Hello, intruder. Nice to meet you. I hope you haven’t come to kill me again…
I see you’re surprised to see me? I can tell by your face that I am not what you expected.
Hee hee hee. But that’s quite alright. I’ve been dying to finally talk to someone. Would you like to hear my tale, then, mystery man? I imagine you are curious- so much so that you have broken into my room to see me. Though I must warn you… it is not a happy one.
So therefore, I ask… will you listen, intruder?
-
Arwen Blayney, current Princess and future Queen of the Kingdom of Cyfoeth, woke with a start. A sound had come from the large wooden door serving as an entrance into her chambers. Through the gleaming rays of sunlight streaming from ornate windows, Arwen spied one of the castle’s servants nervously approaching her bedside. She relaxed. “What are you doing here so early?” she asked of her maid, who she recognised yet did not know the name of. She never bothered with the names of her servants.
The maid stiffened upon hearing her voice, assuming the Princess was asleep. She paused her advance towards Arwen’s bed. “Your Teyrn,” she bowed respectfully, utilising the proper way to address royalty when speaking. “King Blayney would like to see you.”
Arwen’s response was to throw her bedcovers from her body. The wood-framed bed creaked noisily as she shuffled herself to a sitting position on her bedside. “My father would like to see me? As in now?” she scowled, bemused. “Fine. Just get me my dress.”
The maid bowed once again. “Right away, Teyrn.” She hurried towards the bedroom door and slipped outside, leaving a slight thud behind as the door gently shut itself.
Arwen almost sighed, before repressing it. Her father’s call meant something was going to happen- possibly something big. And if Arwen knew one thing about herself, it was that she did not enjoy change. She stood and gazed at herself in the gold-plated mirror stood by her bed. Her entire reflection stared back.
Raven black hair fell in waves down to her fair-skinned shoulders. Striking blue eyes burst forth with colour under her pale face and dark hair, which framed her prominent cheekbones and strong jaw. She was annoyingly short for her age, especially for a woman, but supported a lithe frame becoming of a royal. Arwen had inherited her mother’s beauty; a fact she was well aware of. She intended to one day find a suitor worthy of her looks, but so far no one had caught her eye. Not since Bran, at least…
Just then, the door burst open and the maid rushed in, hands bundled together and laden with clothes Arwen didn’t immediately recognise as her dress. She frowned as the maid lay out the items on the cream-coloured desk at the foot of her bed, which then deepened into a scowl when she saw that the outfit was a military uniform- a mirror image of what her father often wears. “What exactly is the meaning of this?!”
The maid timidly met her scowl with a placating expression. “King Blayney would like you to wear this before seeing him. He says it should fit well to you. I personally believe your Teyrn will look wonderful in-…”
“Just what is this?!” Arwen brutally cut off her servant. The maid flinched at her crass tone, but stood her ground somewhat admirably in the face of the aggravated Princess, who scared the maid rather effectively.
“I-I’m not sure, Teyrn… all I know is that the King demands it. I am just following his commands…”
“You are kidding me?” Arwen was incredulous, but sighed and decided to let it go. “You know what? I’ll wear the uniform. Now go away!”
The maid needn’t be told twice.
Arwen stalked the footbed table, as if the clothes atop could leap out and strike her. Her mind was still addled from sleep, but she had caught up enough to read between the lines. The military uniform was most likely not for pertinent symbolism. No, this uniform signified something far worse. “You better not be doing what I think you’re doing, father,” she muttered, picking up the shirt piece by the shoulders. Coloured red and a bright gold, the shirt oozed respectability and fame, and was a twist on the standard Cyfoethian military uniform which came styled in red and black. Plain black trousers, dark as night but nonetheless handsomely crafted, also lay neatly folded on the table. “Because if you are… I… I will not stand for it.”
