“She has her fathers eyes.”
“Her mothers nose”
“She’ll go on to do great things.”
It’s just what you say when a child is born. But how do you know a child is destined for greatness?
“You must be so proud.”
Are they proud? They must be. It’s their first daughter after all. Are the King and Queen proud? Are they proud of their daughter? Or are they proud they birthed another heir? Are they proud they are able to add another cog into the machine that is the Wrainia royal family?
“Wenevire Wrain.”
“Princess Wenevire Wrain.” That summer night, she was given her title. A baby girl of no more than a few minutes old.
_____
“Hmm, now where could she be?” The clip clop of shoes against the stone floor gradually gets louder. SWOOSH! The curtain flings open. “Aha!”
“Noooo!” The little girl shrieks with laughter as she scrambles to get away, but is met with two strong arms pulling her back. She is then met with fast hands tickling up and down her sides, while kisses are peppered all over her chubby cheeks. “Stop it!” The little girl cries out between fits of laughter, kicking her short legs left and right. “Stop- ah, stop it! I can’t breathe!” The hands cease their tickling in order to embrace the child in a warm hug.
“You know little one,” The young woman says to the small child, face squished against her side. “We can’t play all day. Your mother will get mad at me if we don’t learn at least something.” Clarise was twenty years old. She was born in a village just a small ways north of the castle. Wenevire has fond memories of days like this. Days where her tutor understood that history, reading, writing, and etiquette lessons couldn't possibly be entertaining for a child at the mere age of seven. Wenevire looked up to Clarise as if she was her older sister. She admired the way she wore her long, silky, dark brunette hair in long, loose pigtails, often asking the young women to do hers just like it. Whenever Clarise was allowed her monthly visit to her family, Wenevire always watched, amazed, as the young woman galloped her horse over the hill. When Clarise took Wenevire to her favorite picnic spot in the meadow, and Clarise would tell her about the different types of flowers, the young princess felt like it was as if the woman knew everything there was to know about the world.
“I can learn about anything?” The small girl asked sheepishly.
Clarise sighed. “As long as your mother thinks i'm teaching you something valuable instead of just playing, I suppose.”
Wenevire jumps out of Clarise’s embrace to stand up tall and look the woman right in the eyes. “Please please please teach me how to ride a horse, just like you! Please, please Miss Clar?” Her little fingers grip the woman’s long green skirt.
“Ah,” Clarise looks to the side and scratches the back of her neck with her hand. She then leans down on one knee so that she’s level with the small girl, and then says softly, “Wen, I’m not so sure how your mother would feel about that.”
“Please Miss Clar? We visit the stables all the time, and you taught me all about the horses already. Please?”
“Gahhh,” Clarise throws her head back and groans. She then picks up Wenevire and starts walking her way to the back entrance of the castle. “You really are hard to say no to. You know that little princess?”
______
The stables were primarily used by the castle’s knights. The horses were all extremely tall and strong, since they needed to be able to carry heavy loads of weapons along with a person in a full suit of armor. Clarise was weary the first time she ever brought Wenevire to the stables. She considered that maybe letting a small, albeit rambunctious little girl around seventeen hand horses who could be quite unpredictable at times, perhaps wasn't the safest idea. But as always, the little princess went beyond Clarise’s expectations. Being around horses was natural for Wenevire. She understood that it was important to stay cautious around the large creatures, but was nowhere near afraid of them even though they were more than three times her size. Clarise found that she even had her favorite. A white gelding by the name of Cirrus. Unlike the majority of the castle’s horses, Cirrus stood just under sixteen hands tall. Clarise couldn’t exactly understand why he was Wenevires first pick though. He was a grumpy little thing, always pinning his ears back at people who walked in his stall, or trying to take a nip at anyone who walked by. Yet Wenevire always had an apple ready for him any time they went down to the stables. After nearly biting Wenevire’s finger clean off one time in order to snach the fruit from the little girl's hands, much to the horror of Clarise, Wenevire just laughed.
