The Dragon Queen

One Princess Ashden I’m late. There are certain things, as a Princess of war, that you shouldn’t do. Being late is one of them. Talking out of turn is another, and questioning things is a third. There are many rules when you live in your enemies' home as part of an arranged marriage. I’ll be surprised if the Prince doesn’t say something condescending when I arrive. My guard, Haven Haywood, stands outside my door as I try to put my shoes on. He is tall, and stands at six and a half feet tall, with long, blond hair he keeps braided back that makes him look slightly Thor like. I can feel his green eyes judging me. “Hush,” I told him, even though he hadn’t said anything. The guards aren’t encouraged to get close to me. I’m the Princes’s fiancé, and that could spell trouble for them. And me. But I feel like Hayden and I communicate in our own, secret language. I don’t do anything that gets him in trouble, he grudgingly takes the baked goods I make for him and his family. Every year on my birthday, there’s a small gift left for me outside my room. There’s never any note, but I know who it’s from. He became my guard when I was thirteen. He was fifteen. When he first became my guard, I had a habit of crying myself to sleep because I missed home so much. I was taken when I was five, and I’d lived in the castle ever since in hopes of strengthening my relationship with Prince George. The boy I was arranged to marry. I knew two things for certain: one, Prince George thought nothing of me. And two: he would always think nothing of me. Because I was the Princess of Continuar, the enemy, the outsider, and I did not belong in Vincia. Just like I knew George and I didn’t belong together. The only form of kindness I got was from Haven. Even then, it was small, and in the shadows. On my fourteenth birthday, there was a vinyl record slipped in under my door with no note. It was the soundtrack from the Wizard of Oz, and I listened to “Somewhere over the Rainbow” on repeat for an entire year. George used to tell me he hated that song because I played it so much. It only made me play it even more. Since then, I’ve received other albums as gifts. When I turned fourteen, I received Janis Joplin’s I Got Dem Ol’ Kozmic Blues Again Mama! A note was slipped inside that said simply, Track 7. At fifteen, there was no record. I would have asked them about it but I figured it was because George’s guard Lancelot learned what he’d been doing. At sixteen, it was Taylor Swift’s 1989. It is still a mystery to me how he got it in record form. The note tells me it’s a deluxe edition, and directs me to track 16. At seventeen, it’s Stevie Nicks, Belladonna. Track 6. I have no idea if there will be an album on my eighteenth birthday, the year my engagement to the Prince will be finalized. I hope there is, but I also know George likes taking away things that make me happy. Like Haven and his albums. I wouldn’t be surprised if he warned him not to give me anything. I could ask Haven about the album, but that would mean bringing up the unspoken truce we have not to get the other in trouble. Besides, I have more important things to worry about than the boy who leaves me music by my door. I have to strap on the silver blue heals that were left for me by maid as I run, adjusting the light blue skirt I’m wearing, and buttoning the last button on my white blouse. My tardiness won’t be appreciated. In three days, I’ll turn eighteen and my family is here to sign the treaty again. Or at the very least, my Uncle is. As one of the advisors for my father, he’s been overseeing all things related to me since I was five and they first shipped me off to Vincia. It was a good faith gesture. They’d arranged for me to marry Prince George, in an effort to unite our countries to stop the fighting. Hoping that true love would blossom in place of war. I’m a bargaining chip. A reminder to please, please keep the peace. To leave my home country alone, so that they can deal without the tyrants that have tried to oppress them. But if you believe the Vincia royals, I am family. I always have been. I don’t believe them. I know by how the tabloids treat me, saying I’m the sullen, quiet ‘foreign princess’ and that I’m not good enough for their Prince. If they only knew that I was quiet to contain the rage. Every night, I dreamed of fire. I thought of burning the Kingdom to the ground the same way that they had so carelessly burned mine down. For what? Because of some myth that we had pixie dust in underneath our city. Pixie dust, pure magic in its truest form, powered everything. And we were losing more and more of it each day. There were simply too many people and not enough pixies in the world to power us all the way we once had. It was why we had to rely on technology more and more, creating pollution, waste, and all sorts of other hazardous things. I would be a solution. The countries would