TO THINE OWN SELF
prologue...
' lament the youth
of princess delphine '
DEAR READER, before history commences with an utterance of 'once upon a time', I must warn you. This is not a story of love, a romance to be idolised. It is the tale of a girl who became a woman, and a boy became a man — both against their will. It is a story of stolen youth, stolen hearts and stolen joy. Hairs stand on end, and tears fall in a ballet of synchronicity, like icicles in the early March sun as our fated adolescents mourn what could have been.
So beware, my dearest reader; do not hold onto hope. Instead yearn for a world in which Peter Pevensie, and Delphine of Archenland might at last find a glimmer of truth in this land of falsities. Allow us to lament, to cry, to weep. Allow us to sing, to shout, to stamp our feet in glorious protest. To demand that this becomes a story of boy meets girl, of love at first sight — a tale in which the prospect of a happy ending caresses each word with a quivering featherlight touch.
But alas, despite such sorrows our story begins as most often do — with four familiar words lingering like morning dewfall upon the waving grass. Once upon a time... once upon a time... once upon a time, after the winter ended.
Delphine sat by her balcony windows, her knees pulled into her chest as her eyes lingered upon the foals that galloped down in the field below. Dagmar, her favourite, a colt with a particularly skittish gait and a crisp white star between his eyes of chestnut brown had instantly captivated her attention. As his muscular legs pelted him across the open plane it seemed as if he was flying — drifting at first, his head banking up and down as he moulded to the contours of the land, and then, as the speed with which he ran grew ever faster, all tremors and movements ceased, and he seemed to soar up into the sky with perfect stillness. "How I wish to fly." She muttered, the lace of her corseted dress, a triumph in eggshell blue, beginning to scratch at her neck. "How I wish to fly far into the clouds and away from everyone below."
"Stop with this nonsense of flight." A taut voice quipped from behind Delphine, sending a jolt of surprise through her like an electric current. "I do not know why you sit on the floor like a common peasant girl, Delphine. A future Queen of Narnia must sit like a lady — look! Your dress is all creased!"
Delphine felt her face pale at her mother's words. Future Queen of Narnia. How strange it sounded upon her mother's tongue, how wrong, how nauseating. In just a month, one short yet seemingly eternal month, she would be married to a man she had yet to meet. Married under the sun of an April sky to High King Peter, the Magnificent. The whole affair was fickle, folly, foolish. The kind of event that causes time to cease moving forward and entrap nature under the grip of an icy fist.
Turning to face her mother, Delphine felt her insides churn. "But, Mama, what if I don't want to be Queen — what if I don't want to get married just yet." The Princess caught her mother's eye, allowing to momentarily witness to a fleeting flash of fury that glinted within the woman's eye.
Empress Bernadette of Archenland was a lady of anger. The kind of woman who caused hairs to stand on end and ice to fill one's veins. She seemed to show love by casting out scornful remarks as if she were fishing upon the tumbling waters of the Maelstrom. And this day was no different. As soon as the innocent, yet defiant words tumbled from her lips, Delphine saw her mother melt from a mother into a queen, foregoing all biases and pre-existing emotions she held for her daughter and seeing only a product of her reign.
"What have I told you, Delphine?" The woman's sharp voice cut clear through the air, causing Delphine to scramble up from her place upon the swirling marble floor. "We royals do not do as we please — what you want is irrelevant. Your marriage to the High King is for the good of our kingdom... our people. Do not be a selfish child."
Delphine cast her eyes downward and swallowed thickly, her fingers knotting themselves into a cluster of quivering extremities. "I'm sorry. But..." the Princess trailed off, unable to find the words that would not anger her mother. "But, what if he doesn't love me? I so desperately want to be loved!"
A pained smile tugged at the edges of Bernadette's thin lips, the lines of weathered years crinkling at the corners of her eyes. "If your husband is happy, you will be happy, my darling."
"But Mama, that has nothing to do with love!" Delphine cried, crossing the room towards her mother at a terrific speed causing the silk skirts of her dress to billow beneath her feet like a kite caught upon the wind."What good is a marriage if we do not love each other?"
Bernadette sighed, reaching out and clutching her daughter's forearms. "Your job is a simple one, my little dove. You are to unite our houses, and produce an heir. You can do that for me, can't you?"
"I don't know." Delphine whispered, tears beginning to well in the depths of her eyes. "I don't know — all I want is to be loved! Is that too much to ask?"