Clarise set down Wenevire and opened the stable doors. “Ok Wen, I'm going to let you pick out your horse, but please-”
Wenevire, as expected, skipped right up to Cirrus’ stall. “This one!” she cheered, jumping up and down happily.
Clarise sighs. Of course she thinks to herself. She puts on a smile and walks over to Wenevire, picking her up so she can reach the stalls window. Wenevire pets Cirrus’ nose and smiles. “Alright.” Clarise stands tall and looks at Wenevire with a grin. “You ready?”
_______
Wenevire looks herself over in her bedroom mirror. Her dirty blonde hair lay long and wavy across her back. Her reflection looks back at her through green eyes, scanning over her red velvet dress detailed with gold piping. Her round, olive colored face done up with a small amount of cream makeup and eyeliner. Her golden tiara appointed with small, green gemstones, lies behind her on her bed. A knock sounds at the door.
“Princess? Your parents are ready for you.”
“Coming!” Wenevire grabs her tiara from it’s spot on the bed and places it on her head. Looking herself over in the mirror once more, she smooths down the front of her dress, stands up straight, and takes a deep breath in, and out. She makes her way over to her bedroom door and slowly opens it. Clarise stands there, smiling sweetly.
“Happy birthday your highness.” She bows her head.
Wenevire stands there, shocked. “Your highness? Whatever happened to just Wen?” she giggles.
Clarise jerks her head back up, revealing teary eyes. “I just figured since you're an adult now,” She covers her mouth with her hands as tears stream down her face.
“Hey,” Wenevire says softy, wrapping her arms around Clarise. “I'm still me. Nothing has changed since yesterday.”
Clarise takes a step back and straightens her spine, taking a deep breath. “I just can't believe it's finally happening. You’re getting married soon? Albeit to someone you've never even met? It's unlike you to agree to something like this Wen.” Clarise looks at Wenevire, concerned.
Wenevire sighs. “It’s impossible arguing with my parents, you know that.” Wenevire places her hand on Clarise’s arm. “Besides, as a princess, it's not like I have much of a choice. I have to do what’s right for my people.”
“Gosh, you say nothings changed now that you've turned eighteen, but I'm not so sure about that princess.” She sniffles, then chuckles quietly. She shakes her head and gathers herself, then holds out her arm for Wenevire to take. “You ready?”
Wenevire takes her arm. “Lets go.” They stride down the stone halfway, the familiar clip clop of footsteps sounding as they walk toward the grand hall.
______
The massive wooden doors creak open loudly. A red carpet extends down the grand hall, stopping in front of a stone platform. Atop the platform, Wenevire’s father, King Favian, sits on a large throne, hands resting among velvet armrests. His chubby frame sits tall in his seat, bearded face looking straight ahead. Wevevire’s mother, Queen Prudence, sits in a smaller throne to the left of King Favien. Her boney hands neatly folded in her lap as she looks down at the floor. Clarise lets go of Wenevire’s arm to walk ahead of her and bow. “Your majesty.” She stands up again and makes her way to the door, but not without mouthing a small good luck to Wenevire on her way out. The wooden door shuts loudly and Wenevire stands before her parents, bowing her head slightly.
“Mother, Father.” She raises her head again as she stands with her hands folded neatly in front of her dress.
Her father nods his head and looks at the young princess. “Wenevire. Sit.” He says, emotionless. Wenevire bows her head to the floor as she briskly walks up the stone platform stairs. She sits in a small throne to the right of her father, mimicking her mother by sitting up straight and keeping her hands in her lap. The last time the princess saw her parents must have been two, or was it three? No, two days ago. She often made excuses when it came to eating dinner with them.
“I'm sorry your majesty, the princess isn’t feeling well. She wishes to rest in her quarters.” Wenevire bribed a handmaiden with a promise of an extra bread roll if she delivered that lie to the King and Queen.
“My apologies, your majesty, but the princess will be studying for the rest of the night and will not be able to make it to dinner.” Clarise delivered that lie for free.
