It was foolish, the woman was clearly pulling her flirting card to try and throw Rosie off balance, or get into her good graces. Her brain understood fully, she just wished someone would inform her fluttering stomach about it. While trying to shake the idiotic thoughts away, Anjali stretched higher, her arms elongating her body.
There was something graceful but strong to the way Anjali held her body, like a hawk clipping through the warm winds to dive and pluck a single mouse out of a field. Sometimes Rosie expected to turn her head and find feathers dangling off the woman's thin arms. When she rolled her head around on her neck, her eyes popped open and Anjali laughed. "Are you feeling as boxed in as I? A stretch can really do wonders."
"No, that's..."
"I can always help," she extended her hand towards Rosie as if the assassin would actually slide her arms along her spine or tug her arms high above her head. The thought caused Rosie's eyes to dart over to the piles of people who were doing their best to watch without making it obvious.
"I am quite fine. And I should return to you your daggers, provided that they remain tied to their sheathes," she added on the last bit. If Anjali broke that promise then... It didn't matter how graceful her body was.
The woman smiled serenely, "Yeah, I got it. No yanking 'em out unless baby Knight says so. But, I hope you'll allow me the freedom to perform my daily exercises with them."
"Exercises?" Rosie asked.
A soft laugh lifted up her lips exposing the pearl teeth before she tipped her head back to the sky for one last stretch. "If you think this is impressive to watch, wait until you see me twirling with a blade in my hand."
Her cheeks burned so bright, Rosie may as well have not bothered trying to cool them off. Patting both like a weary child, she turned away from Anjali and tried to keep her voice from warbling. "My hope is that you will take the time to prepare our forces for whatever attack your friend has next."
The assassin broke out of her stretch, her hands hanging limp again as if they were made of grass. Reminding her of her duty to the crown and also this other one she swore herself too seemed to have curtailed the gleam in Anjali's eyes. With a tip of her head, she intoned solemnly, "As you say," but then a wicked smile curled up her lips, "Sapheela."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Through the Heart
Their arrival was trumpeted by a kennel of hounds barking at the noise. The slobbering mabari must have been out on a walk, a pile of them all being tugged back to allow the Princess and her mass of advisors entrance into Highever. The city itself stretched around three concentric rings built into the side of a mountain, a stone path winding its way back and forth from the gate to the heart. Rosie felt the crisp bite of the thin air against her skin and she kept struggling to take in more than she was used to. Hopefully in time she'd think nothing of it, and the light headed feeling would pass.
Heads prodded out of windows, the people of the Teyrn pausing and then slumping down to a knee as they realized who was at the lead of the little parade. Scattered through the roads stood little children, all of them clinging to their parent's legs while they tried to get a closer look at their princess. Rosamund risked a small wave here and there, shuffling her shoulders deeper into the white fur Tess insisted she wear for the march inside. It seemed foolish by the summer heat, but she felt a bit more royal thanks to it.
Trailing along behind for what felt a mile marched the advisors to the crown, the servants, the wagons loaded down with their luggage, and -- in theory -- her brother. Cailan should have been by the princess' side, but the moment they reached the gates he was inexplicably impossible to find. Knowing his preferred extracurriculars, Rosamund was in no hurry to unearth him. The knights, most of the security, and their prisoners were all sent ahead to secure things and alert the Teyrn of their presence. No one wanted to be surprised by a princess left standing on their doorstep.
A few more gasps broke from the people watching, Rosamund turning to spy bunting in the colors of the teyrn's house flapping between buildings. They built them staggered here, levels often jutting further out than the top or even the bottom structures. It struck her as very topsy turvy, but Highever existed since before Calenhad united Ferelden. Whatever they did it must work.
"Amelia!" a voice shouted from the crowd and a tiny body darted out into the road. The girl who couldn't be more than three or four was barefoot, a sack dress tied off around her waist. She paused, her big eyes darting around the piles of adults stomping through her town, and then she froze fully.