-cut-
Arwen stood in front of her full-body mirror, an ornate masterpiece of craftsmanship featuring intricate carvings on the golden outlining of the stretched oval centrepiece. She had mixed feelings about the outfit adorning her body. Anxiety, stress, dread, from what father could possibly have planned for her. But also, a sense of satisfaction. She really suited the uniform well. It made her look official.
She eventually broke her gaze and made way to her bedroom door, swinging it open lazily and stepping out into the hallway. Her new black boots, shined to almost obsessive levels, clacked against the stone floor. The temperature outside of her room met her with an icy embrace, for it was far colder in the hallway without the morning sunlight rays to warm the air, yet Arwen was pleasantly surprised at how well her uniform insulated her from the chilled air compared to her typical dresses.
A young man awaited her, not five metres from her bedroom door. He stood not at attention like a typical knight would, but leaned against the stone walls of the hallway. He was tall and broad of shoulder, with a ruggedly handsome face beholding brown eyes and neatly styled black hair. A red and black uniform, typical for Cyfoethian military, marked him as a soldier, yet the man had seen fit to attach silvery plating along his shins and shoulders, culminating in metallic yet comfortable elbow-length gauntlets. Such a brazen deviation from standard told Arwen he was not your average soldier. Indeed, whilst his cleft chin and small dimple wayside of his lips spoke of a strong bloodline, it was his otherworldly radiant skin that caught Arwen’s attention. As she approached, the man opened his mouth to speak, but Arwen brutally beat him to the punch. “Who are you?”
The man’s mouth snapped shut at her demand before curling into a lopsided smile, exposing pale teeth. “I am but a loyal knight, your Teyrn grace.”
The emphasis on the word ‘Teyrn’- an expression used to show fealty and respect to royalty- smacked of sarcasm. The man was being insulting. “You are a common knight I have never even heard of before,” Arwen warned. “I could have you stripped of your title with a tone like that.”
Smile remaining, the knight ignored the threat and finally answered her previous question. “My name is Cai Huws, a knight from nobility serving under King Sion Blayney. Do not ask me why I am here, for I know not.”
Arwen frowned. If her previous suspicions weren’t warranted enough, they certainly were now. She suddenly had an inkling of where this charade was going. “Come now,” Cai continued, likely misinterpreting her frown. “If it is my respect you want, you have to earn it. Princess or not.”
A man could be tried for treason with those words, but Arwen had bigger problems at hand. “Shut up,” she all but snarled at the knight. “Shut up and follow me.”
“As you wish.”
Arwen brushed past him and a moment later, she heard a soft rustling as he detached from the wall. Through her largely untamed magic, she could sense a vibrant network of electrical impulses she had come to associate with human presence, yet Cai’s was… different. Typically, she saw a person’s presence as a soft blue, yet the impression she was getting from behind was a bright white, glowing and vibrant. She whirled suddenly, her hair flicking against a complex tapestry depicting a fierce battle strung up on the nearby wall. “Just who are you, exactly?”
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“My name is Cai Huws,” was the reply.
“No. You know what I mean.”
But Cai just smirked. “If I tell you, it’ll ruin my mysterious air, won’t it?”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Fine,” Arwen growled. “Just know that, after I sort out whatever’s going on here, I’ll make you.”
“That sounds like a lovely time,” Cai remarked.
Arwen ignored him and continued. His soft footfalls behind her infuriated the Princess. She felt like she was being followed the way a dog would while on a leash. Regardless, she remained mum as she navigated the twisting stone hallways of the castle complex, brushing past rushed servants and evading the loud continuous noise emanating from the various working quarters whose open doors allowed the chatter and thrum of working people to accost her ears. Eventually, she reached a set of ornate stairs and begun to climb, her new shadow following silently behind her.
The apex of the stairs yielded to two giant wooden doors, easily the height of two men stood atop each other. Two guards dressed in the standard issue red and black uniform saluted her as she approached.
“I wish to see the King.” Arwen spoke up as she stopped in front of them.