If her parents knew Wenevire was just making up excuses (which they most certainly did), they didn't say anything. Skipping dinner became a weekly occurrence for the princess. She hardly spoke with them in the first place, so it was just easier to miss out on the eerily silent mealtimes at the long wooden table, or having to hear the constant,
“Wenevire, the time has come to discuss your future groom.”
“Wenevire, I don’t want to hear it. As princess of Wrainia, it is your duty to marry a wealthy king.”
Wenevire wasn’t a child anymore. She knew that arguing with her parents was no use. And as much as she did not want to admit, she knew that it was necessary to do what was best for her people, and therefore knew that she had to marry a wealthy king.
She now sits in her lightly used throne. When was the last time she even sat in this thing? Was it last winter during the King's coronation anniversary? No no, it must have been during the fall when that man came to try and sell her parents that exotic camel. Oh the things Wenevire would do to go back in time and see her mothers horrified expression after the man finished his “convincing” sales pitch-
“You may enter.” Wenevire’s daydream is cut short by her father’s voice booming through the grand hall, and she is met with the sound of large creaking doors once again. Two knights in light armour, minus the helmet, walk in side by side. Behind him follows a short man in green leggings, a light yellow tunic, and a green feather hat. The way the man carried himself with his nose held high in the air made Wenevire roll her eyes. She could only assume he was a royal adviser.
Royal advisors. Always so snobby. They think just because they work closely with their king, they can do whatever they- the princess’s daydream is cut short again after noticing one more person coming through the grand hall doors. A tall man with pale skin and dark brunette, curly hair. By first glance, he seems around thirty years old. He wears a black tunic, black trousers, a black cloak with silver piping, and-
A crown.
No doubt, this was the man Wenevire was expected to marry.
The knights walk side by side to the center of the hall. The advisor places himself between the two of them, and the king places himself a few feet behind the shorter man.
“Your majesty, King Favien.” The advisor bows. “The pleasure is all mine.” The way the man speaks in a long, drawn out tone, makes Wenevire’s skin crawl. King Favien sits in his throne, unmoving.
After the advisor stands from his bow, the King speaks, lowly. “Mr. Ailwin. I take it you had a fine journey here?”
“Oh yes, no trouble at all.” The way Ailwin grins annoys Wenevire to no end. He shakes his head as if he’s remembered something, then clears his throat. “Ahem, well, I suppose we should just get on with it then.” Ailwin takes off his hat with one hand and holds it to his heart, then steps to the side, outstretching his arm to introduce the man behind him. “Now presenting, King Jasper of Oskal.”
Jasper takes a few steps forward, bows his head slightly and speaks, “Your majesty.” The king's voice is quiet and low. He then slowly walks to Wenevire’s throne, takes the princess’s hand in both of his, and bows in front of her on one knee. He kisses her hand and speaks, “Princess Wenevire Wrain, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He keeps his head bowed, looking down at the floor.
Wenevire isn't so sure what to make of the man before her. She doesn't know what emotion she is to feel in a moment like this. She certainly isn't happy in her current circumstance. She hasn't spoken a single word to the man in front of her, and yet he bows before her as if she's the most exquisite thing he's ever laid eyes on. She thinks that maybe she's supposed to feel more upset, or angry, at the fact that come tomorrow she will be married to a man she's only met the day prior. In fact, she was angry about the idea just this morning. Yet, the young princess finds herself not exactly hating the idea anymore. By no means is the king unattractive. She finds herself admiring his sharp cheekbones, and hooked nose. He’s quite a bit older than her, but she guessed that would be the case before she even met the man. When he stands back up, she notices deep set, golden eyes, gazing towards her.
“Ahem.” The queen coughs.
“Ah,” Wenevire puts her hand back in her lap and loosens her shoulders, then looks back up at the king before her. “The pleasure is all mine.”
Jasper tilts his head and-
Oh. Was that a slight smile?
He turns and walks to his previous spot in the middle of the room, facing her father. “King Favien, do you mind if I, well,” Jasper looks over towards the princess. “I would just like to get to know the princess a bit more.”
“Of course.” King Favien nods. “The courtyard is just outside. Please, take your time.”
