"This is ridiculous," I muttered, rolling my eyes. The vomit green dress Ingrid held out to me was too frilly for its own good and clearly much too small. Sometimes I wondered why she even bothered trying.
"Oh, hush," She said with a flippant wave of her hand. She pushed the dress into my arms and ushered me behind the screen to change. "Just do it. And no complaining!" I huffed in exasperation, blowing a few strands of unruly hair out of my eyes, but dutifully began to change into my dress. The gods knew I couldn't say no to her when she was set on getting what she wanted.
"I'm trying it on for you, but I won't wear it tonight," I called as I shucked off my leather jerkin and sword belt. They fell to the ground with a heavy thump.
"Bryn," Her muffled voice scolded me. By the sounds of rustling fabric, she was changing into a dress as well. "You don't show up to meet Halfdan the Valiant in sweaty armor."
"Hey, I like my sweaty armor." It certainly beat the horrible dress I was currently struggling to pull over my head. "It makes me look dashing."
"Exactly." With a snap, Ingrid pushed aside the screen. At seeing my losing battle with the dress, she sighed heavily and moved to help me put it on properly. "Princesses aren't supposed to look dashing."
"Easy for you to say," I murmured too softly for her to hear, then pointed out in a louder voice, "I wore armor to the banquet when Erik Bloodaxe called."
"Yes, and Breca says that's why the Ylfings haven't come to call again since."
"Breca?" I whirled on her, leaving the back of my dress only half laced. "When have you been talking to Breca?"
Ingrid's cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink and a self-satisfied expression replaced the pout on her face. "I often see him at court," She said with a shrug. "Why shouldn't I talk to him?"
I groaned, which only prompted her to put her hands on her hips and furrow her brow.
"Just because you despise him doesn't mean I can't spend any time in his company if I wish."
"Doesn't it bother you that he's only pursuing you to get father's title?" I retaliated. "Or that his own father kicked him out? Or his arrogance?"
Ingrid gave another delicate shrug and flounced over to the armoire to brush her long, cornsilk hair. The pastel blue dress she had changed into suited her pale skin beautifully. She looked like a fairy dressed up in flower petals.
"Not really," She replied, unconcerned. "He's still nice." I began to walk towards her and saw her lips curl up into a smirk in the mirror.
"Uh-huh." I stood behind her, crossing my arms, and gave her the most skeptical look I could muster. "So what's nice about him exactly- his strapping arms or that chiseled jaw?"
Ingrid turned to face me and raised a brow suggestively. "Well, those certainly help," She allowed, nodding sagely as if this was a wise observation. "But I was thinking more along the lines of those washboard abs of his." She winked at me and went back to brushing through her hair.
"Ingrid," I protested despite the fact that I knew I couldn't make a dent in her resolve. Ingrid was not one to be swayed easily from something she wanted. "Don't you want to look a little deeper than his appearance before you get too involved with him?"
"Bryn, I know you're trying to do the whole protective big sister thing, but don't," She told me sharply. "It's not anything serious. Besides, even you can't deny he's handsome, and what's a person without their good looks, hm?"
The hand holding her hair stopped mid brush and her expression froze in place. I was used to Ingrid's careless frivolity by now. It's just who she was, and I couldn't blame her for that. But the words stung regardless. And judging by her reaction, she realized it too. I willed myself not to do it, but I couldn't stop myself; unbidden, my eyes rose to look into the mirror.
Most of the time, it was easy to forget what I looked like, as long as I didn't pass any mirrors and ignored the sideways glances from people who still weren't used to me. When I was little, I'd wear a hood everywhere to hide my appearance. Pulled low over my face, people didn't even notice anything unusual about me. I could play with the other children without anything more than a little teasing about being shy. I wore that damn thing for years, until it got so tattered that it looked closer to burlap than wool. That's when Father made me stop wearing it. And then there was no more hiding what was underneath.
