Glow

Chapter One

Welcome to the story. Stay as long as you'd like. End only when you think you've drunk your fill. And most of all, be merry. For, I tell you, the most momentous occasion is at hand. We have ourselves a bond of two lives, intertwining. The whole of history is to be rewritten. Or was it written that way?

Ponder.

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Arvind opened his eyes.

Daughter of Death! He was late! Darn it! The seventeen-year-old shot out of bed, dragging the sheets behind him like a lopsided wedding dress. Here he was, a civilised character, racing around his room trying to find proper attire. His mother would be ashamed. It hit him, momentarily, that his mother wasn't around to see him behave so vulgarly. This thought gave him a pang of sadness, but after a quick glance at the sun's position, it was gone. He hastily located some of his nicest clothes, and was out of the door, his half-dress flung behind him on the straw mattress.

People called to him on the street, waving. He waved back, declining offers to come inside. It was cold out- the chill bit his nose and his hands were numb. But he knew it would warm up later: it was still summer, after all. The scent of delicious, fresh baked bread wafted up the street, a hint of heat on the edges of frost. He was almost tempted to go into the bakery and get something to warm his stomach and his fingers- he was cold. But now was not the time for his appetite, or rather anything, to get the better of him. He was late, and the least he could do was to suffer through the weather.

"You're late, advisor!" a guard said when he had gotten to the castle. "Expect to be let in now? It's nearly over, though with your prince as smitten as he is, I doubt he would care if his precious peasant turned up late."

Arvind shoved his way through roughly. Even though he was smaller, he was bony and strong from working hard as a farmhand when he was much younger. And when a shoulder blade caught you in the face, well, lets just say you had it coming.

He snuck into the pews of the newly-built Sanctuary to watch the wedding. To his relief, the bride was almost to the front of the aisle. Arvind gave a small sigh of relief. He hadn't been late.

That's when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Advisor," a maid whispered in his ear. "you had better come with me. It is urgent."

"Can't it wait?" he asked impatiently. "I just got here."

"No, sir. You see, it is the prince. He's-"

Here the maid looked around and lowered her voice. It was barely higher than the beat of a butterfly's wings.

"He's having second thoughts."

Arvind looked around at the nobles gathered. Sentimental, the brutes, with no idea of the lives beyond their garden walls. He looked at the bride, standing in front of the priest with an innocent expression on her face. She expected to be married to the Prince of Sarojin. She was actually a princess from realm of Kunda, off to Sarojin's left. Kunda and Sarojin had been bitter enemies for years, vying for a land in between them that had finally been settled over a marriage. This marriage. It was to call a truce, make the land neutral, for if Sarojin got the land, Kunda would fight, and vice versa. Yet, as Arvind thought, it was only a matter of time before tensions came to the surface and destroyed each realm from the inside out. Things were worse than anyone could fathom. He didn't suppose this marriage could cause things to get any better.

The princess stood there in her blue gown, a sign of life and newness and peace. Above her brow was a silver circlet, with one sapphire tear hanging against the bridge of her nose. She clutched a group of orange roses in her hands, and she waited in earnest for a man now Arvind had to persuade to come to his own wedding, so that the feud could be resolved. There was a lot resting on his shoulders.