ERICIA STARES OUT at Aeriston; it is the largest city of
Vynier in the distance, from her room’s balcony. It’s late in the
evening, and the beautiful popping colours of the sunset are
spreading across the sky. Ericia undoes her braid –a long French
braid ending with a red cloth tied in a bow to keep it in place. Her
curly hair flies freely, catching the wind. She closes her eyes.
She can still hear birds chirping though they’re making their
ways home. She can hear people talking loudly in the distance,
some shouting, the sound of horses in the stables, sheep in the
nearby pastures, cows mooing, and crickets hiding in the grass of
the palace garden below her.
“Ericia,” Avie says, fixing her hair in the mirror of Ericia’s
dresser. “How long do you think the messenger will take to return
from Phillimont?”
29
“I don’t know,” Ericia says, absentmindedly, “time is always an
inefficiently calculated thing. Perhaps a week. Phillimont is quite a
distance, after all.”
“Who do you think they’ll send to stay for the duration of the
organisation and training period?”
This has been one of the many things on Ericia’s mind ever since
the conditions had been made and the messenger left.
Who will Phillimont’s King send to stay at her home?
“It’s been three days,” Ericia says, “I suppose we’ll just have to
wait and see. I doubt very much that they’d send a commander,
though that would be great.”
Avie has finished fixing her hair, and now she’s fidgeting with
her dangling earrings. She shakes her head, “Ugh, I don’t even
want to think about it anymore, but it can’t seem to leave my
mind. A change of topic; how are things with Rowan?”
Avie does that a lot. She changes a topic suddenly, and then
changes it again. The fact that this alliance between Vynier and
Phillimont is beginning and shaking her up inside isn’t something
strange for Ericia to understand. It happens a lot –Avie tends to
dwell on things.
Ericia is different. She has learnt that she has to be. She can’t
afford to dwell on things for too long. She’ll destroy herself, and
she knows that she can’t afford to destroy more than her father
already has.
30
It’s a tragedy, Ericia knows. Her father is a great man and king
as the rest of Vynier and probably the world sees him, but to
Ericia and her mother, he is the epitome of terror.
Ericia lets out a weary chuckle. “Every time I bump into Rowan
he’s busy doing something. He wakes early in the morning and by
the time it’s six and I wake up to take a stroll through the
courtyard, he’s sweating like a pig –mind the tone. If he’s not
fencing at six in the morning, he’s exercising, but either way he’s
sweating.” Ericia’s brows become furrowed in intrigue. “I can’t
seem to understand it. How can someone sweat so much and still
smell so strongly of cologne? Does Lystotia produce fine
fragrances, too? I must not have known. Usually, I’m able to smell
the spices of this kingdom strongly enough, but when I’m around
him, they all disappear under his smell.”
Avie laughs, and there’s a short, comfortable silence.
“You know, Ericia,” Avie says, though she’s sounding resentful
towards beginning her statement, “there’s something I’ve been
meaning to ask.”
Curious, Ericia turns from her view of the world to look at her
friend, interested. “What is it?”
“Why...” Avie asks, “Why is it that you don’t attend meetings
or events as much? You’re the heir to this Kingdom, I mean it’s
not my position to say something like this, but as your friend, I
feel entitled to. It leaves an impression on the people, Ericia. They
want to see you. They want to know you. They want to be able to
31
feel your commanding presence. How will this kingdom belong to
you if you don’t take authority?”
Ericia knows that her best friend is right. In any other situation,
with any other person, what Avie has said would be terribly out of
place, but she’s right. Ericia hasn’t been the Princess that she
should be. She hasn’t been the ruler that she could be. She hasn’t
done anything for her people, but in the very least, she has a valid
excuse as to why that is so. The reason, as it is for so many other
things in her life, is her father.
Ericia steps closer towards her friend. She won’t be able to tell
her everything, but she can say enough to imply enough. “My
father,” she says. “I’m not doing as much as I can or as much as I
should because of him.”
After that, Ericia goes silent, running a fair hand through her
hair and flopping unto her bed, face down before rolling onto her
back. She stares up at the ceiling again, motionless, until Avie says
that she’s leaving to go back to her room.
***
They sting. Ericia wakes up because she’s in extreme, utterpain. It’s difficult to move at first, but eventually she pulls herself
upward and gets to her feet to go to the bathroom. Once inside,
she strips herself of the dress she had fallen asleep in last night.
The cloth on the inner back of the dress had stuck to her skin in
some places where her cuts had not been closed properly.
