Dear Prince

Chapter 1 .:The Object of His Affections:.

Chapter 1

.:The Object of His Affections:.

            “You are to be wed to Prince Wesley of Marcaaia,” the king said sternly. Arphelia could do little else than to stand in front of her father, eyes wide with surprise. The hands holding the single red tulip fell limp to her side as the flower slipped to the ground. “Don’t say a word of this, my Arphelia. I understand you have… unbidden feelings for your servant Erith, but I am sure that, with time…”

            Her eyes burned, but she did not cry. She would not cry—not in front of others’ eyes. Phaelia’s name would be tarnished. “But why, father?” she asked, her voice firm and unwavering. “Am I not third to my brothers and sisters?” Travis and Orphia weren’t even engaged yet. Why would she be? "What of my siblings?"

            “It is the wish of Marcaaia’s king,” he said simply. “Fret not, my dear. The wedding itself will not take place for a few years. That should be time enough for you to… say your farewell to Erith.”

            “Say… farewell?” she asked in confusion. “Is he not my guard, whom you appointed to me?”

            King Cadis cleared his throat. “I did not expect Erith to behave so irrationally. He, a mere guard, dared to seduce you! That is unforgivable.”

            Arphelia gaped. “Seduce—no, father that’s not—“

            “He shall be sent to Pharrish Island,” he said quietly. “And there will he live forever.”

            She looked at her father in horror. “No! Live in Pharrish Island, to be treated like a criminal for all his days? That’s-that’s—“

            “Enough with this foolishness, Arphelia,” he murmured in a strained voice. “You never acted like this before, my dear…”

            Because I had nothing—no one—I truly cared for! Arphelia wanted to scream. Because I cared for no one else but myself! But as was required of her, she simply bowed her head and said, “Yes, father,” and cast herself from his presence.

            Even back in her room, she did not cry. Her eyes continued to burn with the need, but she did not succumb. “Mother, what would you have done?” she asked to the portrait hanging over her bed. “Though you never cared for such matters, did you?” The words were bitter; angry even.

            Phaelia was never a kind mother, but she had been the best mother she could hope for. No one else could keep her father at bay like her. And she had been a strong warrior queen—enough of one to be granted the title of Ruthless Phaelia. It was her legend that set her apart from her brothers and sisters. She was the only daughter of Phaelia, the one true queen. Travis and Orphia were children of Consort Ellia.

            The fierce, mysterious smile her mother gave her was infuriating. She donned a light cloak and left the stuffy castle, calling Erith to go with her.

            “You mustn’t, princess,” Erith protested weakly as she peered around the corner of the hall. “You are to stay in your room and—“

            She shushed him. “Since when have you cared for orders?”

            “That’s—“

            “Erith, I love you, truly, but you need to be quiet now.” Arphelia stepped back. “Guards!” she whispered. Erith quickly moved so that they were both in the shadows when the group of guards passed. “What are they doing in the castle?”