by Scott Beith
I quickly let go of the statue and began cleaning it instead – something I was meant to be doing rather than daydreaming – right before Queen Milena herself stormed in to view. She was more than just the toughest of military minds. She was a goddess of war, with an admirably but intimidating form of leadership. She was old now, but still beautiful, having maintained a remarkable embodiment of youth across all her flawless facial features. Enough to make one wonder if she ever aged at all.
She reminded me of the old fables about sea-witches: enchanted women with snakes for hair who sang a beautiful melody that succumbed all men to their gloomy doom. And in pure honesty, Queen Milena wasn’t too different from that. She was one step shy of scales and a harpy physique, but she had a fearful stone gaze she kept hidden until she settled her eyes on me…
“WHERE IS SHE?!” she shouted, shattering the peaceful serenity that surrounded this gentle and holy sanctuary of hers.
We were in the backyard water gardens of her humble estate, where she had a glasshouse pool and tropical oasis that she’d personally manufactured for her own solitary leisure.
She was a ‘hands on’ kind of woman and had not only designed the beautiful and decorative features I saw around me, but also built them too. There was a stone waterfall pool, a lagoon and a bar too perfect to be naturally conceived. How she’d even got those boulders up there was a mystery to me. It was like she had lived fifty lifetimes and in each generation she had learned a different tool of the trade.
Queen Milena stormed towards me, stopping one short breath from me. “Well? where is she?”
“I... don’t know, my lady…” I muttered with my eyes downcast.
“YOU DON’T KNOW?” she yelled, sparking up now that she was assured she had a rightful reason to be mad at me. “You don’t know where your princess is?” Her tone was nearly flammable, ready to ignite her royal iridescent spider silk gown. “Watching her is your number one job, Kya. I don’t care if my statue has a smudge on it when it means my daughter could be dead in a ditch somewhere.”
I was lost for words. I knew I needed to defend myself, but I was lost for an excuse that would explain my innocence. “I’m so sorry, my queen. She was here a moment ago.”
“Where she was means nothing to me. Where is she going?” she demanded, practically pressing her face into mine as she poked her bony finger at my chest.
I stared at the floor, trying to avoid her basilisk eyes. The anger she had for her misbehaving teenage daughter was now spilling out onto me. Displaced as she had no one else but me to vent it upon.
I tried to mount my own small defence and said, “She is very skilful in subtlety, your majesty. She must have eluded me intentionally,” I claimed, trying to justify my own neglectful babysitting.
“Yes, I’m very aware of her gifts,” she said calmly, my words seeming to have ended her fiery rampage, “and how they might supersede your own observational skills…” she continued, patting down her silk gown as she tried to flatten its tiny flexed ridges. Her voice softened as she trialled a tone of compassion. “But you’re supposed to be caring for her. You know what she’s like, yet you’ve allowed her to sneak off into heaven knows what kind of turmoil.”
She fell quiet, and I could sense she hoped my guilt would make me confess all my sins due to her one sincere moment of empathy. Although with a clean conscience it only granted me a bigger chance to gather my own thoughts and figure a way out of this potentially life-threatening predicament.
I considered telling her I’d go find her daughter – which I’m sure is what she wanted to hear – but I kept quiet, knowing full well the ramifications that might come with such a sacred oath. Instead I chose to stand there in an uncomfortable silence, my head dropping in surrender.
Queen Milena huffed when she realised her guilt trap had failed and turned her back on me, deciding what to do with me. My nerves amplified when she turned back to deliver her verdict. “We are in the midst of a dangerous war. OR HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THAT?!” she yelled, the fire in her igniting again. I remained quiet, only provoking her further. “If she is out of your sight ever again – even momentarily – you will run and tell someone,” she barked, locking me into her deadly gaze. “Are we clear?” she threatened, poking me again with her bony index finger.
