In the city of Lágrima:
The ceiling was a dark patchwork of hard stone in which the shapes of stars had been carved, showing the true night sky. The steam from the pool lingered on Sofía's dress, the icy blue silk clinging to her figure. The scent of lavender clashed with the smell of red wine. Chosen lords and ladies padded through the chamber, their bare feet committing unknowing sacrilege. Sofía loved the sheer luxury of the place. It was a special room, reserved only for her family, descended from kings. But on certain evenings, Sofía invited those who caught her fancy and her friends to this place and sinned.
The young man with blue eyes gave her a hazy smile, his toes dipped in the warm water. A glass of wine hung limp in his hands, on the verge of shattering.
"Why don't you go in deeper?" Sofía asked, smiling playfully at him. The strap of her dress fell down her shoulder as she moved sensuously towards him. Hedonism. In a form her mother could only dream of. If the King or Queen knew she let people in here they would throw a fit. But Sofía delighted in breaking the rules. It made her feel alive, as if her very bones craved the thrill of danger.
"Only if you join me." Lost in drunkenness, the young man had lost his shyness. He stepped down into the water and Sofía grinned as she followed, her dress now soaked. It showed every sinuous inch of her, but no one even glanced at her. They were too used to her behaviour by now. Her friend Petronilla only winked at Sofía, her own hand resting on the chest of another man.
"I like the dress much better now," the young man slurred. He grabbed her by the arm and kissed her, his mouth tasting of overbearing sweetness. Sofía tried to fall into the sensation of her dress hugging her body, his mouth on hers, but he was so drunk he half dragged her in deeper. She broke off the kiss abruptly, disgusted. He stared at her and lunged for her again but she walked out the pool, the sensation ruined.
"What the hell do you want?" he muttered and she ignored him. What a waste. Nothing but a boy. He didn't have any respect for her and besides, he was a drunken fool. Her dress was far too sheer and now everyone could see what they wanted. Some nights she wore even less.
Other men's eyes lingered on her figure, top to bottom. Why not?
"Care for a drink?" a man with brown curly hair asked. She considered him and nodded, gulping down wine. Maybe she was no better than that boy with blue eyes.
"Do you want to have some fun?" he asked, his eyes expectant. They always wanted fun. Never her. She'd learned that the hard way and now that was the point of her life. This underground secret was the only thing she enjoyed. She'd sucked the life out of everything else.
They were kissing after four glasses of wine and his fingers peeled the skirt from her thighs. Soft fingers circled between her legs, making her cry out. The pleasure was the only thing that mattered...the friction rubbing back and forth. It was becoming a crescendo and she could hear other noises echoing hers and this was what living was-
"For fuck's sake, Sofía. Is this how a princess behaves?" The voice dulled her pleasure, destroying that dizzying high. She flinched and drew back from the man. He reached for her but she shook her head and he walked away as Mateo surveyed her with disgust.
She licked her lips, trying to act as if she wasn't completely drunk.
"I don't see how that's any of your business."
His eyes were cold as they always were. Beautiful, a broken piece of her whispered. His dark hair framed his lovely face and there were those words written all over it: whore, failure, wrong.
"You need to get a grip, your highness," he hissed, taking her hand roughly and pulling her away from the swarm of people. "Sebastian won't be happy about this."
It was the mocking tone of her title that annoyed her, roused her.
"I don't care what Sebastian likes and doesn't. What I do in my spare time doesn't concern you."
"It doesn't?" His face was too close to her own, his fingers gripping her palm. She wanted to feel alive, had wanted to feel alive for so long. But there was feeling alive and then there was playing with fire. She wanted sensation, not depth. Not real life feelings.
"No," she taunted and he turned his face from hers.
"Go back to your room, princess. Before I tell the King exactly what's going on in the sacred star chamber." Their shared past hung like a spectre in the air and Sofia's old confession which had turned to ash in the wind.
I feel something for you, Mateo. I'm not used to this...I've never felt like this before.
He hadn't heard her. His eyes had followed someone else and she had decided she didn't do feelings. Only sensation.
"Fine," she said and walked away, the heat and life draining out of her in the palace hallways.
♡
Emilia walked with Penelope in the night market and howled with laughter at her servants' gossip.
"And then Sylvia caught them in the closet!" Penelope finished triumphantly. Her gentle smile was more pronounced and real. The servants' stories were more lively than the lords and ladies.
"I wish I could be like you," Emilia suddenly said. She had snuck out with her maid who was just a friend in that moment, to forget about laws and documents and perfect princesses. They had crept out through the servants' quarters. She imagined engaging in forbidden romance, squabbling with fellow maids and wandering unseen in the city. Penelope scowled at her.
"You don't know what you're talking about," she snapped. Emilia paused, surprised. Penelope didn't snap at her. She was serene and lovely and quiet. Penelope seemed to realise this too.
"I'm sorry, your highness. I didn't mean to react like that," she said meekly. "It's only...most of the time it's backbreaking work. Life isn't easy for servants. We don't get beautiful dresses and things."
Emilia was offended for a second. At least they were free to be with who they wanted. I would give up all the dresses for that, she thought. But then she paused, looking at Penelope's face. Maybe she's right. What do I know?
"You're right," Emilia said. "I don't know. But let's just forget about that and enjoy tonight?"
"Okay." Penelope nodded and they dropped the issue. Emilia made sure to buy Penelope candied apples and hot chocolate all the way from the southern continent. The taste was a deep cocoa and the maid sighed in delight. Musicians performed just ahead of them and children lit sparklers which fizzled with light. Men pinned up signs on walls in a blood red scrawl, calling fighters from across the territories.
I could be happy like this, thought Emilia. Us just walking here, living here, like this forever.
Penelope whirled around and waved at someone Emilia couldn't see. Her face came to life in that moment and she was like a tiger, vibrant and glowing, unlike the meek woman Emilia knew.
"Who was that?" Emilia asked. Penelope grinned again and the princess somehow preferred her like this. It was rawer and more passionate.
"My friend Caleb. He's out with his little sister. She wanted to see the jugglers."
"I want to see them too!" Emilia said laughing and Penelope looked askance at her fancy dress and rings.
"Put up your hood," Penelope said, flicking the princess's dark hood over her face. She grabbed Emilia's hand and the two of them rushed into the rougher streets of Lágrima to see the jugglers perform and the fire eaters devour.
♡
In the town square the next morning, builders began to prepare the great amphitheatre on the edge of the city. They cleaned and filled the arena with sand. Servants and masters bustled about, writing lists in long slanting writing. Orders for weapons, tents, wonders from all corners of the earth.
In the court, nobles began making bets and Prince Sebastian awoke in his bed with one thought on his mind. How to win a shred of honour back in his heart. The King's tourney, held every ten years. He didn't understand his sudden desire to enter the legendary tournament. Only that he wouldn't choose a champion like his father. He would be his own champion. And all those lords of Aragon would finally see he was a force to be reckoned with.
The signs were erected in the streets, calling for fighters from all of the Lacrima's territories. From Alemannia and Hispania. From Aragon. Even from far away in the wastelands of Francia, where a young woman remarked to her pet crow that he would look scarier if he carried a knife in his beak.
"I have a reputation to create," she laughed, her light hair marred with dirt. The crow launched a cooking spoon at her instead.
(10730 words now)