Her mother began to run out to grab her wayward daughter, when one of the guards left to protect the princess ordered her to back off. Another two moved to surround the girl, but Rosamund waved them off. The little Amelia had her hands wrapped tight around something, her eyes boring into the dirt being trod upon by dozens of armored feet.
"Hello there," Rosie smiled, bending over to meet the girl in the eye. "What's your name?" The girl only made a small chirp noise, her eyes growing wider.
"Amelia!" the mother shouted, whether it was to answer for her or get the child's attention Rosie couldn't say. The sound caused the girl to whip her head to the side. Buried under stick straight mahogany hair were a pair of long, pointed ears.
Scooting forward a bit, Rosamund stuck out her hand to the girl. "Pleased to meet you. My name's Rosie."
Amelia stared at the hand as if it was some fabled toy she'd spot locked away in shops only to be seen and never touched. Blinking her big eyes a few times, she whispered, "Are you a princess?"
"Ah," Rosie wobbled on her heels, "yes, I am."
Endless brown eyes met Rosamund's as the girl suddenly snapped up and smiled wide. "This is for princess." She unclasped her hands and revealed a red rose with petals barely open had been kept safe inside of them. With a smile, Rosie quickly accepted the flower and wafted the petals against her nose.
"Smells divine," she said, "thank you." Reaching her hand out in gratitude, the little girl took it and the pair shook. With a tight hold, Rosamund parted through the guards who were itching to yank Amelia away. She deposited the girl back into her mother's careful arms who was trying to whisper such a continuous apology Rosamund knew she couldn't get a word in edgewise. Nodding and smiling to try and diffuse any tension, Rosie returned to the head of the parade.
But behind her, she watched little Amelia grab onto her mother's cheeks and shout, "Mama, I met a princess!"
The rest of the march through Highever was less eventful, people rushing out to see who came to their doors, but no one getting into the middle of the road. Flitting through Rosamund's fingers as she switched it back and forth to wave was that young red rose. Someone took the time to cut off all the thorns before giving it to her. A very generous thought.
At the gates of the palace proper, Rosie paused her retinue. This wasn't her first time walking into this castle. She'd been a few other times over the years, but it was always with her father taking lead. Once she sat upon his shoulders, having to duck below the archway or risk banging her head. Now, she was on her own. That's what you wanted, Rosamund. A chance to prove yourself.
True. But it wasn't supposed to be this terrifying.
Closing her eyes, she tried to think of the waves washing against cliffs hugging the shoreline. No matter what troubles weighed upon her brows they too would be eroded away like rocks standing up against the never ending ocean.
"My Lady," a voice whispered beside Rosie's ear and her eyes popped open. "Shall we continue?"
She focused upon the door at the far end of the courtyard. An older man stood there, a fur robe knotted around his shoulders as he had every intention of impressing the princess come to his home. It will be all right. They want you here. Ferelden can't do this on her own. It needs your hand.
Nodding her head, Rosie stepped forward as the gates cracked apart. With her spine straight, she lifted her chin higher, blanketing herself in the serenity of the crown that they'd drilled into her in schools. No one liked
a panicking ruler, they wanted to gaze over at their queen, or future one, and see only calm certainty. That was what she must portray. A shame she couldn't behave like her father and just run about shaking everyone's hands without thought or consequence.
The Teyrn stepped down off of his stairs, his robe's green train cradling the steps behind him. Two of his own advisors stood beside, both appearing even stiffer than Rosie remembered. Oddly, neither were his children. There was a daughter in her forties that would sometimes smile at Rosamund when she was a girl, and a son aged to his mid thirties that had no time for the King's children. He was almost never around, but it felt strange to see neither beside the Teyrn. Word was he dotted upon his progeny almost as much as the King did.
"Your Highness," Teyrn Cousland greeted her by bending deeply at the waist, but his advanced years and an injury from younger days made the trip difficult.