Jasper walks to the princess once again and holds out his arm, just how Clarise did earlier in the day. “Shall we?” He says politely. Wenevire stands up and walks towards the man slowly. She takes his arm, not speaking, and looks down at the floor. They walk out of the large wooden doors and out towards the courtyard. They remain silent the entire time. Once they reach a small stone bench, Wenevire lets go of the King's arm and sits on the far side. She's still looking down, not sparing a single glance towards Jasper since the moment in the grand hall. “May I?” She hears a quiet voice speak out. Wenevire finally raises her head to gaze at the king. He nods his head toward the spot next to the princess on the bench. She shrugs her shoulders and looks down again.
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Why am I feeling so… shy? From her view of the ground, she sees two polished boots come into view next to her.
“I’d like to apologise to you, princess.” Jasper says. He’s a soft spoken man. His voice, level and quiet.
Wevevire jerks her head up, looking straight at Jasper on the bench next to her, eyes wide.
Jasper chuckles quietly. “A-pol-o-gize” He sounds out. “Has no one ever apologized to you princess?” He tilts his head, grinning.
Ah, so he’s got a sense of humor. “Pfft.” Wenevire breathes out and looks back down, now resting her elbows on her knees and holding her head in her hands. “Apologize? For what?” she mutters through her teeth.
“Well,” Jasper tilts his head, and makes an expression as if he’s trying to find the right words to say. “I'm sure that getting married to me wasn’t exactly a choice that you made yourself.”
“Why should that matter.” She laughs, bitterly. “It’s not like there's anything I can say or do to change the fact.”
“You’re, ok with it?” Jasper looks concerned. “You're not angry?”
Wenevire, face still resting in her hands, cheeks squished by her fingers, mumbles. “Hmph. First my tutor, now you. Everyone expects me to be more angry.” She sits up and looks towards the sky, sighing. “I guess, I’ve just known my whole life that certain things are expected of me. What’s the use in getting angry when there's nothing I can do. And besides, as princess of Wrainia I-”
“Have to do what’s best for your people?” Jasper cuts in. He chuckles quietly. “Trust me princess, I understand.”
They remain silent for a while. “So…” She says, trying to end the awkward silence between the two of them. “Your sword. I noticed your knights had different models.”
“Oh, this?” He moves his cloak to look down at the weapon. “Ah, funny story actually. When I arrived in Wrainia, we had to travel through the castle market square. I'm not much of a fighter myself,” He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “But some swords caught my eye. The smith down there is insanely talented.”
“Ah, I wouldn't know. I’ve never been down there before.” She smiles wearily.
“You’ve never been outside the castle before?”
“I'm afraid not.” She chuckles nervously.
“Say princess,” Jasper looks at Wenevire, almost excited. “Tomorrow, on our way to my kingdom. We can stop down there. If you want to, of course.”
“Hmm.” Wenevire smiles sweetly. “I’d like that.” She looks away to hide her blush, and another awkward silence falls upon them once again, and like before, Wenevire is the one who breaks it. “Say,” she looks back over at the king. “That advisor of yours,”
“Ailwin?”
“Yes. I'm sorry if I'm coming off as rude but,” Wenevire pauses to think for a moment. “You two just seem rather, different.”
Jasper laughs, loudly. Wenevire thinks this is the loudest she’s heard him since they met. “Odd, isn’t he? See, he was my parents advisor first. When they passed away and I became king, he then became my advisor. He can be…” Jasper seems to pause mid sentence in order to not say something too rude about the man. “...overbearing at times. I mean,” Jasper looks down and,
Is he, blushing?
“He can’t be too terrible if,” Jasper is speaking very quietly again. “If he’s the one who set me up with someone like you.”
Wenevire feels her face get hot. She’s never fallen for someone before. Hell, she's never even spoken to a man that wasn't her father, or castle staff. She remembers reading books about young princesses like herself, who fall for the perfect prince after a dance at the ball. They call it love at first sight. She wasn't overly optimistic, she knew this wasn't that. But would marrying the king before her really be that bad? Maybe they could learn to love each other.