32
Ericia is lucky enough to have long limbs –she can reach spots on
her back that the average person can’t, and that allows her to
clean and dress her wounds for herself. Last night, after drifting
off and not waking up, she had forgotten all about dressing them,
and some of the bandages moved out of place as she tossed and
turned, exposing the open wounds to the itchy material of the
dress.
She looks at the inside of the dress –almost ruined by the bits of
red and yellow that have stained it. She shudders and clenches her
teeth. She walks over to the standing mirror and turns to look at
her back –the cuts have barely healed, but they are healing,
nonetheless.
Ericia then looks down at her wrists. She’s wearing thick silver
bracelets as she always does, in the places where there were
painful shackles. She takes her time pushing the silver over to the
untouched skin, studying the scarring wound all the way around
her wrist. She shakes her head and grimaces.
When Ericia looks up, she realises it’s still dark out. She
wonders what time it must be. Surely she had slept through the
night. It must be around three or four in the morning. She shakes
the idea out of her head and moves on.
She opens the tap to fill her bathtub with water, pouring in
spices that would help to heal the wounds. She undresses
completely and gets into it, staying there in silence for a long
time, softly scrubbing her skin.
33
Beside her bathtub, there is a tall shelf filled with spices,
fragrances, essences, flower petals, stems and a wide range of bath
and body products. On the bottom shelf, there’s a big box with
first aid essentials.
She finally gets out of the tub and into a towel. She drags the
box out from under the shelf and opens it, pulling out the
necessary items she would need to clean her wounds and dress
them.
Ericia grabs a hand towel, rolls it, and folds it in half. She bites
down on it. She applies the alcohol to her wounds. She almost
screams from the burning, though this is much less painful than
the cause of the wounds.
It takes her all of ten minutes to finish dressing the ones on her
back, after which she returns into her room to put on an oversized
sweater –one that wouldn’t agitate her skin as she goes back to
sleep- and a pair of short pajama pants.
Ericia jumps back into bed, feeling lighter, cooler, and much
more comfortable.
***
Ericia is awakened by the gentle knocking and calling of themaids behind her room door.
“Your Highness?” they say, “The sun will rise soon.”
Ericia groans into her pillow but sits up on her bed. She clears
her throat. “Come in, come in.”
34
The door opens and the maids rush in, immediately getting to
work at preparing her morning outfit and setting her jewellery
and makeup.
“What’s with the rush this morning?” Ericia asks. “You are
always all on the edge.”
“We’re sorry, Your Highness,” says one of the maids, “We
know that it’s a habit of ours to rush, but especially for today, we
were asked to have you out by sunrise.”
Ericia looks at her, puzzled. “Why?”
“Prince Rowan, Your Highness. He would like to meet with
you in the gardens before the sun is up.”
“Why in the Heavens-” she begins, stopping mid-sentence. She
stares at the maid, who is giving her a startled look at the
outburst. “Oh,” she says, relaxing her shoulders and slouching on
her bed. “Right. I forgot.”
The maid prepares her bath for her and steps out, and Ericia is
ready in less than an hour.
Ericia strolls out into her room again in a beautiful orange sun
dress, her hair up in a bun.
The maids trail behind her as she walks out into the open and
heads towards the garden. She spots Rowan, standing at the edge
of the garden. From there, he’s able to look down at Vynier.
From there, he’s able to see the sun push itself up from the sea
35
and begin its habitual float. Ericia turns to her maids and nods.
They bow and head back into the palace.
Ericia walks over to Prince Rowan. “I’m surprised you’re not
busy this morning,” she says.
He turns to look at her, offering a bright pearly smile again. He
laughs lightly. “Yes, well, I wanted to surprise you at least once.”
Ericia stands beside him, looking out at the sleeping world.
“Mission accomplished.”
“You must have gotten used to this by now,” Rowan says, not
looking at her. “The sunrise, the sunset...”
“On the contrary,” she says, “in all my years of living here, I’ve
never waken up and walked outside this early to watch the
sunrise. Sometimes, I watch it from my balcony.”
“A sunrise is romantic,” Prince Rowan says, scratching the back
of his head, nervous, “isn’t it?”
“Is the Prince of Lystotia having doubts about his own ability to
woo a woman?” Ericia asks him, smiling smugly.
Rowan laughs. “I want to be as genuine and charming and honest
and sweet as you could possibly find me to be.”
“But the real question is; Are you truly that genuine, charming,
honest and sweet?” Ericia asks, but to make such a statement
sound less aggressive, she laughs.
36
“I suppose I try my best,” Rowan says, shrugging. “Look, the
sun is rising.”