Rosie paused before him and moved to stick her hand out, "My Lord Cousland." She tried to get him to stop in his bow, but he finished all the way down and one of the older gentleman beside the Teyrn assisted his rise.
"I welcome you to my estate, and the teyrn itself. We were anticipating the arrival of your father, but...it seems plans have altered."
Fergus Cousland, leader of Highever, veteran of the blight. Like many during those dark days he lost much, his entire family. As the last in the line he took it upon himself to try and rebuild the Teyrn's honor and power, always keeping a watchful eye turned to Amaranthine. They said Highever used to be better allies when the land was in the hands of the Grey Wardens but after the issues during the days of Corphyeus the land reverted back to those who served under the traitor. There was quite a bit of bad blood shared between the two which grew more heated with each passing year.
He was shrewd, they said, but not an unkind man, and he had a cautious love for her father. Conservative in his stance on political policy, when it came to the King's more groundbreaking changes, he would always stand up for her father's ideals if not his ideas. They also enjoyed riding together, as apparently both were horrific at it and preferred to sit back watching everyone else suffer horses.
"I'm afraid he was needed back in Denerim," Rosamund said, her lips sliding into an apologetic state. Many of the other Banns and Arls she'd meet would be ecstatic to not suffer the perceived buffoonery of her father.
She took the proper tactic as Cousland smiled, "Not an illness, I pray."
"No, nothing of that sort. Politics, the Arl of Denerim..."
Fergus extended a hand, "Say no more. I have, unfortunately, met the man. At least our King is wise enough to keep any power out of those grubby fingers." He blinked a moment before turning a shrewd eye upon Rosie, "I pray the future Queen feels similarly."
So many options here. She could agree with him, thereby establishing herself as against the Arl of Denerim. Not a strong man by any means, but he had allies who owned great swathes of land. They enjoyed being able to tug on the strings of the man living right upon the King's doorstep. Disagreeing would certainly turn the Teyrn against her, cutting off practically all of north Ferelden.
Pursing her lips, Rosie dipped her head, "Power is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands."
"Too true," Fergus nodded his head, giving in to her deft dodge, "but who decides the right hand to hold it?"
"The Maker, and Andraste of course," Rosamund shrugged. She felt like Myra leaping from one edge of the roof to another, always managing a catch or landing what felt a solid save, but with only an inch to spare. It was invigorating.
"My Lady," the Teyrn extended his arm to her. "We should recline inside before discussing matters of the state."
"Yes," she bobbed her head, her fingers reaching out to slide along his forearm. "The bandit population in particular is of great concern," Rosamund began, confident in her jump. This was the time to bring it up. Cousland was a good man, he'd see the wisdom in coming to her side. "It is my hope that the Teyrn of Highever will do all it can to assist the crown in..."
"Assist?" Cousland stumbled back, his arm dropping away from Rosie's. Anger burned in his eyes as he glared upon her. "Assist is another word for serve. Do you expect us to crawl upon our bellies?" Venom stung his tone as he eyed her up, "To dance at the whim to the throne of Denerim?"
What in the Maker's hell just happened? Spinning in place, the Teyrn crossed his arms tight over his waning chest and he glared down at Rosie. "No," she gasped out. "I only thought that you would like our help in..."
"Ha," Fergus laughed, his voice raising higher to include all of his people standing in the courtyard in this discussion. Dozens of foreign eyes glared at the princess whose cheeks were turning bright pink in frustration. "Help. What help could the waffling crown possibly provide? Strip us of more land? March your knights through without thought of the destruction they leave in their wake? Increase the grain you steal in order to feed fools idiotic enough to try and repopulate Ostagaar? Highever does not, nor will it ever 'serve the crown.'"
"I did not claim you would serve," Rosie waved her hands in the air, trying to get ahold of the situation, but she felt herself tumbling into space. She'd fully missed the grab and instead found an entire wall crumbling upon her. "I only wanted to speak of your problems..."
"There!" Fergus jabbed a hand at her, "There it is. They send the child to placate us, then to our face accuse us of our failures."
