V.
When Michelle leaves her room, she does so standing tall and alone. Her mother is not permitted to be by her side, a fact which she barely manages to inform Michelle without allowing her voice to break. She does not have to explain why.
“The King’s orders.” “Other duties to attend to.” Whatever reason her father has conjured up this time, both women know the reason. Michelle is to be handed off before most of the soldiers of Terygen who remain in the palace, and for that reason, the King wishes to be the center of attention. There is no room, in his mind, for any woman in the sea of men who will be waiting. If it was possible, Michelle is certain he would attempt to hand her off without her presence entirely.
For once, the halls are devoid of the footsteps of soldiers as Michelle walks them. She knows the most direct way to the front of the castle, but she does not take it. This is her last time walking the halls that have raised her. Even if they were forbidding and hollow and chilled, they still guided her with hands as unchanging and reliable as she could have hoped for. She will be as unrelenting and austere as they are, even if she is parted from them. This is the oath that rests upon her lips as she steps through the hall one last time, her steps commanding and confident where they once were tripping and childish.
The front steps of the palace have been avoided by Michelle since she was just old enough to understand what they were. They are the most populated area of the palace, even though few visitors come nowadays; from the distant window of her makeshift library, she has always seen at least a few soldiers or servants crawling over the steps like ants.
Now, when Michelle steps onto them, they are filled with more people than she has ever seen in one place before.
The guards of Terygen line the steps, but they also flood the road that leads up to the castle in a sea of red and blue. It reminds Michelle of when she used to hunt for stems of elderberries in the wood; she always knew them by the flash of red that managed to pierce through the deep, blue clumps.
Her father stands at the top of the steps, nearest to her. He is clothed in finery, in deep, rich velvet that almost makes Michelle laugh. They have barely had enough firewood for the servants for years; they cannot afford such clothing. Of course her father’s ego before their enemy would prompt him to do something so fiscally irresponsible as this.
Michelle’s eyes barely have time to travel the rest of the scene-- a trio of carriages, one of which is open and waiting at the foot of the steps, many guards on horseback, a group of people from the village who are separated from the affair by a line of guards-- before her father’s words jerk her gaze away from her surroundings and back to him.
“My jewel.”
The words, falling from his lips, sound as hollow as Michelle feels. She can hardly look upon him without feeling her chest tighten. His eyes, which are narrow and brown like her own, have no smile lines. His face is worn, but it is not worn into the gentleness that age can sometimes bring to a face. No; his lines and wrinkles are the results of erosion. They are caused by anger and greed coursing over his face so frequently that they have carved a path into his skin, one that will never be erased. These lines are arranged into a false expression of affection as he reaches for her, something that causes Michelle to freeze in her steps. A shadow crosses her father’s face, but it is quickly righted as he takes a few steps towards her, his arms coming around her back. One hand comes to rest at the base of her neck, hidden by the knot of curls there.
It is masterful, really; he is learning from the serpentine actions of his advisors, then. To the crowd, it appears as though he is giving his daughter a tender embrace. They cannot see the way his fingers grasp the place where her head meets her skull, locking her in place.
Michelle stiffens in his arms, her skin crawling from the mere proximity. For a moment, she forgets that she is before a crowd-- everything in her screams that she needs to pull away, to put as much distance between herself and this man as she can. However, her father only holds her closer as her whole body clenches. His mouth moves to her ear, and she is certain that to the watching guards it appears as though he is murmuring the words of a father parting ways with his daughter. “If you move, you will live to regret it.”
Chills rise on the back of Michelle’s neck, and for a moment, her body begs her to relax. She can put on an act for a moment, can she not? After all, that is what she is going to have to do for the rest of her life. It is what will be expected of her, and at this moment, it is what will force him to stop touching her and quit the crawling of her skin. It would be so easy to just obey.
Her mother’s face flashes before her eyes.
A woman, vibrant and kind and noble to her very core, who has spent her whole life obeying. She gave up everything for a man she knew would give her nothing… And she has spent the remainder of her years doing everything she can to give her everything to Michelle. She has done all in her power to free Michelle from her father for as long as she can, and maybe she has failed.
But Michelle can pick up the fight for her.
For a moment, Michelle remains frozen in the embrace. Her breath hitches in her throat as she tells herself that which she has always known: he is weak. He is a coward, he is incapable of managing resistance.