unite when I married George, and we would be able to pull our resources together. Hopefully with enough pixie dust between us that we wouldn’t have to deal with things like pollution anymore. I finished buttoning my shirt, and then I made my way to the throne room. King Archimedes was there with Queen Helene. King Archimedes was a tall gentleman, with sandy blond hair, and grey eyes. Queen Helene had red hair that went down to her back that she frequently wore in a braid, and hazel eyes that looked golden in the sunlight. They sat on their thrones, with their son alongside them. Prince George looked much like his father, except his hair was golden not just blond. And his eyes were blue. Sky blue, like a clear, summer afternoon. We were supposed to be the future of the country, and he did not care one whit for me. Even now as I made my way into the room, his eyes looked at me with disdain. There were photographers nearby, and my own uncle however, so he quickly changed his expression to something resembling a smile. The only reason there’s no cutting remark is that we’re in public. “Ah, there you are!” Queen Helene called to me. “I was beginning to worry that you’d forgotten.” “No, of course not your majesty. I know how important this is.” “Good, good,” said Queen Helene, clapping her hands together. “Of course, we already think of you as family since you’ve been with us since you were a small child. But this is just precautionary. A lot can happen in three days.” Off to the side, staring out the window, is my Uncle. Brantley Hayden. He’s a tall, imposing figure with brown hair, and a beard. He has three scars on his cheek from what, I’m not sure. He is wearing a grey suit. “Yes, a lot can.” He turned slowly and looked at me. No flicker of emotion on his face. I haven’t been home since I was five. Except for occasional visits from him in regard to treaty things, I haven’t seen my family since then. I might share their blood, but we are strangers. To them, I don’t belong to the Kingdom of Continuar. I am the future queen of Vincia, and that has always been my role. “I’ve brought a guard with me,” he said, “someone to keep you safe during this time. We wouldn’t want anything untoward to happen, after all.” He glanced at George, who only looked bored at the accusation. I glanced behind me, at Haven. “But I have a guard. Haven’s always been good to me.” “Yes, well, Haven is a Vincian guard. I thought it best to have one of ours on the ground just in case.” George did not care for me. Other boys, with a girl nearby, might have tried to do something. But George treated me as though I were dirt in underneath his nails. He kept his distance, ignoring me, and because he ignored me everyone else did too. Really, my uncle had nothing to worry about. I had no real friends, and spent much of my time alone, reading. Books let me see other worlds I could only imagine. I glanced at my Uncle, determined to ignore George as much as he ignored me. Even if there were cameras around.  “Where is the guard?”   He nodded and gestured to a young man who had been standing quietly off to the side. He had brown hair, eyes that seemed to be almost red, and was maybe two years older than me. Twenty. He was tall, with broad shoulders. Warrior shoulders. Despite it being May, he wore a grey, turtleneck sweater, and black, fitted slacks. Everything covered him, as if he were covering himself too. It did not, however, cover his bugling muscles. “This is Sir Samael Bero. He will be with you at all times, unless it is a personal matter. Until the wedding takes place.” “But!” I objected. “That won’t even happen until December, to celebrate Christmas.” “Well,” said Brantley, “a lot can happen during that time. This is for your own good, and Sir Samael is an excellent knight. He takes all responsibilities very seriously.” I glanced back at Haven, who has done his job. He’s blended into the background; and he remains nonplussed about the situation. I hate him for being so calm. I wish he would stand up, say something.... anything. But he won’t, because he’s a good guard. “I wouldn’t object to having some extra safety for her,” said George suddenly, causing us all to turn to look at him. “Can’t have someone deciding to touch what’s mine before the wedding, can we?” At that, he shot a look at Haven pointedly. Ever since Lancelot told him about the records, he’s treated Haven like a criminal. As if it were treason for him to show me a small act of friendship. I glared at him. He knew as well as I did. I was perfectly innocent. My friendship with Haven was exactly that: a friendship. And it hardly deserved the word. Though I was small, blond, and passably pretty I had not even had my first kiss yet. Let alone been intimate with a man. Even at school, the boys didn’t dare sit next to me or talk to me for fear what George would do to them. The girls all hated me too, because I was Continuarian