She must have been quiet for too long because Jasper looks up at her and says, “Gosh, I'm sorry princess, I wasn't trying to, I mean, I didn't-”
“It’s ok.” She says, so quietly that it's barely audible.
When did our faces get so close? She thinks to herself. She can see his golden eyes in much greater detail now. “Say Jasper.” She breathes out.
“Yes, princess?” His voice sounds shaky. Their noses are nearly touching.
“Your name.”
“What about it?”
“It’s… fitting. Your eyes. They remind me of the gemstone.” She’s whispering now, tilting her head, closing her eyes.
Jasper’s lips move as if to say something, but Wenevire’s lips find his shortly after. The kiss isn't anything special. It’s short and sweet, over as soon as it started. When she pulls back, the man before her looks dazed. She smiles to herself and stands up to walk away, but not without looking over her shoulder and saying, “See you tomorrow, your majesty.” She saunters back into the castle, not looking back once.
______
When Wenevire arrives back to her bedroom, she can’t help but throw herself onto her bed, kicking her legs widely like an overexcited child. She’d spent so much time worrying over who she'd be forced to marry. But Jasper, with his soft voice and polite demeanor. The fact that he actually cared to think about how the young princess felt. She lied spread out on her bed, looking up at the ceiling. As foolish as she knew it was, she couldn't help but plan out different scenarios between her and the king in her head. How the ceremony tomorrow would go, how he would take her hand, and dance with her during the ball. How he would take her shopping in the castle market square like he promised. She wondered what Oskal kingdom was like. Would they accept her as their new queen, just like that?
It hits her.
Come tomorrow, she’ll be living somewhere entirely different. A new castle, new husband, new people.
Clarise. She won’t get to see Clarise anymore. Of course, the princess knew what marrying King Jasper entailed. She’s always known that someday, she was expected to leave the castle. So why was this all just hitting her now. She sits in her bed for a long while, contemplating. I should go talk to her. Tell her how my meeting went. Tell her how much I’ll miss her. Yeah. I’ll do that. She sits up on the edge of her bed and takes a breath, then stands up and smooths out the front of her dress. She’ll make her way to Clarise’s quarters. She’ll make sure that she tells the woman every detail from her meeting. They’ll spend all night talking, just like they used too. Yes, that's what we’ll do. She walks hastily out of her bedroom, down the stone hallway. She pauses for a moment, as she hears voices coming from down the hall.
“Yes, of course, yes, you have my word your majesty.”
Was that, Ailwin? Wenevire couldnt miss that snobby tone from a mile away. Does that mean Jasper is with him? Perhaps I could introduce him to Clarise. I'm sure they’d get along just fine. She smiles to herself and makes her way closer to the room where the voice is heard.
“Yes, but you have to make sure of it.”
Was that her mother she heard just now? Ah, of course. They must be having a meeting about the ceremony tomorrow. She should leave, she knows she should, but listening for a few more moments couldn't hurt. She should have been let in on this meeting in the first place anyway. She positions herself just outside the door of the room where it seems to be only her parents, and Jasper’s advisor, inside.
“She’s never been outside of the castle, but for good reason, Ailwin.” Her father speaks hurriedly. “That girl, so selfless, so naive. It worries me just thinking about how she’d react if she saw the state that our kingdom is in.”
“I'm positive that girl wouldn't hesitate donating every last bit of our wealth if she saw how the people of Wrainia are living. She’d probably join the uprising as well.” Her mother speaks in a hushed tone.
Uprising?
“I'm just happy she’s agreeing to go back with you to Oskal. Things are better there right now.” Her father says. “We can’t keep her locked up in this castle any longer. She’ll start to wonder what it’s like outside. It’s best we send her off to Oskal. She’ll be able to wander outside the castle without worry.”
Wevevire stands outside the door, unmoving. She’s heard enough.
______
She slams her bedroom door, then leans her back on it, breathing heavily. “Of course.” She chuckles bitterly, willing the tears filling up in her eyes not to fall. “Of course, of course, of course.” She's mumbling now, as she slides down the door, falling to the stone floor. She doesn't try to stop the tears anymore.