He will crumble at the first hint of a storm on the wind, and it is for that reason that Michelle pulls away slightly, her eyes meeting his own. He is taller and he looks down his nose at her with irises the same brown as hers, but her eyes burn with fire his never will. When she speaks, the words are quiet and bite like a dagger.
“Will I?”
His eyes widen, and for a dangerous moment, Michelle knows that she has won. His hand loosens on her neck, and Michelle steps away from him so that his embrace drops. There is a split second where they stand, slightly parted, and Michelle’s heart hammers as she waits for the people to realize what has happened.
And then, a voice is breaking the silence, and all eyes are on the speaker. “Right this way, Your Highness. The carriage is ready and waiting.”
Michelle turns her gaze to the one who spoke, and she finds one of the men she encountered in the halls the day that she learned the name of the king. He is the shorter of the two, the one who had urged the other to simply focus on their orders rather than questioning after her. He is a bit stout, wearing clothes of red and blue, clad a little meaner than a courtier and a little finer than the guard, and his dark hair is combed back beneath his hat. His rounded face shows a few smile lines around his eyes.
For a moment, Michelle swears that his dark eyes are filled with what is meant to be assurance. However, he then turns and offers a small smile to the surrounding guard, almost completely erasing the tension of the moment as they incline their heads to her. The man, who appears to be roughly her own age, gestures to the open carriage. The guards clear the way, making a clear path for her.
Michelle does not spare her father a glance as she steps forward, the enemy on either side.
Her heart hammers as she approaches the vehicle, which is crafted and furnished more finely than anything she has seen in her life. It is not pretending, like her room-- it is the real thing, and it only makes her chest flutter more. The guards dip their heads to her as she passes, something that makes the blood roar in her ears.
She has only ever seen people do that for her father.
There is a man at the side of the carriage, another one of the guards, and as Michelle’s eyes find his face she realizes it is familiar. He has light brown skin with golden undertones, and he stares at her with dark eyes that are filled with awe. She knows immediately after he opens his mouth who he is: the other guard who spoke of her in the halls.
“You truly are as beautiful as they say, Your Highness.” As he extends a hand to help her into the carriage, his voice is smooth and flattering. Michelle finds herself overwhelmed with the strange urge to laugh; maybe it is caused by the juxtaposition of these words, meant to curry her favor, with the transactional language he previously used in regards to her.
For a moment, Michelle pauses at the foot of the carriage, and a small smile curves on her lips. The gleam in her eyes, however, is not one of pleasure. It is the glimmer of cold amusement, of having caught him in meaningless words and ideas.
“And therefore, I have value?” Her response is soft, and it cannot be heard by anyone who is not in the immediate vicinity.
The smooth expression on the guard’s face melts away, but he does not dare look away from her. The eyes widen, and for a moment she can tell he is flailing-- until an expression of forced politeness takes hold of his face, and he attempts to right himself. “I-I did not mean to insult-”
“What would you say if I were not lovely, and still dared to ascend the throne of your kingdom? Or would you only voice your opinions when my back was turned?” Michelle’s words are not cruel and prodding. Instead, they are methodical, more of the nature of the things she used to write in the margins of her notes when she was conducting an experiment-- and now, as she stares at him, it is as though she is looking at a specimen through a glass vial. His mouth opens and shuts a few more times, but no words come out. Michelle lets out a soft hum.
“It is a good thing I am beautiful, then.”
For a moment, Michelle could swear she hears a stifled laugh from behind her. When she turns, however, she is greeted only with the face of the quasi-nobleman who managed to smooth over the tension with her father. Is she mistaken, or is that the gleam of an amused co-conspirator in his eyes?
Before she can grow to question it, Michelle brushes past the guard who is still gaping like a trout. Though it is difficult in her skirts and stays, Michelle uses every ounce of strength in her body to hand herself into the carriage. How she manages to do so without stepping on her skirts or toppling over is anyone’s guess, but she still makes it into the vehicle.
A breath of relief leaves her body as soon as she is out of sight of the majority of the crowd. A bit of tension remains, but she knows this will be resolved once she closes the door. Michelle is just leaning to do this when someone else is handed into the carriage: the young man of her own age with the round face and kind eyes. He nods in her direction with a small smile and then moves to shut the door, and Michelle’s heart sinks.
