Internal V.1: Child of Discord (Internal, third draft)

(1) Apart Together

(Part 1)

Few other less welcome sights could be conceived by the people of the capital city of Elbar than the approach of fourteen-year-old Princess Azalea Husniria, their current Amir's fourth child and second daughter. Never known for any notions whatsoever of 'courtliness' so often associated with ones of her rank, this princess appeared, on the other hand, to take pleasure in things beyond comprehension--putting it mildly--and would often fume at the slightest fault (in this she was almost implacable). The outbursts alone would have been something to behold.

Walking with her would almost feel like carrying along a powder keg whose trailing powder had been lit.

The people, thus, sagely stayed clear of her path, watching balefully as their princess--currently garbed in a sleeveless five-bottomed doublet, loose trousers meant for scouting or hunting, and jet-black boots still dripping with mud from yet another round of misadventures--directed her steps to a garment shop. Some went so far as to whisper prayers and best wishes for the next individual fortunate enough to come right into her scrutinizing sights.

The princess's sharp gaze of crystal-blue eyes that portended confidence almost to a fault added still more to the common folks' apprehensions. That she was carrying no visible weapons was small consolation.

For her part, Azalea bore little to no scruples: she was a princess, this was how people and things should be.

There was, after all, such a thing as 'social class'; cherished and kept in place even during the days of someone her father, the Amir, had only deigned to dub as 'The Despot' all those years (though never in the mother's hearing, for some reason); to the effect that people from different rungs ought not intermingle. The princess's mother too had maintained this stance often enough to have the daughter take it as something close to an article of faith.

As the princess entered a shop just before the turn to Emerald Street (she did not even pause to read the shop's name), Azalea was only mildly surprised to learn that the inner side of the shop's door had been equipped with a little brass bell, to help inform those concerned that a customer was impending.

"Welcome!" came the cheery greeting of one of the shop's female assistants, accompanied by a slight dip of the head and a smile... which seemed to freeze in place the moment she took note of the newcomer. "Oh my... it's The Princess."

Azalea smirked, putting one hand on her own hip. "Me again, me always. Why the frostiness, Mina?"

Mina bowed once more, slightly deeper this time. "Please do forgive me! The owner is unavailable as of today to greet Your Excellency in person, but I shall do my best! That is, if anything in our humble stall is of particular interest to your refined tastes..."

"Else I wouldn't be here, moron," Zalea blurted. Unceremoniously she took her muddy boots off; left them by the shop's threshold; and stepped forth, barefeet, to look around. "Let's see... perhaps a new dress today. Best you've got, n' be quick 'bout it!"

There followed a flurry of offers often accompanied by cajolery and quick tips about each of the garments' material and price. Yet that day, as in so many other days, this princess did not seem to favor any of these choices; in fact she tore up one dress outright from sheer frustration.

At the end of an hour, Mina was still making an effort to sell.

"How about this one, my lady? Finest Estrean velvet around!"

"How many times must you be told, peckhead?! That dress just now got fewer flower patterns than would be appropriate for my personal use in palace balls! ...No, no, this one's slash of colors is totally on the wrong side, I tell ya... Ah, darn it, this one's just not attractive enough! Won't bring out the charm, and that's about all that would matter in dances! Got me?!"