“As you wish, Teyrn,” the guard closest to her spoke, making no comment on her new outfit. His companion raised a fist and banged- one, two, three- on the imposing doors, sending dull thuds bouncing off stone walls. A moment later, the doors slowly begun to peel open, the guards inside having attained permission to grant entry. The guard to which Arwen had spoken to stepped aside. “Whenever you please.”
Arwen nodded and continued into the King’s audience chamber, a grandiose spectacle of a room to behold. The size of a small church, the chamber’s mainstay was its giant chandelier which reflected sunlight from high-installed windows to produce a glittering effect which shimmered and pulsed without pause. The room generally had a golden hue to it, accentuating the whites of the polished marble floor and reds of both the carpet and drapes hung from below the windows, each bearing a golden crest of Cyfoeth embedded into the fabric. At the end of the room, atop a golden-framed throne, sat her father, King Sion Blayney. The King was a plump man, sporting a round belly that contradicted his square face. His black bushy eyebrows signified the countenance of a man who frowned perpetually- a look King Blayney encouraged when serving his duties. But Arwen knew that, behind closed doors, he had a soft heart and a warm smile.
As Arwen walked, knight in tow, down the carpeted floor, King Blayney stood and readjusted his robe, flashing motes of red and gold as he does. He then flicks away non-existent dust off of his black trousers, finding the gold highlights immensely fascinating. Finally, the medals that line his left leg must be adjusted, despite their spectacular uniformity. By this point, Arwen knew that King Blayney was strangely uncomfortable of her presence.
He damned well should be, too.
“Father,” Arwen began by gesturing down upon herself, once within suitable conversational distance. “To what do I owe these irregularities?”
King Sion Blayney finally met her eyes and Arwen felt a welling of dread as she watched the determination fill her father’s brown irises. “Arwen…” he began. “You are now at an age whereby more responsibilities must be shouldered by those of royalty. As a sixteen-year-old woman, you are no longer considered a child by the Kingdom. One day, when I pass, the time will come where you will have to step up as Cyfoeth’s new ruler. The people will want a strong, fierce leader. A respectable figurehead to unite themselves by. At your current path, you are neither of those. You may earn esteem through your actions, but unless you have served in the army, you will never earn that measure of respect that so aided me in the beginnings of my rule. Therefore, I have made the decision to conscript you into Cyfoeth’s military, as was I when at your age.”
Arwen remained silent, though outrage blossomed in her chest. “In the army, you will learn discipline, survival skills, leadership skills, and gain valuable combat experience that will no doubt harden your mind to the realities of the world we live in. Additionally, I expect that your lightning prowess will increase at great lengths during your service.”
“Father,” Arwen spoke into the brief silence that followed his words. “I must protest. As a woman, I have no duty to serve in the military when there is no expectation of me on the battlefield. No Princess nor any Queen of Cyfoeth has ever been required to undergo military training. Further, my training with my lightning magic is proceeding rapidly. I see no need for such drastic action!”
Her exasperated tirade be-felled silence.
After a long pause, King Blayney spoke. “Arwen… I knew you would have objections, but somehow, I had hoped for better from you.”
“I do not want to join the military! It was never my role!” Arwen cried out, incensed. “All my years of growing up, preparing for my duty in this kingdom as a graceful and gentle Queen, and now you throw it all away? So that I can go out there and mayhap gain a bit of experience with the so-called horrors of real-life? So, that I may forget all of my grace and civility in exchange of becoming a barbarian that seeks only violence? Is that what you want?”
“What I want…” King Blayney raised his voice. “Is for you to grow up! These frail arguments, this… tantrum you are spouting at me? This is why I want you to serve! This is the reason! It has never been customary for a Princess to serve in the army, but times have changed! We are at an extreme strain with Helvetia right now, and who knows what could happen? What if I one-day died? What then? We expect a meek, inexperienced girl to rule? To wage war against a superpower? You need this as much as Cyfoeth needs this!”