Of course. She had forgotten that, among the things lost to this war, the luxury of being in her own company was one of them.
“Your Highness, are you quite comfortable?” The young man’s voice drags her from her train of thought, and she turns to look upon his face. It seems to be slightly more jovial as it looks upon her, and his tone is gentle. It is an attempt to stir up warmth in Michelle, and she loathes the fact that it almost works.
“You need not worry about my comfort. It cannot be decided by a single carriage.” She keeps her words cold, distant. As the carriage begins to move, she stares out the window at the building that holds her entire childhood, eyes seizing upon every detail.
Whenever did it grow to look so small?
Her company begins to speak again. Michelle does not look in his direction, for she already knows what he is doing: he is attempting to alleviate the awkwardness, the same way that the guard who tried to hand her in had done.
“Of course, Your-”
“Please do not say it again.”
Her words are still composed, but there is a slight tension in them near the end. It is not a tension towards him, but rather the result of a tightening in her throat at the title. She has almost never been addressed in such a manner by anyone but a few of the newer servants, and it feels foreign upon her ears. Everything feels foreign, now, and though Michelle does not want to show it, she knows she needs a moment to just breathe.
She is expecting the nobleman to continue to speak, or to urge her to change her mind, or even to gape like the other man did. However, he simply falls silent, a sound which is sweet as the finest music to Michelle’s ears. When she glances over, she finds that he is paying her no mind. He is almost pointedly staring out the window, keeping his gaze averted.
Is he being sensitive to her wish to be left alone? Despite herself, Michelle finds her guard lowering just slightly.
The carriages continue on, and soon the palace is out of sight. They are moving along the country, but they are doing so quite swiftly despite the deteriorated state of the roads in Michelle’s kingdom. Her partner in travel spoke the truth: the horses are swift, and she can tell by peering at the animals who are leading the carriage behind them. She spends what might be a quarter-hour in silence, simply watching the countryside go by before the young man speaks again.
“We will take short stop tonight, at the estate of one of our nobles where you are free to bathe and change.” He still does not look at her as he speaks, though now he appears slightly more relaxed in doing so. Instead, the nobleman is fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, a quirk that Michelle would not have expected from someone like him and is almost soothed by. “Then, we will begin on our way again tomorrow.”
For a moment, a question rolls around in Michelle’s head. The appropriate time for a response has nearly passed before she finally queries, “Must we stop at the estate tonight?”
It is this question that brings his eyes to her once more, though the gaze does not make Michelle uncomfortable. It does not hold awe or flattery or anything false; he just looks plain dumbstruck. “I-I suppose we could just keep moving,” he finally voices, though his voice is a bit bemused.
“I would prefer that.”
Michelle has returned to her gazing out the window, but this time he seems determined to press on. “You do not even know where we are going.” There is a slight note of disbelief, and the fact that he does not bother to stifle it prompts Michelle to peer back at him.
“To your palace, I presume.” The guess is simple, and calculated-- the journey will be long, and she is prepared for it… At least, she was before she was confronted with such a resolute stranger to share the journey with.
“No, no.” Understanding fills the man’s face, and he raises a hand and gestures in order to emphasize that she has misunderstood.
Michelle’s eyebrows shoot up at the contradiction. It would not make sense… Why would they go anywhere but the place that she is intended to spend her new life? She is so vexed by the thought that she forgets to keep composed before the individual. “What?”
“We are not going to the royal palace. At least, not yet.”
“Why would your king seek to have me anywhere else?”
“We are going to a seaside estate, Your-” A pointed look from Michelle causes the man to catch himself, and he inhales and lets out his breath with a sheepish grin. She does not appreciate how genuine and pure the action is; it makes it harder to distrust him. “Right. We are going to a palace by the ocean, only just over the border.”
“I do not understand.” Michelle’s mind whirs. A seaside estate? She has never seen the ocean, only read of it. What will it be like? For a moment, her curiosity distracts her from the matter at hand, and she forces herself to focus. Perhaps, by subverting her expectations, the king hopes to unsettle her into complacency.
If that is the truth, however, the young man does not own up to it. “King Peter thought you would prefer it there… Well, that it would be an easier adjustment, at least.”