Keeping an eye on her stealthy daughter’s every movements was beyond impossible, but I could tell she wouldn’t listen to reason, her parental distress having clouded her common sense. I had no choice but to humour her. “Again, I am so sorry,” I pleaded, hands together in a small beg for mercy, giving her the sole satisfaction she was longing for: an apology and the acceptance of fault – two things she insatiably craved.
I nodded shamefully once again, like a scolded pet, accepting I had done her some wrong. I was Princess Anara’s maid and babysitter, but I felt more like a sister. I understood there were real dangers outside the castle. Dangers the princess had once again run off to seek.
“Now, I do not care how you do it, or what method you are forced to muster,” Queen Milena said, “you will find her and bring her back to me unharmed.” Her stare told me refusing wasn’t an option. I dropped my gaze from her demonic eyes and nodded to her conditions. “And you better pray to all those angels above that she hasn’t made it out of this castle yet.”
After accepting full accountability and blame, just so I could leave, I turned my back to her and hurried away as fast as I could.
“AND DON’T YOU EVEN CONSIDER RETURNING HERE UNTIL YOU FIND HER!” Queen Milena shouted after me as I escaped down the small garden stairs and left her private paradise behind, exiting the water gardens through the front gate.
I passed through the royal house, walking down the decadent red and gold hallway. I glimpsed at the ornaments and treasures as I moved: old sacred relics displayed like portraits along the walls, paintings woven from dyed silks depicting the grand architecture of Midas’s glorious prehistoric innovations.
Illustrations and precious minerals dangled above me as I exited out the huge open wooden doorway, running out the ancient sandstone manor that the new royal family called their home.
I stopped by a pillar to calm my mind and racing heart, and to take a moment to breathe.
I’ve always prided myself on being one of the cleverest nymphs in this kingdom. Other than my own best friend Akoni, who is inarguably the smartest one of us alive. I saw little equal among the general population around me. I mean I have always been an expert at solving problems when given the opportunity, always seeing that one clue that evades all others. All because I’m the type who questions life more than I choose to live in it. But at times of urgency, just like these, I have to confess all I could sense were the four square palace walls suddenly constricting around me.
My usual sharp mind became a misty fog of irrational fears concerning worst case scenarios, snagged by a debilitating fright that inhibits all ability for me to function and cope under pressure. Honestly, I am smart, but when it comes to moments of strife my mind lacks almost all instincts of improvisation that were essential of someone who could climb the ladder of wealth and nobility.
My lack of skill to function under pressure explains why I’m still just a servant in the royal house, and how I could still just be sitting there on the same seventh palace step almost a full five minutes later, taking more time than I can spare while trying to rationalise all of the heavy decisions rushing through my head.
I could hear the voices of cheerful townsfolk around me as they headed out for another glorious day in their warm cliffside paradise.
Eventually, I found my feet again, choosing to head towards the castle’s central marketplace, figuring most gossip starts there, and only spreads further and further uphill, depending on how high one might dare to travel. And so heading upwards, I walked towards the eastern cliff face that overlooked the great golden reef’s treacherous coastline.
The day itself seemed wonderful enough, with the sun lighting up all the distan
t sandy beaches below this high-rising castle. The golden frames of pillars and monuments bouncing light off all these buildings’ course stone steps. Light only ever dispersing when it head out towards our turquoise coloured sea.
Evidence of Midas’s long lost reign still glared over the land, the unfixable cracks and dents in the metal frames all indications of his once dire influence. Fractures ostentatiously unveiling themselves through the daylights refractive shine, as, most regrettably for us, with his defeat and immediate exile, all of his old street posts and window ledges had no means of his gilded repair. Meaning this brick and gold castle was stuck in a never ending deterioration. Something that was occurring so slowly and steadily that I might have been the only one to notice it.