Despite herself, Arwen felt the blood rushing to her cheeks as shame welled. It was rare that her father lashed out at her like this. “I will not do it,” she stated. “You told me I am a woman now, which surmises to mean that I am capable of making my own decisions without your consent. I have decided that joining the military is not the correct course of action for me.”
“Unfortunately,” King Blayney quickly regained a bit of his composure. “That is not your choice. I have decided that you will be conscripted, and it is now so. There is nothing you can do about it. This is the same fate every man at the age of sixteen undergoes.”
“I am not a man.” Arwen stated the obvious.
“But you are a royal,” was the cutting reply. “You have to shoulder this responsibility. Because that is what we royals do.”
“But… it’s unfair…”
“You talk to me about unfair?” the King scoffed. “Let me inform you about unfair. Unfair is feeling my body slowly decay by the very magic that is supposed to be such a gift. The same magic that will no doubt begin to eat away at you once the potency of your youth fades with age. But do I whine like a child about my magic? No. Because I know that is it because of my power that I am in this position, serving as King. You joining the military is the same, you just do not see the gift that it is yet.”
“Father, I-…”
“Enough!” King Blayney cut off her reply like a cleaving axe. “I grow weary of your whining. It is so- accept it. Now leave me, and when you find your wits again, return and I will give you your first task.”
Arwen still had fight left in her, but she knew better than to continue after such an obvious dismissal. She instead bowed her head. “Yes, King Blayney.” A deep breath later, she turned around and was momentarily thrown off balance by her new shadow knelt in a position of fealty slightly behind her. She had forgotten the knight was there.
“Knight Huws, at ease. You know your role,” King Blayney dismissed the arrogant knight. Without a word, Cai stood and began to follow Arwen out of the audience chamber, who was trying to muster as much dignity as she could after that tongue-lashing. Once outside, however, Cai decided to break his long-silence as the Princess recovered from her loss.
“I cannot believe it… you really are a spoilt brat.”
Arwen couldn’t believe her ears! She turned to face him. “Excuse me?”
Next to the pair, the guards in wait exchanged uncomfortable glances. “When I was your age,” Cai answered, “I was not conscripted into the army like you have just been. You know why? Because I had volunteered a year ago. It didn’t matter to me that I couldn’t join at fifteen, I lied to the recruiter about my age, said I was a year older. I was that determined to aid my country, to protect the King of Cyfoeth, his wife, and their graceful heir! Now, I see I’ve been fighting for a child who sees herself above the common peasants.” The last word was spat so forcefully that Arwen wanted to take a step back. “About time you woke up to your stature and do your duty,” he added with a snap.
“You dare to presume to know me after a mere fifteen minutes?” Arwen rebuked in an outraged tone. She was up to here with the abuse her ears were receiving! “You, who arrives unannounced at my doorstep and spews garbage from moment one! Show some proper respect, or do you forget who you serve?”
Cai’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I serve the people of Cyfoeth, same as you. Except I do it willingly, because I am a warrior. Something you will never be.”
“And you just know all that after barely speaking to me, yeah?” Arwen snarled.
“Yes, I do. I figured it out when you cried in that audience chamber like a little girl in front of the King for something you should be grateful to do!”
“Well then,” Arwen turned away. “I am more than happy for you to reassign yourself somewhere else. You can just forget you met me, and run along,” she began to walk away but quickly heard footsteps behind her. That damned knight was stubborn, she mused, expanding her awareness with a suffusion of lightning. Sure enough, his bright white presence shone exuberantly in her mind mere metres behind her back. “Are you still following me?”
“I am. I was called by King Blayney to serve and I have sworn an oath to protect you with my life,” Cai answered gravely. “I will do so.”
“Fine, then.”
Damn that self-serving knight. Damn her father. Damn this kingdom. Damn it all! Arwen didn’t ask for this, she just wanted to continue on as per usual!