My face is blocky, square, and uneven, giving the impression of a doll with mismatched features. My dark brown eyes are too large and too far apart, often prompting taunts of frog or bug eyes, and my nose his huge and beaked as a bird's. Thin lips hide clean, but unnaturally crooked and sharp teeth that look threatening even in a smile. I'm six foot five and stand as tall as any man, taller than most of them even, with a body more muscular than any woman's should be. My hair only exacerbates the problem. It's bright red and curly and jumps out everywhere like a huge signal for everyone nearby to look at me.
I used to not understand. Sure, I was ugly. But I didn't have some kind of huge burn marring my whole face. I had two eyes, two ears, and one nose. So why was everyone so afraid of me? Why did the treat me like a monster, a freak?
I must have been eight years old when I figured it out. One of the other children in the keep finally gathered the courage to confront me with the rumors that had been flying around for years.
"Is your father really a troll?" He'd asked, half in awe, half terrified.
"Of course not!" I'd replied, bristling. "How dare you insult the king like that?"
"Not the king," He'd said, glancing around to make sure no adults were listening nearby. "Your real father. My mother says he was a troll and that's why you're so ugly. So is it true? Can you do magic? Do you eat people?"
I'd punched the boy in the face to shut him up. It was worth the trouble I'd gotten into for it. That night I'd run to Ingrid crying that we weren't really sisters, that I was a horrible ugly troll. She of course refused to believe the rumors, even though she'd known about them long before I did. She was stubborn that way, and I was so grateful for it.
I didn't dare mention the story to father. I could only imagine the reaction. His furious outrage for even suggesting such a thing. He was so cold towards me already, I was half afraid he'd throw me out into the wilderness if I ever brought it up. Besides, whatever the rumors or their subject, he had to have known about them and simply elected to ignore it. His usual way of going about things.
But more than father's reaction, I was terrified that if I asked him for the truth that he would tell me. Because it made sense, didn't it? Why I looked and acted the way I did. I'd gone through the archives to find all our records about trolls after that. The drawings of them were old and crude, but I saw enough similarity in them to be afraid. I could punch through solid rock with my bare hands by the time I was ten. Normal human children couldn't do that.
In a way it was a comfort. People weren't really afraid of me. They were afraid of what they thought I was. Just the thought of trolls sent shivers down my spine. They'd haunted the clans for generations. They were supernaturally strong, rumored to have magic, and absolutely ruthless. A single angry troll could decimate an entire village, easily ripping apart all the warriors and tearing off the heads of the women and children before they could calm down.
For most of our history they'd tended to their mountains, venturing out to terrorize humans only occasionally. Until years ago, when the Troll King had declared an outright war with their neighboring human kingdoms. There was no question about who would win such a war. It was inevitable that they'd decimate us. So before the fighting could get out of hand, my father, King Volsung of the Scylfings, had bravely ventured into the trolls' mountain and by some miracle managed to negotiate a peace. A troll hadn't been sighted since.
The rumors that abounded about how he accomplished such a feat were even worse than the taunts I endured, each one more disgusting than the last. That Volsung had traded the true infant princess to the Troll King for a troll changeling in exchange for the kingdom's safety. That the Troll King had agreed to leave the kingdom alone for a price: if he could have his way with Volsung's queen...
Whether the rumors were true or not, I've accepted who I am. Ingrid still treats me like a sister, and that proves that looks aren't everything, doesn't it? I don't care what I look like; I've conditioned myself not to...
But then why do I still flinch every time I look in a mirror?
"Bryn," Ingrid said, bringing me out of my reverie. She dropped the brush and put her arms around me. They were so thin, they could barely wrap around my bulky frame. "Bryn, you know I didn't mean that. I know I'm... insensitive sometimes." She pulled back, her glittering blue eyes blinking up at me. "Forgive me?" She asked in a tone that already indicated the answer she expected.
There really was only one answer I could give.
"Of course," I murmured, letting go.
She flashed me a smile and turned me around to finish lacing up the awful dress. "You really do look lovely in this, you have to wear it tonight."
I assured her that I would, and finally left her chambers.
I threw out the dress as soon as I took it off.