Perhaps I wouldn’t have noticed it either if it wasn’t for the fear pulsing through me. You see, danger brings out the pessimist in me. If Anara hadn’t decided to frequently escape from her mother and the protection of these huge brick paved castle walls in search of adventures, I might not have noticed the cracks in this castle.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love Anara – as I previously said, she’s like a sister to me, which means everything when you lack a family of your own. But her sudden exploits always caused havoc for me. An adolescent princess, only a few years younger than myself, always running off and forgetting that while she was immune to her mother’s wrath, I was not.
I had a small clue of where Anara had run off to, based on the type of person the princess was. Princess Anara was the purest soul to walk this world. She was smart and courageous and loved by everyone. Her compassion for the lesser class was always inspirational, especially to me. She treated me as an equal, like a shunned family member she fought proudly to defend.
Despite her beauty, her kind heart, the fame and riches she possessed, the priceless silver sapphire tiara that sat on her pretty blonde hair, she had outstanding abilities. She could have been the stealthiest of scouts or the subtlest of spies, but instead she dedicated her time and magic to medicine and aid. She would often sneak out of the royal house to treat the sick and injured. She would skip meals to supply dinner for the hungry and homeless. Sometimes she’d even pose as a servant to help me during festive times. Her own mother could not find ways to punish her insolence as there was no job Anara felt herself too above to endure.
So after overhearing her mother talk about some recent ambushes occurring near the Ambervale Meadows, it didn’t take a keen insight to gather she was already halfway there, ready to help the injured by pulling them to safety from the middle of a battlefield.
Whether I was right about where she was or not, one thing was assured: the safest place for me was anywhere far away from Milena’s wrath.
“Have you seen the princess today?” I asked every merchant I came across, only to get confused questions in answer: “You’ve lost her?”; “How did you lose her?”
I felt my luck slowly running out every time I pleaded with passerby’s along the small road to help me, only for them to turn me away. Elderly civilians frowned in sympathy, remorseful of my predicament but too fearful of Milena’s fury to intervene and risk sharing in the responsibility of finding her daughter.
I took a break by a colourfully-clothed merchant setting up his vibrant stall. He was a middle-aged man with baggy purple and blue-dyed linen. He had a long towel wrapped around his entire body, with a huge red ruby stuffed in its centre, much like it was the custom of a faraway land. I suspected he might be a travelling merchant from as far out as The Badlands.
Undistracted by my slow waving approach towards him, the merchant continued roping the roof of his portable cart as he transformed it into a souvenir stand, getting ready for the midday rush of customers.
“Excuse me, sir. Have you seen or heard about the princess today?” I asked with a pleading glimmer of hope in my eyes. Enough to make him politely stop unloading his elixirs and other valuables to kindly offer me his undivided attention.
I was very hopeful he might have seen her. He looked like a roaming traveller who frequently visited the castle, and he might have seen the princess exit the castle this morning. He was also clearly no stranger to royalty – purple was the colour of it after all. It was the most costly dye on the planet, as the only way to extract the colour purple was through crushing millions of seashells.
“Sorry, my dear, I’m afraid I haven’t seen anyone all day,” he graciously replied. “I was the last to come in before the gates were shut. I spent half my morning by those gates because of some clumsy guard who’d misplaced his keys.” The colourful man divulged, causing me to freeze in a heightened excitement upon hearing it.
“Did he find them in the end?” I asked, hoping he hadn’t.
“Phhhh, not at all,” the vendor responded. “The captain of the guard had to come down – created quite the argument, as you could imagine. Why do you–” he began, but I cut him off.
“How did he lose them?”
“Well, the guard claimed they had been stolen – taken right off his very belt.”
I was so happy with this news I hugged the merchant before hurrying away, shouting out a quick “thank you” over my shoulder.
I skipped up to the nearest patrol guard with no doubt in my mind over who had taken those keys. Anara was the only assailant capable of stealing from a guard without leaving a single trace. “Excuse me, sir. I believe Princess Anara has snuck out of the castle, could you escort me through?” I asked, standing as tall and prime as possible.