Princess. And I would be their future Queen, and they all thought I didn’t deserve him. The worst of these offenders was Anu Morgan. She was tall, with brown, sun kissed skin, black hair, and serious, brown eyes. The kind of eyes that saw right through you. She was a member of the Dragon Slayers, a group of Knights charged with the task of hunting dragons. Though Dragons had been extinct for over a hundred years, there was always the worry that magic would bring them back. Anu was tall, with a goddess like body, and a fierce warrior. She took her position as a Dragon Slayer very seriously, even though there wasn’t a chance that she would ever actually get to slay a dragon. “Yes well,” said the King, “children, like always, it’s time to sign.” In the center of the room is a large, wooden table. On it is a document that is almost as old as I am. Every year, for as long as I could remember, George and I had signed the treaty cementing our futures together. I kept on wondering why he did it. Year after year, I expected him to say no and send me packing. But year after year, he signed it. If he would ever talk to me, I would have liked to have asked him about it. I somehow doubted he felt the same kind of loyalty I did to my family. I glanced at George, he locked eyes with me and we made our way to the table. There was one pen. A bright, angry red fountain pen that came from the desk of King Archimedes. “Ladies first,” said George with a smile on his face. I picked up the pen, tucking back my blond hair behind my ear. Then, in my elegant script, I wrote: Princess Ashden of House Hayden of the Kingdom of Continuar. When I finished signing, I extended the pen to George. George took it, his fingers grazing mine, and I saw his gaze sharpen. What had I done now? And why did he hate me so much? Coughing, he gripped the pen tightly as if it physically pained him. Then, he signed his name to the document. The press and photographers clap politely, pleased that the contract has been signed once more again. Our countries fates are protected, our futures secure. And in three days, I will be officially engaged to Prince George of Vincia. “Are we done?” George asks coldly. Queen Helene shoots her son a pointed look. “Just one picture, son. For the papers.” She walks over and shoves us together, trying to make us look like a real couple. I can feel George’s hot breath on my neck and smell his Caron Poivre cologne. “I know he’s pretty, but don’t you dare fall in love with him.” He stares straight ahead at Samael, and the message is clear. I am his. No one else’s. He says the words aren’t meant for me though. I already know this. His words are met for Samael Bero, who is looking at him like he’d very much like to rip his throat out. The worst thing was, Samael couldn’t say anything. But I could. I stepped forward, positioning myself so that my head was tilted upwards. “Why would I look anywhere else when you’re the prettiest thing in the room?” I challenged, and then I stood on tip toes and kissed him. I heard the camera’s going off, the Queen’s gasp, and my uncle coughing in the background. I didn’t care. George kept on trying to put me in my place. What he had to realize was, it was in the same space, in the spot next to him. And always would be. I could feel Georges hands wrapping around my waist, as he pulled me closer, and pressed himself into me. Just as he was begging for more, I jerked myself away. I glanced up at the King and Queen, both of whom were looking at me in concern. “Are we finished?” King Archimedes nodded, and I stormed from the room. I heard footsteps following behind me afterwards, and I turned around to see who it was. For a second, I thought it was George, coming to follow me. Instead, it was Samael. The Knight. His watch had begun. He stared at me, and for a second I thought he was waiting for me to talk to him. Then I realized he was just waiting because I was waiting. His warm, brown eyes glowed golden for a second. Like the ember of a fire. I blinked, and his golden eyes were back to normal. I opened my mouth to say something but closed it quickly. Whatever friendship I was looking for, he wasn’t it. Wordlessly, I walked away, and I went to my room. His footsteps followed behind me the whole time, the watch dog that he was. As we walked, I thought of a million questions I wanted to ask. How was my Mother. How were my sisters. Did my brother think of me at all? Had he finally met someone?  Did the old palace still stand, or had it crumbled long ago after the last war? But George’s words rang in my ears. “I know he’s pretty, but don’t you dare fall in love with him.” If I talked to him, got to know him, it wouldn’t be Sir Samael that I had the danger of falling in love with. It would be Continuar that I would have the danger of falling in love with. And, perhaps, the guard that brought music to me. But I would ever tell him that.