Dear Prince

Chapter 6 .:"Faux.":.

Chapter 6

.:Faux:.

                Erith’s words to her did not leave her mind.

                “We are fated to never be together.”

                Even weeks after he had uttered the words, they remained etched in her mentality.

                It was a horrid thought that fate would be planning to keep them forever apart. She looked up to the portrait of Phaelia. She hadn’t been a princess—just a female warrior from the V’rikkan Tribe of the Southeast. She had fought side by side with Cadis in many ambushes against their common enemy, the Karthians. It was hardly surprising—not for Phaelia, anyway—that Cadis had wished for her to become his queen. Phaelia had always been ambitious, even after she had become queen. Or was it territorial?

                She had rarely been home, leaving her daughter to be raised by a governess. She had heard the rumors of why she was even alive in the first place—the Ruthless Phaelia had wanted an heir who would succeed her when she died. Of course, she had wanted a son, naturally, but what she had gotten was a daughter.

                And a weak daughter at that.

                Not that she hadn’t tried to learn the arts of war. But the most she was good at was strategizing. General Edgarris had even complimented her on her quick thinking mind. She had been frail since birth, and was sick often as a child. She was healthier under Erith’s care, but Phaelia had died before she could witness her daughter’s blooming.

                Arphelia’s eyes traced over the fierce ones of her mothers. They were the same green as hers—and the same determination she sometimes had. She smiled. “Would you be proud of me, mother?” she murmured softly. “Or would you want me to fight back for Erith?”

                She wondered briefly what her mother would have replied if she had been alive. But that did not matter now. She didn’t want to think like Phaelia would—she was a person of her own free will, was she not? An idea was beginning to form in her mind—a great, rebellious one. It did not scare her, but rather, excited her.

                Arphelia thanked the portrait of Phaelia before leaving the room in search of Erith. She wandered down to the combat courts outside, wishing she had brought something to wrap around her shoulders. The day was deceptively cold—a bright, sunny day in looks only. She found him teaching a couple trainees how to correctly hold a bow and correcting the grips of others. In his spare time, he always taught the trainees, finding it a nice change to be around children.

                There was a small crowd around the edge of the court, made of mainly twittering maids. She began a brisk, hurried walk towards them, making sure her footsteps were quiet. She was now near enough to hear what the maids were saying.

                “Erith… how dreamy!” one sighed. “Look how he flexes the bow!”

                “A mere guard to Princess Arphelia,” another said, in the same dreamy airs. “What a waste!”

                “He’s not,” the first maid said shrilly. “He’s a noble—albeit an exiled one.”

                “He has little standing in court,” a third maid interrupted. “That’s why he’s a servant to the Smiling Princess.”

                The second maid gave an irritated sound. “If only she would be more like Phaelia—or even act like Orphia! What a waste of blood. Such a plain, drab princess.”