Page 16
Story: His Forbidden Princess
My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails digging half-moons into my palms. The pain helps center me, reminds me of my place. I am her protector, not her lover. Her guard, not her choice.
The doors to the king's study open, and Lirien emerges. Her face is pale, her expression carefully blank, but I see the slight tremor in her hands, the rigid set of her spine. Whatever passed between her and her father has left its mark.
"The King requests your presence, Captain," she says, not meeting my eyes.
I bow and enter the study, finding the king at his desk, expression grave.
"Vorex." He doesn't look up from the document he's signing. "There will be a formal announcement at midday. Double the guard presence in the great hall."
"Yes, Your Majesty." I keep my voice neutral. "May I ask the nature of the announcement?"
Now he does look up, one eyebrow raised at my presumption. After a moment, he sighs. "Princess Lirien's betrothal to Prince Aldric of Westland. The marriage will secure our eastern border and bring significant trade benefits."
I bow again, hiding the rage that flares at his clinical assessment. "I'll see to the security arrangements immediately, Your Majesty."
"Good." He returns to his papers, a clear dismissal. "And Vorex? The princess seems...unsettled today. Keep a close eye on her."
"Always, Your Majesty."
I exit the study to find Lirien waiting, her face a portrait of composed resignation. We walk in silence to her chambers, where her ladies-in-waiting descend upon her like bright birds,chattering about the proper attire for such an important announcement.
I position myself outside her door, statue-still, as protocol demands. But inside, I'm anything but still. Inside, I'm a storm of rage and possessiveness and helpless fury.
She is to be given to a stranger. A political bargaining chip, wrapped in silk and jewels, presented on the altar of diplomacy. And I must stand by and watch it happen, must protect the very arrangement that will take her from me.
By midday, the great hall is packed with nobility and foreign dignitaries. The Westland delegation occupies a place of honor near the throne, their formal attire marking them as men of importance. I study them from my post near the dais, assessing threats out of habit.
Prince Aldric stands at the center of the delegation—young, perhaps thirty, with the polished good looks of nobility who have never known hardship. His smile comes easily as he converses with courtiers, his manner charming and confident. The perfect prince for the perfect political alliance.
I hate him with a visceral intensity that surprises even me.
The trumpets sound, announcing the royal entrance. The king appears first, followed by Lirien. A collective murmur of appreciation ripples through the crowd as she takes her place beside her father. She wears a gown of deep emerald that matches her eyes, her hair arranged in an elaborate style that emphasizes the elegant line of her neck. Diamonds glitter at her throat and ears—royal jewels befitting a royal announcement.
She is breathtaking. And she looks utterly miserable to the trained eye—to my eye.
The king raises his hand for silence, and the hall quiets immediately.
"Esteemed nobles, honored guests, loyal subjects," he begins, voice carrying to every corner of the vast space. "Today marks a momentous occasion for our kingdom and for the royal house."
I watch Lirien as her father speaks. She maintains perfect posture, perfect composure, the picture of regal dignity. Only I notice the slight whitening of her knuckles where her hands are clasped before her, the almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw when the king mentions "securing our future through alliance."
"It is my great pleasure," the king continues, "to announce the betrothal of Crown Princess Lirien Vellara to His Highness Prince Aldric of Westland. Their union will bring prosperity and security to both our realms."
Polite applause fills the hall. Prince Aldric steps forward, bowing deeply to the king, then turning to Lirien with a practiced smile.
"I am honored beyond words, Your Majesty," he says, voice carrying clearly. "And I vow to be worthy of the princess's hand."
He approaches the dais, taking Lirien's hand in his. Even from my position, I can see how she stiffens at his touch, though her smile never wavers.
Prince Aldric raises her hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her skin—her skin, which hours ago trembled beneath my touch, which bears the invisible imprint of my fingers.
My vision blurs red at the edges. My hand moves unconsciously to my sword hilt, fingers tightening around it. For one insane moment, I imagine drawing the blade, cutting down everyone who stands between us, taking her away from this charade.
The fantasy is so vivid that I actually feel the cool metal of the hilt against my palm before I realize what I'm doing. Horror washes over me. This is madness. Treason. The kind of thinking that ends with my head on a spike and her reputation in tatters.
I force my hand to release the sword, to hang empty at my side. Force my breathing to steady, my face to remain impassive as the ceremony continues.
The king invites Prince Aldric to join them on the dais—a symbolic welcoming into the royal family. The prince stands next to Lirien, close enough that their shoulders almost touch. He leans in to whisper something in her ear, and though she smiles politely, I see her nearly imperceptible recoil.