It should have been obvious. When has anything her parents have done for her ever worked in her favor. She takes the tiara off her head and holds it in her hands. It looks blurry through her teary vision.
I have to get out of here. She thinks to herself. She doesn't know where she's going, but right now, she can’t be inside this castle. Suddenly, she swaps her sorrow for rage. She throws her tiara across her bedroom. Standing up hastily, she undoes the back of her dress as quickly as she can, discarding it on the stone floor.
I have to get out.
She opens the chest at the end of her bed and takes out her riding pants, albeit three sizes too big, she doesn't have time to care. She digs through it some more, finding another oversized clothing item. This time a blouse she's sure was Clarise’s at one point.
I have to get out.
She throws the garment over her head, then jumps into the pants, tucking in the blouse hurriedly. She runs to her wardrobe and pulls out a red velvet cloak. The one Clarise gifted her for her birthday last year.
“For when you and I visit my family together. One day, Wen.” She can only scoff at the memory. She jumps into her riding boots, pulling the laces so tight that her fingers ache. She throws the cloak over her shoulders and puts up the hood, but not without putting her hair up into messy pigtails that hang loose by her shoulders. It will have to do, for now. On her way towards her bedroom window, she looks back to the chest by her bed. She sighs and walks back over to it, reaching it and taking out a pouch of coins. And once again, she’s off.
______
She takes her reins and ties up Cirrus at the post just outside the square. She sighs, and pets the horse on his nose. “I'm just going to get a few things for us, ok buddy? So just stay here and eat grass or something.” Cirrus huffs out of his nose.
Wenevire’s never been to the square before, but it’s way different then she could of ever imagined it. As she walks down the cobblestone road, several venders line the streets. She can hardly navigate where she's going, constantly bumping into others in the bustling crowd. I just need a few things.
Food,
Clothing,
A map,
She lists out over and over again in her head as she walks down the crowded road.
Food,
Clothing,
A map,
She looks around at each vendor, each shop. People selling jewelry, bread, potions, random nick nacks. It's almost overwhelming with the amount of options she's faced with. She can hardly hear herself think over the salesman shouting, children screaming, dogs barking. The band with its drums beating, guitar strumming, flute piping. She decides that she has to somehow get out of the crowd and regroup. She notices a shop off to the side of the main road. It’s definitely still crowded over there, but maybe she can go inside. She hastily pushes through the crowd towards the shop, which she can now make out the sign on the front.
Wrainia Smithing Co.
She quickly walks up towards the door, looking behind her to make sure that no knights have followed her.
The coast is clear. She thinks to herself, relieved. Without looking, she moves to fling open the shop door, only to be met with her face colliding into something solid, and the sound of at least 10 metal items crashing to the stone ground.
“Shit!” The figure in front of her shouts.
Shit. She thinks to herself, looking at the mess before her.
“What the hell is your problem?” The figure shouts once again. Wenevire looks up from the mess to meet the grey eyed gaze of a young man towering over her, absolutely furious.
Wenevire takes a step backward, holding her hands out infront of her. “Oh my goodness, I am so, so-”
“You never been to the square before or something?” The man cuts her off. “Watch where you're going, asshole.” The man pushes straight, jet black hair, off his forehead with his hand, and kneels down to clean up the mess of swords scattered across the floor before him. Wenevire stands there, gaping. “You gonna help clean up the mess you made?”
“Oh, uh-” Wenevire sputters.
The man stands back up, arms full of swords. The mess already seems to be taken care of. “You wanna move outta my way or what? I’ve got a shipment to make so if you could get goin, that'd be great.” He says, tone thick with sarcasm.
Wenevire quickly moves to the side, and the man pushes past her. Great going, Wen. You've been out of the castle for no more than 20 minutes, and you've already managed to anger someone. The man walks, strides wide, up to a black horse, loading the swords into a large bag on its back. That is, until the horse spooks.