The guard’s face turned pale with dread. “Ughhh… I ca…” he stumbled and stuttered to say, before coughing and trying again. “Miss, I can’t allow you to go out there. Eclipses have been sighted as close as The King’s Trail.”
“The princess is probably missing in those eclipses,” I said, trying to push past him.
He blocked my passage. “I have orders not to let anyone out. You will have to talk to the LC,” he said, trying to push me back.
“I guess I could go talk to the queen,” I threatened, assuming he would want as little involvement with her as I did.
He became silent, acting just as I had when the queen had confronted me. He stood frozen like stone, looking away from me, hoping if he simply stayed still long enough he might miraculously become invisible. The two of us stood there in a silent stalemate for at least a minute before I realised I wasn’t getting anywhere without an officer’s consent.
I slowly backed away, watching as he let out his breath, thankful he no longer had to deal with my dilemma. Unfortunately, he had called my bluff, as I had never planned to go back to Milena and face her wrath again.
There was only one thing I could do now: ask the imperial guards for their favour. This would mean involving the princess’s older brother. A teen much too eager to become a full-grown man. An inconsistently stern and serious infantry cadet named Prince Arlo.
I began walking towards the courtyard, where I knew he would most likely be. Like predictable pompous drones, I found the prince and his comrades exactly where I thought they’d be. They squandered up in the courtyard, playing day after day, pushing and shoving. The courtyard was uphill on the highest peak and overlooked the beautiful golden reef from the castle’s hazardous cliff face. The prince and his friends treated it like their clubhouse, chasing away any visitors who might want to enter.
They made it a game to repulse away any and every newcomer with their slanderous attitudes and disgusting odours, while they squalled about in the muddy stalls that they referred to as ‘the training pits’. Prince Arlo might have been the lesser of two evils – with his mother being the greater of two evils – but not by much.
Arrows flew against hay targets, followed by boasting laughs, intimidating all the neighbouring townsfolk, whose sole and supreme abilities must entail simply being capable of tolerating these novice brawlers and their vile demeanours on a routine and daily basis. Somehow the smiths and the netters managing to continue with their ordinary lives, unopposed by al
l the young indiscretions they were being constantly victimised with.
Arlo and his friends were the cool kids you see. Fresh recruits awaiting knighthood. A bunch of pranksters all dreaming about the one righteous quest that might be bestowed upon them to show the elders they were worthy to be accepted into their LC’s – Legion Commander’s – prestigious alpha unit.
They were all apprentice adults who had never seen an inch of real combat, but maintained the sole belief that they were each their own one-man army. And at the very centre of them stood Prince Arlo: a dim-witted thug half covered in armour and the other half of tanned naked muscle. A young man covered in bruises and mud, always shaking his hands fresh so he could wave his short blond hair back and bat those deep green forest eyes to get himself out of trouble – a jokester with an innocent tricksters smile.
The prince was a fit and endurant man with a slick sun-kissed body underneath an unearthly muscular and sturdy shoulder line, with muscles all unevenly distributed across an otherwise thin and toned stature. His scathed and scarred bulky warrior arms looking as if they were the only thing weighing the rest of his light adolescent body down to the earth. Making him the broad backed beast he was most well known for. A brute both fast and strong, with his superior upper torso strength no doubt developed from consistent exposure to lifting and swinging a gigantic two handed heavy claymore sword about two-thirds the size of himself. Carrying a monster of a weapon at the cost of losing all sense of appropriate armour and shielding. He always looked so much bigger from the distance than he was up close. Although I was not the best source of that kind of information, as back then I did everything in my power to actively avoid him.
Mid combat, Arlo’s adversaries dived towards him with sensational but synchronous fleeting strides, each using their abilities as they attacked. One huge monster of a man with a hardened body of spikes and horns aggressively trying to tackle and impale the prince to the corner ropes of this mud pit. His skinny associate manipulating the enclosure they were caged in, turning mud into protruding shards of black ice that spurted from the ground in an upwards avalanche around the evasive prince.