Michelle fixes him with a quizzical stare, one that has returned to the cold, calculated front that she had forgotten to maintain with him for a moment. Why should it matter to him if the adjustment was easier for her? An adjustment was an adjustment… There had to be an ulterior motive. Besides, how would it be any easier? There was no sea in her kingdom.
The man, seeming to sense her train of thought, plows ahead to explain. “The estate is by a great wood, just like your castle, and the climate is very similar to it is here-- it changes, near the Royal Palace. It’s less forested, and more of a mountainous area by the ocean. But the seaside palace is a mix of the two: there are woods, and there is water. The King thought it would be helpful if you had time to adjust.”
Woods… Despite herself, her heart lulls into a more soothing rhythm at the thought. Perhaps, when she looks out her window there, the wood will look almost familiar in the dark. Michelle immediately catches that train of thought, however, and shoves it deep down into her chest.
Still, there is no harm in asking a few more questions. “How far is the estate from here?”
“Terygen is known for the breeding of our horses, and they are some of the quickest beasts on the earth. They will bring us to the estate in just over two days, not counting however much time we spend stopping to rest, and of course to give you time to change-”
“I do not wish to stop, then.” Michelle does not remember giving herself permission to say those words, but they have left her before she even has a chance of stopping them.
The boy blinks at her a few times, but the fiddling with his sleeve resumes as he manages to find words. “What about clothing? Your father saw to it that a gown was left for you to change into.” He gestures to a parcel beneath her seat, and Michelle glances down.
The package is wrapped in ribbon, and she can see a bit of the fabric through the paper that it is wrapped in. The gown’s cloth is of silk she knows they cannot afford, and it is a bright, pale blue that seems to be forcibly suggesting a clear sky to her mind. She can see a bit of lace peeking out, as well, and she knows that if she opens it, there will be plenty of embroidery and pleating to sell the idea of opulence and wealth.
Michelle uses the heel of her boot to lightly slide the package further under the seat, into shadow. When she looked up at the man, one of her eyebrows is arched almost in a challenge. “I prefer men’s clothing.”
For a moment, there is silence as he looks into her eyes. She is daring him, and he knows it-- daring him to react, to scold her, to insist that she change, or even to simply imply in a condescending, well-meaning tone.
None of this happens. Instead, a small grin stretches across his lips, and it is genuine and friendly in a way she has never seen from anyone else before. “Me, too.” The words hold a bit of humor in them, and though she does not laugh, a little bit of warmth trickles into Michelle’s eyes.
Now, she is certain that it was a poor attempt to hide amusement that she heard from behind her while speaking to the guard.
Michelle maintains his gaze for a moment, and this time it is not charged with a challenge or any uncertainty. She simply scans his features, finding only the shadows of some forming smile lines and an expression of genuine pleasure situated upon them. The quiet is not unpleasant; it is comfortable, something she has never felt before in silence with another person.
When the youth finally looks away, it is to stifle a yawn. Michelle barely hides the upward twitch in her lips this time, but luckily he is too busy settling into his seat to notice.“I am going to take a short rest if that is alright with you.”
“Of course.” Michelle resumes her staring out the window, and he allows his eyes to flutter shut. She has already assumed he is sleeping when he speaks again.
“I will inform the drivers before nightfall that our only pause will be to switch out the horses,” he murmurs, a pleasant note of tiredness in his voice. Michelle cannot help but be pleased by the news. “Wake me if you need anything.”
Michelle lets out a noncommittal hum, eyes fixating on the grey horses ahead of them again. She has nearly allowed herself to become lost in thought again before his sleepy voice jars her from her musings.
“Oh. And my name is Edmund Leeds. I am an advisor in King Peter’s court-- but you can call me Ned if it’s all the same to you.”
An advisor… He must know the king, then, and well. And yet a close confidant of King Peter was willing to come all this way to see her safely to Terygen? The thought is one that is confusing, and Michelle decides that it will take a night of puzzling to begin to understand. Still… The name suits him, and this is all she manages to think about as she responds.
“It is.”
Ned hums from across the carriage, and Michelle does not know why she has to fight back a smile. “Alright. Well… Goodnight.”
After that, his breathing deepens, and deep snores begin to fill the carriage. The rhythm is soothing, Michelle decides, as she gazes out the window and watches the countryside of her homeland fade into the distance so completely that she wonders if they were even there before.