The doors to the king's study open, and Lirien emerges. Her face is pale, her expression carefully blank, but I see the slight tremor in her hands, the rigid set of her spine. Whatever passed between her and her father has left its mark.
"The King requests your presence, Captain," she says, not meeting my eyes.
I bow and enter the study, finding the king at his desk, expression grave.
"Vorex." He doesn't look up from the document he's signing. "There will be a formal announcement at midday. Double the guard presence in the great hall."
"Yes, Your Majesty." I keep my voice neutral. "May I ask the nature of the announcement?"
Now he does look up, one eyebrow raised at my presumption. After a moment, he sighs. "Princess Lirien's betrothal to Prince Aldric of Westland. The marriage will secure our eastern border and bring significant trade benefits."
I bow again, hiding the rage that flares at his clinical assessment. "I'll see to the security arrangements immediately, Your Majesty."
"Good." He returns to his papers, a clear dismissal. "And Vorex? The princess seems...unsettled today. Keep a close eye on her."
"Always, Your Majesty."
I exit the study to find Lirien waiting, her face a portrait of composed resignation. We walk in silence to her chambers, where her ladies-in-waiting descend upon her like bright birds,chattering about the proper attire for such an important announcement.
I position myself outside her door, statue-still, as protocol demands. But inside, I'm anything but still. Inside, I'm a storm of rage and possessiveness and helpless fury.
She is to be given to a stranger. A political bargaining chip, wrapped in silk and jewels, presented on the altar of diplomacy. And I must stand by and watch it happen, must protect the very arrangement that will take her from me.
By midday, the great hall is packed with nobility and foreign dignitaries. The Westland delegation occupies a place of honor near the throne, their formal attire marking them as men of importance. I study them from my post near the dais, assessing threats out of habit.
Prince Aldric stands at the center of the delegation—young, perhaps thirty, with the polished good looks of nobility who have never known hardship. His smile comes easily as he converses with courtiers, his manner charming and confident. The perfect prince for the perfect political alliance.
I hate him with a visceral intensity that surprises even me.
The trumpets sound, announcing the royal entrance. The king appears first, followed by Lirien. A collective murmur of appreciation ripples through the crowd as she takes her place beside her father. She wears a gown of deep emerald that matches her eyes, her hair arranged in an elaborate style that emphasizes the elegant line of her neck. Diamonds glitter at her throat and ears—royal jewels befitting a royal announcement.
She is breathtaking. And she looks utterly miserable to the trained eye—to my eye.
The king raises his hand for silence, and the hall quiets immediately.
"Esteemed nobles, honored guests, loyal subjects," he begins, voice carrying to every corner of the vast space. "Today marks a momentous occasion for our kingdom and for the royal house."
I watch Lirien as her father speaks. She maintains perfect posture, perfect composure, the picture of regal dignity. Only I notice the slight whitening of her knuckles where her hands are clasped before her, the almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw when the king mentions "securing our future through alliance."
"It is my great pleasure," the king continues, "to announce the betrothal of Crown Princess Lirien Vellara to His Highness Prince Aldric of Westland. Their union will bring prosperity and security to both our realms."
Polite applause fills the hall. Prince Aldric steps forward, bowing deeply to the king, then turning to Lirien with a practiced smile.
"I am honored beyond words, Your Majesty," he says, voice carrying clearly. "And I vow to be worthy of the princess's hand."
He approaches the dais, taking Lirien's hand in his. Even from my position, I can see how she stiffens at his touch, though her smile never wavers.
Prince Aldric raises her hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her skin—her skin, which hours ago trembled beneath my touch, which bears the invisible imprint of my fingers.
My vision blurs red at the edges. My hand moves unconsciously to my sword hilt, fingers tightening around it. For one insane moment, I imagine drawing the blade, cutting down everyone who stands between us, taking her away from this charade.
The fantasy is so vivid that I actually feel the cool metal of the hilt against my palm before I realize what I'm doing. Horror washes over me. This is madness. Treason. The kind of thinking that ends with my head on a spike and her reputation in tatters.
I force my hand to release the sword, to hang empty at my side. Force my breathing to steady, my face to remain impassive as the ceremony continues.
The king invites Prince Aldric to join them on the dais—a symbolic welcoming into the royal family. The prince stands next to Lirien, close enough that their shoulders almost touch. He leans in to whisper something in her ear, and though she smiles politely, I see her nearly imperceptible recoil.