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Princess Adalena
Afewcrateslinethe edges of the wagon,Turin Coastal Companystamped on their side.
My chin rests on the junction of my knees which I hold tight against me. The rocking of the wagon sends the bottom of my face knocking against the solid bone, but I don’t move it. Its rhythm puts me in a trance as I keep watch, each passing tree and rock eventually fading into the distance as the day drones on.
The empty road paired with my submissive silence earned me a chance to sit up, to relieve my aching back and sides from the hard bed of my wheeled cell. We passed through the last northern city of Felshan just before dawn, the first ringlets of morning bouncing across the horizon as we left the final gates of Fort Lowsan.
My disappointment has come to be my friend over the last several days, my hope smashed each time I feel the seed take root. There were no Santana spies to question the old woman who traveled beside me through the city. In fact, no one even had a chance to see to me. Her knife stayed shoved against my side as we traversed the dark, abandoned streets, threatening a painful death if any noise escaped my lips.
Onah— the literal and figurative pain in my side. She’s quite a peach, if one likes a spiky, thick skin giving way to sour, rotten fruit underneath.
Tess Santana and her brother, Liam, came to visit the castle many times when we were younger. Hope clung to me when I heard my captors reference our approach to the hilled city. That hope was diminished with every completed turn of the wheels underneath me. I recognized none of the faces that escorted us through what I gleaned was Fort Lowsan, and I began to wonder if the Santanas were somehow involved.
How would we get through Felshan’s northern settlement, arranged to be the front line of defense from a Thenstran invasion, without House Santana’s approval? An icy chill runs through me as the realization of betrayal buries deep in my veins.
“Princess Adalena, do you have a nickname? Something that rolls off the tongue a little easier?” My male captor asks, pulling me from my thoughts. I don’t speak, keeping my same, unmoving position as if I didn’t hear.
“Parkernever garnered much to work with in the way of shortened names. My mother just called mesonwhen she could only be bothered to speak a single syllable. It's highly unoriginal, I know,” the man says back to me. He keeps talking, and I get the impression he greatly enjoys the sound of his own voice. “My sister, Wren, on the other hand. My mother was smarter when it came to naming her. Although, I myself findWrento be such a boring name.”
The man is insufferable. I have a feeling Onah and me can agree on this one, tiny thing.
“Do youeverstop talking?” she says.
“I’m just making friendly conversation. You should try it sometime. Do you have any nicknames, Onah? Anything dear old mum might have called you before you became the hardened woman I see before me?” The woman snarls, clearly unamused, but doesn’t give him the slap that his offensive banter typically evokes.
Instead, she gives a cool response, as if she were telling someone the news of the day. “I don’t remember my mother. Probably a whore down at the docks. But from what I hear, your mother is very nice and very pretty. Perhaps I could have her make up a nickname for me. One day soon I may just get to meet her, and I can ask her myself.”
The air behind me stiffens, Parker’s flippant demeanor instantly turning to ice. I hear him take a slow, deep breath. All hint of amusement leaves this cramped wagon space.
He’s talked about his mother several times over the last few days. But when Onah brings her up he acts like a dog backed into a corner, whimpering in submission. So strange— how quick he’s been to mock her, and how abruptly she seemed to put him in his place with only the mention of meeting his mother.
The two take turns in the wagon bed before we stop for a quick bathroom break in the afternoon. If today is anything like the past few, we will ride well into the night before stopping for a few hours of rest.
Onah takes the first shift, lying down a bedroll next to me and snoring after only a few moments. How she can sleep so soundly with every jolt and bump is beyond my understanding.
When Parker comes to the wagon bed next, he sits with his back against the side instead of lying down, focusing all his attention on me. This is the first time I’ve been able to see his full face, only catching glimpses of edges and corners of him until now. His unwavering stare prompts me to shift around in an attempt to avoid it. After a while I think he might be doing it on purpose, to try and make me feel uneasy or catch me off my guard.
“Can I help you with something?” I finally ask the man— Parker, if the story of names is actually true. A few moments pass without an answer. “Onah isn’t enough of a person to irritate, now you must come do it to me as well?”
My words snap him out of his trance, and a warm smile covers his face, showing a straight array of white teeth. “You know, I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say in days. She still has a voice!”
Onah turns to glare at the man who is once again shouting as if we are the only people left in the world, but I hardly register the decibel of his voice. His onyx hair is tied back, and those deep brown eyes— something about them registers a spark in my mind. I squint as I take them in, my head tilting off to the side.
“Pardon me, Princess. I’ve spent so many years in the employ of the king and queen and all the formalities that come with the job, it seems odd indeed that I’m sitting in the back of a wagon with their daughter,” the man says to me, no hint of warmth in his tone.
The memory slams into me like I fell into the Rashan in the middle of winter.
The guard. He’s the guard from the hallway. The handsome guard Roan teased me about. The one who offered to walk me after I left tea with my mother, aunt Margaret, and Lady Davenport. My mouth hangs open, my pulse quickening as realization dawns on me.
“You’re the…” I stutter, pointing a finger at him as I struggle to wrap my mind around this truth.
“I’m the,” is all he replies, exhaling the words. His face is blank, no amusement that the helpless princess figured it out, nor malice like I would have expected at such a revelation, poking at my ignorance.
“Onah was also the servant that drugged your water, up on the balcony.” A hiss sounds from somewhere behind me, a sharp voice following the noise. But all I can do is stare at Parker. His face never falters from his vacant expression except when answering back to the biting voice and whatever words were muttered from the old woman.
It only takes a few moments for the shock to twist into unadulterated anger, a flurry of scorching tears gathering at my eyes.
I close my mouth into a thin line, color rising to my cheeks as I let the fire burn within me. “How dare you.” My voice is eerily steady, but my words are filled with more fury than I thought myself capable of feeling. “How does it feel to now be a traitor, with the Princess of Felshan tied up in the corner? After you swore an oath of protection, to watch over me at all costs, even against the pain of your own life?” My teeth grind together, my heart pounding as a single tear plops down my face.