Ericia looks out. He’s right. The sun only peeks out at first, and
it’s a dark, golden colour. It begins to spread, further and further,
much like Ericia’s favourite golden coloured teas brewing in hot
water. The colour spreads until everywhere is light –until
everywhere is bright –until it’s not possible to imagine that there
was once gold spreading across the sky. The sky is entirely blue,
and fluffy white clouds are floating in it.
Ericia stands here, basking in the glory of the morning. She
hasn’t realised how much time has gone as she was witnessing the
awakening of the day, but Rowan has been watching –studying –
observing her.
He’s looking at the strands of her golden blonde hair as the wind
passes through it. He’s staring at the blue in her eyes –staring so
deeply that, if possible, he could swear he’s spotting the city that
she’s looking out at in the distance. There’s a look of peace and
tranquillity on her face, and it is a feeling flowing through her and
radiating from her.
Prince Rowan sighs, shaking his head and turning to look at the
same place she’s looking. “I didn’t realise the sunrise amused you
so,” he says. “Or is it that I’ve done something honourable by
having you out here with me to see it?”
“It’s enjoyable having the pleasure of seeing it out here in the
sweet smelling garden next to a dashing, charming Prince, if I may
37
say so myself. I really should make more of an effort to do this on
my own, but I’m not entirely a morning person.”
“Understandable,” Rowan says, nodding his head. A moment of
silence crosses them –a comfortable one –and then suddenly,
Rowan says, “Thank you.”
“Huh?” Ericia utters, confused.
Prince Rowan turns to her and takes a step forward, so that he’s
so close to her that they’re breathing the same air. He can look
down at her, staring right into her clear blue eyes. She can look up
and see nothing but his. His arm slows its way around her body
and he pulls her into a hug. “Thank you for joining me this
morning. Forgive the gesture,” he says, referring to the hug, “I
don’t usually approach physical contact in such an open and
random way, but somehow I feel you are different.”
Ericia is too startled by the embrace to say anything at first, but
then she lifts her arms and hugs him back. “It’s alright. You give
great hugs. I’m not really used to them.”
“You can tell me if I’m overstepping my boundaries,” Prince
Rowan says. “Never fear the outcome. I’ll listen to you. I’ll always
listen to you.”
“You promise?” Ericia asks, before she could stop herself.
Rowan laughs, hugging her tighter, which only agitates her
wounds a bit and causes them to ache. She clenches her teeth but
doesn’t make a sound, “I promise,” he says.
38
***
When the evening comes, Prince Rowan and Princess Ericia areholding hands, strolling through the palace grounds together. The
court members are bowing as they pass by, offering compliments.
Ericia is living for the moment, not having felt this comfortable
with someone in a very, very long time.
Then, the Princess looks up to find her maids walking in a
hurried pace towards her.
“Your Highness, Your Highness, Your Highness,” the first maid
is calling, softly and a bit panicky. When she reaches the Princess
she bows, “Your Highness, and Prince Rowan, you’re both
wanted by the King in the Throne room immediately.”
“What’s going on?” Ericia asks, though she’s begun to move
with the maids.
“Is something the matter?” asks Rowan. He hasn’t let go of
Ericia’s hand as they begin to hurry.
“Why are we in such a rush?” Ericia asks, again.
“A messenger has arrived,” the maid says. “From Phillimont.”
***
King Charles sits on his throne, listening to the messengerwhisper something in his ear. There are court men and women
here, and though King Charles was eager to listen to the news that
39
had arrived, he was too impatient to make everyone leave before
he could let the messenger speak.
Ericia and Rowan arrive, the King standing to his feet and
looking at the messenger, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder.
He smiles, pleased, and utters a closed mouth laugh.
When King Charles spots his daughter and the Lystotian prince,
he opens his arms in greeting. “Ahh, you’ve arrived just in time.”
King Charles sits on his throne again, observing the people in
the room. He raises a hand, calling everyone to attention. The
throne room goes silent. Suddenly, Queen Olivia hurries through
the door at the back of the room and makes her way to the front.
She bows. “I apologize for my lateness, Your Majesty.”
Ericia bites down on her lip as she, Rowan and Queen Olivia all
take their seats together.
“News has arrived from Phillimont,” King Charles says with the
brightest smile on his face. “And I’m rather pleased to announce
that the guest who will be staying with us for the period to come
will be none other than Prince Henry Darwin himself.”
The room is raging with uproar as court men and women begin
to discuss this. King Charles turns to his wife –and then to Prince
Rowan –and then to Princess Ericia.
