Arranged Marriages

August, Prince of Yililia

Saja and I danced beautifully together, so perfectly it was as if we were siblings who had been dancing together our entire lives - yet I had barely said a thing to her. I was completely nervous. My hands, the one she held and the one on her waist, were too worked and calloused. I stood about two inches taller than the girl and was able to keep my eyes locked with hers the entire time - her sweet, doe like, innocent eyes that belonged to a girl of fifteen. A girl of fifteen who hadn't even grown up enough to see what I have - war, fighting, death. I had gone to war once, just once, when Yililia was attacked, a small village on the outskirts raided, men torn from wives and children from mothers. Sweet Saja couldn't even imagine.

It wasn't until I felt a gentle hand on my cheek that I realized I had drifted off. I turned my gaze back to Saja and stopped dancing, giving her a sheepish smile. 

"My apologies, princess. My mind got the best of me." She bit down on her lip and squinted up at me, but then gave a bright smile that lit up her eyes. 

I returned the smile, but for God knows what reason instead of continuing to dance I loosened my grip on her hand, letting her arm fall to her side, and reached up to her face. Gauging her reaction, I trained my eyes on hers and reached up to her cheek. I rest a hand on it for a moment, watching her eyes for reaction, for anything telling me to stop. Herffair skin was soft to the touch, and I felt as if I should barely touch it. 

We stood there for a moment, my hand on her cheek and hers still on mine, and my eyes trailed down to the ribbon around her neck. 

"When I was a boy one of my father's knights told me a story," I said, moving my hand carefully to the ribbon and tracing its outline with my finger, still watching her reaction, "of a princess who had her throat taken out. 'Sir Richard,' I said to him, 'how can a girl live without a throat? How does she eat, how does she talk? Can she still play?' 'Little prince,' he said to me, 'they didn't take her whole throat. Just a little bit, to keep her from getting sick - you see, she was dying. But she can still eat, she can still play. She just can't talk.'"

I took the ribbon between two fingers and moved it slightly, revealing a scar and continued, "Then Sir Richard said, 'But most importantly she can still laugh.'" With that last detail I gave her a smile, put the ribbon back in its place, and lightly tickled my fingers under her chin, winning a brilliant smile that flowered on her face a charming giggle that filled the room.