The Empresses eye's darkened, her grip tightening around her daughter's forearms. "You are being selfish, Delphine." Bernadette snarled, causing the Princess to flinch slightly. "This talk of love is foolish. Obey me, obey your father, obey your husband — or you will fail in your duty, you will fail your kingdom."
It was then that the colours in the room seemed to shift, yet Delphine seemed to be the only person who witnessed such a change. As her mother's ire clamoured to its precipice, manifesting itself in what would become finger-shaped bruises around both of the Princess' delicate forearms, all that once seemed vibrant and saturated was muted to a rather sickly shade of grey — as if, in a reluctant rendition of the tarantella, all that once held an iota of joy suddenly danced from the room, taunting Delphine with a sly grin. And it was then, as the palace she once called home became a vacant, vapid vessel, no longer full of the hues of happiness, the Princess of Archenland realised her fate.
"Mama." She gasped, a shrill whine escaping her lips in response to the ache around her wrists as stray tears began to race down the slopes of her cheeks. "Mama, please stop — you're hurting me!"
At her daughter's words, the darkness within the Empress' eyes dissipated like sand through a sieve. Replacing it sat a look of horror, lingering behind Bernadette's irises with little concealment. The woman yanked her hands away, fingers quivering as she stepped back from her daughter. "Delphine," she began, her voice jumping up an octave causing her usual serene tone to become shrill and taut. "my little dove, I'm so sorry — I don't know what came over me. I'm so sorry, I—"
"Mama." Delphine's voice cracked, her face thick with tears, standing at what she decided was a safe distance from her mother. "I don't want to go. Please don't send me away." The Princess' voice was no more than a whisper, but her words pierced through Bernadette with the sharpness of the smallest silver needle.
"Oh my darling..." The woman breathed, unsure as to what to say in reply.
"I can go next year. Or even the year after—"
"No, Delphine! You cannot—"
"Why?!" She shrieked, a sob rumbling in her throat, terror so apparent upon her face that it seemed as if the Reaper had kissed every last feature upon it. "Why not?! Please!"
"Because this is your duty!" The woman's shrill voice echoed about the room as crossed the floor, once again moving closer to her daughter. This time, no fury laced her words, instead only pity, allowing the Bernadette to forgo any resentment she may have held and instead bundle her daughter into her arms, bringing her into an embrace, preventing Delphine from mindlessly thrashing about. "Whether you like it or not, my darling, you must do this. No dream of love can stop it. You are first and foremost a Princess of Archenland, and Princesses always fulfill the task they were born to do."
This time there was no reply. Only the sound of her daughter's sobs as her body wracked and shook within Bernadette's arms.
The sound of the gilded door, situated within the east-facing wall of the drawing room, opening with a resounding creak, drew the Empress' gaze away from her weeping daughter. A footman, donned in a familiar eggshell blue stepped emotionlessly into the room. "Your Highness, the carriage is ready. All her luggage has been sent ahead."
Any sign of despair or empathy that may have once radiated from the Empress' body suddenly disappeared. Her arms dropped from around her daughter, and her frown pulled outwards into a strait, regal line. "Delphine." Her voice cut into the air, crisp and clear. "It is time."
The Princess' gaze upwards, eyes red and raw as she met her mother's almost identical eyes of evergreen. "No." She began to shake her head as her mother began to move away towards the doors. "No, Mama, please! Please!"
"Hugo, please escort the Princess down to the carriage," the woman said, her voice almost robotic, as to hide any emotion that may have lingered behind her words. "I am late for tea with the King."
And without another word, Bernadette rushed from the room leaving only her sobbing daughter in her wake.
"Please don't make me go! Please!" Delphine's voice echoed about the room, her voice bouncing back to her with no reply, alerting the world that for the first time since birth, the Princess of Archenland was truly alone. "Mama, please!"
But no mother came, only the footman she had seen a handful of times about the palace moved forward, took her by the arm and led her from the room, down to the carriage that was to lead her to her fate.
And it was then, after she had been bundled into the grotesquely ornate carriage, and began to trundle towards the neighbouring kingdom, towards the neighbouring king, Delphine of Archenland began to mourn. The princess sat still, save for her quivering fingers and trembling lips, lamenting her youth that had turned to dust in just one moment — snuffed out like the fleeting end of a candle in the wind.
AMELIA SPEAKS!
hello hello! a short(ish) prologue to begin our story. told you this would be angsty — peter has just as much emotional trauma to come lol. i'm going to be trying a few different writing styles throughout this fic, such as dual pov and more direct address, so it may feel slightly devoid of cohesion, but i will soon be mending that! n e wayz, i hope you enjoyed <3