He raises his hand again, and the room takes a while to settle
down. “I will allow the messenger of King Edward Darwin himself
to read a portion of the letter we have received directly from
him.” He nods to the messenger.
40
The messenger stands and walks over to the King, taking the
letter from him just as King Charles points to the paragraph which
he wants him to read.
The messenger clears his throat and turns to the audience,
beginning to read the passage.
“I will be more than happy to send my dearest son, Prince
Henry, to stay with you for the period during which our alliance
will be made official. It is at your home that I expect him to grow
in Trust and Wisdom. He will also lead the troops in their training
–which will be done at your home seeing as you cannot have your
troops away from the Kingdom –which is completely
understandable. I will send enough of the army to help in the
training. Furthermore, my son will not only train the troops but
he will be the witness at the official signing of the alliance papers.
He is, after all, Phillimont’s future king. For such an heir, I
believe it is crucial to jump right into the first hand experience.”
“As you can see,” King Charles says, gesturing towards the
messenger before him, “It is clear to me that this alliance will only
improve things. There is however, a downside.”
“A downside?” Prince Rowan asks, suddenly puzzled.
“Prince Henry will be arriving sooner than we have
anticipated. Preparations are to be completed for not only His
Highness’ stay here, but the troops as well –all by tomorrow
morning. ”
The court goes into uproar once more.
41
Prince Henry and his troops will be here by tomorrow? Ericia wonders.
How will the palace workers survive until then? The staff will be working
without rest.
***
Princess Ericia is dressed in a golden gown, her high up-doadorned with gleaming silver clips and a silver crown. She’s
wearing her seal in the form of the royal ring. Her wrists are
bright with thick, silver bracelets.
Beside her, Prince Rowan is sporting a pair of black trousers and
a navy blue dress coat with a white shirt underneath. His hair is
styled upward, parted to the side, neatly. He still smells of
cologne. He’s still smiling brightly.
King Charles and Queen Olivia compliment each other’s outfits,
wearing black and gold.
They’re standing at the entrance of the castle. It’s not long
before they hear a strange amount of horses and carriages rolling
along its way to them. There are so many men riding the horses –
beautiful black, white, and brown stallions. Behind the massive
army of men, there are four carriages. When all the carriages have
stopped close enough to the entrance of the palace, the crowd of
Vynierian palace workers besides the court men, court ladies, and
the Royals, stand in soft mutters as they wait.
Everyone is eager to see what the Prince of Phillimont looks like
–the truth is he’s been a faceless name from the beginning. He
never really left Phillimont to visit the other Kingdoms, with the
42
exception that he’s acquainted with Prince Rowan. He keeps to
himself, just as his Kingdom keeps to itself, and Ericia supposes
that it’s because they’re just a quiet kingdom, trying to refrain
from the use of violence and the drama acquainted with having
allies.
Prince Henry steps out of the third carriage. Ericia immediately
notices just about everything about him –his mess of chocolate
brown hair that compliments his features perfectly, his
unbelievably deep but bright blue eyes. He’s not as tall as Rowan,
but he comes quite close. He’s sporting leather wear –the kind of
clothes a prince going for a hunt would wear. He’s got the leather
boots, the long sleeved brown leather jacket, his sword attached
to his waist.
Ericia doesn’t realise it, but she’s been staring at him for far too
long.
“Have you never seen Prince Henry?” Rowan asks her,
snapping her out of her daze.
She blinks a couple of times and turns to him. “No, actually. I
haven’t. This is the first time I’m meeting the infamous Prince
Henry Darwin.”
“He looks quite intimidating, doesn’t he?” Rowan says,
smirking.
“He doesn’t look like the type to smile very much,” Ericia says.
“Oh he smiles,” Rowan says, nodding, “But you’re right –not
very much. Perhaps he will, seeing as he knows me in the very
43
least. He’ll smile once he’s comfortable. I’m sure of it.” There is a
hint of something sour in Rowan’s tone as though he’s not
convinced of what he has said for himself.
“So how long do you think he’ll be staying here?” Ericia asks,
turning to look at Prince Henry once more.
Rowan bites his lip as he thinks. “Well, I don’t think the process
of officialising the alliance will take too long –not more than a day
perhaps to get all of the paperwork done, but the training could
go on for weeks... even months.”
“I see,” Ericia says, a bit oblivious to Rowan’s words as she
studies Phillimont’s handsome but intimidating Prince. “I see.”
Prince Henry is greeted firstly by the King of Vynier. King
Charles greets him with a handshake, and Prince Henry only gives
him the bare closed-mouth smile in politeness.
“It’s an honour to be here,” is all