“Woahhh, hey girl, what’s wrong?” The man tries to soothe the mare, but she remains restless. It suddenly becomes clear what the animal was so stressed about when around ten knights on horseback ride into town. They begin raiding shops and vendors, much to the distress of Wrainia citizens.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Wenevire hears several people cry out. But it's obvious to her what they came for.
Wenevire hurries towards the young man and horse. “Hey!” she cries out, waving her arms frantically.
“-the hell?” The man scoffs. “What do you want?”
“Wherever you're going, take me.” She grabs onto his arm. He steps back, extremely confused.
“What the-” he shakes Wenevire off his arm. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Wenevire sighs, then takes the pouch of coins from her waist and plops it into the man's hand. He holds the pouch up to his face, frozen in shock. “Holyyyyy-'' is all he can seem to mutter up until Wenevire is grabbing him by the arm again and dragging him towards his horse. Still holding onto the man's arm, she grabs his horse's reins with her other hand. With horse, and boy, in tow, she books it to the post where she left Cirrus. The man is muttering something under his breath, which Wenevire can only assume is a constant, “Shit shit shit shit shit!” She shoves the reins back into the man's hand, then quickly unties Cirrus and hops on. The rest is a blur, but before she knows it, she’s suddenly riding her horse along a dirt path somewhere around the edge of a meadow, next to a wide eyed, dark haired, young man, atop a large black horse.
“Care to tell me,” the man takes a break in order to catch his breath. “What the hell that just was?”
“Where are we going?” Wenevire keeps her head forward.
“Wa- huh?” The man sputters. “WHO ARE YOU?? Ya show up, bump into me, scuff all my swords, don’t even bother to help me clean up the mess you made-”
“You picked them all up before I could even help.”
“OH WHAT THE HELL DOES IT EVEN MATTER! You give me some insane amount of money, like where did you even get all of this??”
She glances at the satchel on the man’s waist. It reads Fenne. “Fenne? Is that a family name?”
The man just stares at the princess, completely flabbergasted. “Oh don’t just go trying to change the subject!” The man hold his head back and groans. “You have a name? Tell me that first.”
Wenevire contemplates what she should say to the young man. “Wen.” She figures it’s enough to keep her identity to herself.
“Wen?” He thinks for a moment. “Wen, Wen, Wen…” He perks up immediately. “No. Way.” It seems as if Wenevire was wrong in her previous assumption, because realization seems to hit the young man like a ton of bricks. “Wen. As in Wenevire? As in…” The man's eyes widen to the point where it seems they might fall out of his head. His face turns a flaming color of red. “No way, nuh uh, nope, nope, nope.” He chuckles bitterly. Wenevire hasn't really been around too many people in her lifetime, but she can only assume that this one is on the brink of going insane. He laughs to himself, muttering under his breath. “Ha, haa, of course this happens to you Elias. Nice goin, realll nice.” Elias (Wenevire guesses that's his name at least) speaks up again, looking towards the princess. “What makes you think i’m interested in helping you, princess.” He spits out, bitterly.
Wenevire flinches at the use of the title. So much for trying to save face.
“Do you even-” He looks around, then leans in, whisper yelling, “Do you know what they’ll do to me if they find out I helped you escape?” Elias starts laughing again.
Good job Wen. Of all the guys to pick to help you escape, and you pick a crazy person.
“Why should I help you? Y’know, I bet there's a hefty reward for whoever brings back the lost princess.”
“I wouldn't do that.”
“Ha! And why not?”
“I’ll just tell my parents you kidnapped me.” She smirks.
Elias gasps. “You wouldn't.”
“What are they gonna do? Believe some random blacksmith over the crowned princess.” Honestly, she thinks to herself they probably would believe him. But he doesn't know that.
Elias scoffs. “That’s why I hate you royals. All the same, using their power to get what they want. Who’s to say I won't kill you? There’s no one around here. I’ve got plenty of swords to choose from. Wanna take your pick princess?”
Wenevire is not in the least bit afraid. She sighs. “I’ll pay you to take me wherever you're going.”
“Deal.”
Huh. That was easy.