"I am not a child!" she screamed, her hands flailing into the air. In her rage, the rose tumbled to the ground, its ripe petals bouncing upon the cobbles. Sucking in a breath, Rosamund tried to find a calm but the best she could do was not glare murder upon the Teyrn twisting her words around like a pretzel.
The flock of advisors beside her suddenly all sprung forward. Heads bowed, hands extended with palms flat, they looked like worms trying to scrabble over the ground upon their bellies. "Forgive her words, my good Lord."
"She is young, she does not know what she says."
"Of course the Teyrn would never be expected to serve the crown. That goes against every treaty ever signed."
The babble continued, boots rushing forward as even more voices tried to call Rosamund a complete idiot without using those exact words. Bundling her fists tight, she stared down at the ground to find her rose flattened, its petals ripped off the stem and scattered over the ground. She didn't mean to... She didn't expect it to... How did it all go wrong so fast?
Risking a quick glance up, she watched the Teyrn standing as still as a statue. He folded his hands up across his chest, not about to be moved by any of the ass kissing. While he looked as if his attention was upon the apologizing advisors, his eyes burned at Rosamund. Her cheeks lit up brighter, practically as red as her dead rose. Not thinking, not caring, barely coherent beyond sputtering rage, their crowned princess and future queen spun on her gilded slipper and marched back out of the gate.
The only things to follow her were shame and failure. Red as blood, the embarrassment of her foolish tongue leaping ahead without thought lurked in stomach like a sea monster bubbling below the waves. And failure, Maker she was getting tired of those knives that left no trace of their multifaceted cuts. She did all she could. Studied. Planned. Certainly more than her father ever would on such a trip.
But he didn't have to, because he'd been doing this for years and everyone was...everyone was used to their king. What did they want from her? To watch Rosie bleed? To smile at their pretty little princess as she walked down the road, then leave all the decisions to the rest? To the better?
Bending her head down, Rosamund ran to her wagon of junk and yanked out the only thing she needed. A few of the handmaidens looked up at her, about to offer suggestions, but the spitting tacks princess snarled before dashing off like a feral beast. Her heart thundered in her chest, Rosie's skirt flapping through the air as she skidded towards the only potential balm in this disaster. Digging her hands in tight, she clung to her prized possession, squeezing so deep the metal rosette upon the middle embedded
into her palm.
As she slowed to a stop, the princess honed in on a single wooden man left sitting alone in the ring. A few archery targets leaned up against a wall along the back, but that wasn't what Rosamund wanted. Not what she needed. Pausing before the wooden dummy a few inches taller than her, she stretched her back leg out digging the heel into the ground for balance.
With a flick of her wrist, she slid her sword out of its scabbard, but didn't toss the metal and leather keepsake to the ground. Lining the blade up in her right hand, the deadly edge extending further towards the dummy, she tucked the scabbard back against her hip but kept it in her left palm. No one was watching, and even if they were she didn't care. This was her sword and no one could tell her to stop. Act as if she was in the wrong. Treat her like a pretty doll to parade around at parties then store away on a shelf.
There were no wrong words here, no missteps that'd endanger treaties decades in the making. Just her, a knife's edge, and wood.
"Aaah!" Rosamund screamed, her nose flaring to take in as much of the thin air as it could. With all her force, she slammed her blade into the shoulder of the dummy. It teetered back at the attack, the spring bounding from such force. The toy weapon in its fake hands bounced too, as if it could mimic a real warrior.
She lifted her scabbard, using it like a shield to deflect the minor nuisance of the wooden sword. The dummy's hand wobbled in a trajectory towards its back, Rosie spinning and striking from the left with her sword. Two fast slashes bit against the wooden chest, splinters sailing to the ground while she screamed again.
It wasn't supposed to happen! She had a plan! The Teyrn was going to admit there was a problem, let her assist. It'd be her first ever deal cut without her father holding her hand or letting her sign her name because it was cute. She'd be a Maker damn adult for once!
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