leaves my kitchen without a full stomach. But if you be asking a number, I’d wager we could feed five hundred or so of those gluttonous pigs.” He gave her a wink and a smirk, and went back to his work of gutting and breading fish. He always did know how to put her at ease.
“Thank you, Howard” She smiled softly with an amiable smile and strode out of the kitchen. At least there was someone within these walls that approved of her.
The courtyards were next on her list of places to visit, and what a sight it was. Large coverings and tents had been raised in every cloister and covered over half the grounds. Stalls had already been set up for entertainment and many were already practicing their acts inside them. Bridget was always so fascinated by these performers, especially those that swallowed swords or breathed fire. In her imagination, she often thought that it was something similar to what it must have been like fighting the dragons long ago; brave knights that stood against fire, lightning and worse, all in the name of defending others. People as brave as they must have been should always be remembered.
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She decided to sit for a while and watch them practice, as well as to see how they performed under the pressure of a royal audience. They neither seemed to mind nor notice her presence as they continued their practice and preparations. Just as well to her, she wanted to be as alone right now as she could manage. Her mind wandered and she found herself thinking of the little knight she had met years ago. He could barely hold a sword back then, but he had such determination in him that she never doubted he would be the greatest knight they had. Of course, Harry was much older now and that hesitation and fear seemed to have been left behind in their childhood. He was her personal guard now and she still loved him, even as she had then.
They could never be together, of course; a princess isn’t afforded the luxury of picking her future partner. But, oh, how she wished she could be with him, to embrace him fully and gently. She imagined how they might live together with him being a blacksmith and her teaching their son to be as brave and kind as his father was. She imagined sharing meals together, laughing through the night, and finally laying down to feel his warmth against hers as she drifted off to sleep in his arms.
Idiot! She thought to herself. She tried to remind herself of her duties as a princess and how she needed to look after her kingdom. She stood to leave and noticed that she had started crying again. Determined not to let anyone see, she marched back into the castle and up the eastern staircase. Close to the kitchens was a small storage room used for emergency rations and supplies, and had also become Bridget’s personal hiding place. It was here in this little nook of the castle that she found a refuge from her world. She passed around the dusty stacks of crates and barrels and made her way to the single window on the far side of the room.
She spent some time simply gazing out over the ocean, wishing she could be a part of it, though in what way she meant, even she wasn’t sure. Many ships were pulling into port today, coasting along the glassy surface of the ocean. Sirene was a nation of merchants, and its sailors were the finest on the entire continent. A Sirene ship was capable of encircling the continent in the matter of a month; and its sailors were equally as sturdy. It is often said that a Sirene sailor never sleeps at sea, and based upon how long they sleep when staying on land, Bridget was sure that it was not an exaggeration.
Bridget reached down between two crates and pulled up her sketchpad and charcoal. She attempted to capture the majesty of the ships, sails unfurled and sliding out to the great open world. She liked to preserve these moments as best she could, since her talent for art was seen as useless by her father; a queen has no need to make art herself when she could simply buy it from the best artists that Sirene had to offer. After capturing the moment as she wanted, she turned to a new page and let her hand draw freely. Bridget often let her mind wander while she was drawing so she could escape for a small time and be wherever she wanted to in her imagination.
Today her hands had decided to bring her deeper imagination to life and produced an almost perfect sketch of Harry. The one detail she could never get right was his eyes; she was never able to reproduce that look of fiery determination mixed with tender care. She was about to try and erase the eyes with the fold of her dress, and in a moment of realization for what she had drawn, closed her pad swiftly and tucked it away.
Fully embarrassed by her rash drawing and her flippant fantasies, she curled up next to the window and just stared out at the water. A fleeting thought came to her to simply leap out the window, then she could finally stop being a disappointment to everyone. She pushed the thought aside for now and instead tried to focus again on the harbor. In her struggle for her thoughts, a faint song came to her mind.
A rose in a mountain lies cold and still
But it grows and it knows of its role to fill
It bloomed so bright and reached toward the sky
But it was cut at the root, and on the ground it will die
The tune was unfamiliar to Bridget, but it seemed to swell in her mind. No, not in her mind. She could hear the song from someone singing. Someone was singing nearby. It was right behind her. She turned to see who it was, but found that she was still very much alone. The singing grew louder and more pervasive, and Bridget began searching frantically for its source. No one was there with her, and her heart beat so hard and fast that she was sure something was inside her trying to escape. Breathing shallow now, she ran to the door as fast as she could, bursting from the room and slamming it shut behind her. She pushed against the door, believing that it would somehow keep the sound inside. She took a deep breath, realizing she had stopped breathing, and listened. The song had faded.
“Your Highness!” A voice called from down the hall. Two guards approached almost tripping over each other in their haste, “What’s wrong?”
“There…” She trailed off. They will never believe me. And why should they? “Nothing is wrong.” She stood up properly and flattened her dress. “Would you be so kind as to escort me to my quarters?”
“Of course, your highness.” The guard said, curious to the point of suspicious.
“And see to it that Zoe is there with me.”