The warm sea breeze howled through the open parlor window causing it's sheer white curtains to dance and the elaborate illustrations that the girl had worked on for hours, fluttered threateningly under her palm. There was a storm coming but she didn't mind. The smell of the soaked earth after a good pour calmed her senses. It was always just what she needed. She rolled the thin stub of charcoal between her thumb and forefinger and ran it across the page before smudging the paper with long fingers, the tips of them black from her current study. It was supposed to be a self portrait but the likeness was too far off. She glared at herself through the looking glass and scrawled a new line across the page.
Despite her handsome parentage, she was quite the simple girl. Her thick mop of curly hair and almond eyes were not of the sort that inspired sonnets, as they were merely simple shades of brown. She wasn't the fair maiden that men could not peel their eyes from, no, but this did not bother her. She did not need to be beautiful to get what she wanted or do as she pleased. Her father made sure of that, or at least he used to.
She looked back to the mirror, eyes flickering up to meet their reflection. She really shouldn't have cried so much. A pink puffy face was unbecoming for a portrait. She smudged and erased the paper until she started to recognized the woman in the drawing as herself for what she appeared to be now. A child.
Then there was a noise. A shuffling of feet. Then..metal? Masked by the growing rumble of the storm, she hardly noticed the commotion as she ripped the page from the sketchbook, smashing it between her fingers and tossing it across the room.
And then she heard a wail.
The young princess rose from the parlor floor and pulled the door open a crack, peeking into the fire lit hallway. She suspected it was her young cousins, guests at court and utter nuisances to her quiet solitude, racing, playing tag or some other childish pastime. They knew excess noise disrupted her concentration, yet she'd already had to reprimand both of them thrice in the past week alone. More yelps echoed from within the grey stone castle walls and her annoyance peaked. The princess shoved open the heavy wooden doors that were supposed to be locked...and guarded. The princess rolled her eyes, "So much for my safety, valiant Ser Karn." She mumbled taking the first step out of the parlor, her sea foam green gown swaying behind her, kissing the cold stones. There was no other sound but the growing storm outside, not a giggle or whisper or pitter patter of little feet. The shrill whistle of wind forcing its way into the cracks of the fortress was enough to make the princess uneasy and when she found herself alone as she rounded the hall, her heart nearly stopped.
"Samson? Juliet?" She called out to her cousins, a slight tightness in her throat, "Whatever you two are playing at it must stop. It is far too loud for me to concentrate."
There was no response. Only the eerie hiss of the wind.
"Thank you." The princess had balled her hands into fists despite convincing herself to pay no mind to the heaviness in the air. She breathed deeply then let out a weak sighed, owing the raised hairs on her neck to the brewing storm.
Just as the girl began to feel silly about her nerves, a palm slipped over her mouth and another, wielding a knife, pressed against her throat. Her feet left the floor as she was hoisted onto the intruders form. Eyes widening with panic, the princess grabbed the strangers thick forearm without hesitation.
"Do not make a noise." The man whispered against her ear, his Vesi accent thick.
Those words in itself made her want to scream her throat ragged. A Vesi man in the castle? How? Her pulse quickened, heart thumping wildly as she shook out short quick nods, feeling his salty calloused hands against her lips. This would be the end of her, sold to some Vesi slavers or an Estherian brothel. If she was lucky, her captor would only slit her throat. Maisie had no desire to kiss the angel of death, but in this moment she feared its embrace was imminent. She had not spoken to the gods as often as she should've but that didn't stop her from closing her eyes and hoping they still cared to listen. The man dashed her around the corners of the east wing with disconcerting familiarity, carrying her into the stables where a cloaked figure awaited atop a horse.
The Vesi intruder lowered her back to the ground, slowly removing his hand as the cloaked figure turned towards the princess.
Eyes widening in recognition, she didn't hesitate or bother to mince her words. "Mother! What is wrong with you?" She snapped, "An armed assailant?" She pointed to the man, catching a glimpse of him and nearly choking on her own breath for he was entirely too handsome, a towering man with a strong jaw and the most peculiar white hair, laden with silver beads. Even more alarming, he was looking right back at her, curiosity evident in one barely raised brow. Her head whipped back to her mother as she growled through clenched teeth, "Are you truly out of your mind? I'm going to tell papa and he'll send you to some sort of bedlam, you... you... psychopath!"
Unmoved, her mother looked more pleased that Maisilene had finally shut her mouth than hurt by the sharpness of her daughters tongue, "Cassius, pots donar una bufetada a la meva filla." Ailanor, slipped sheepskin riding gloves over her long fingers and the man did as she commanded, swinging his heavy palm across the princess's cheek.
Her mouth hung agape and bewilderment widened her chestnut eyes as something feral manifested within her. Had the ash haired tyrant actually hit her or did her mind play tricks? No, it was not her imagination fooling her, for her cheek radiated with tingling heat. No man had ever dared to touch her in an unsanctioned manner let alone slap her.
Dawning a poisonous glare, she studied the man front on, appalled by the smug smirk edging on the corner of his pretty pink mouth, "You enjoy hitting women, henchman?" She leaned closer, taking pleasure in the swift change in his expression, "Get you off, does it?" She would never admit it out loud but she was sure he had to be the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Even so near, where she could see the little white scar just to the left of his Cupid's bow and another diagonally marring his right brow, he was dashing. His sharp hazel gaze would've made the princess's heart beat in a much different manner if he hadn't been the reason her cheek stung, "Vesi freak."
"Enough." The queen huffed, "Hop on the horse like a good girl, Maisilene, and keep your mouth shut." Ailanors lips formed a tight line.
"Why? What has happened?" She looked between the man and her mother, "Where are we going?" Only then did she notice that they were packed for days of travel, "Mother?"
"Get on the horse, dear." The queen glared at her in only the way a mother could, with pressed brows deepening shallow forehead wrinkles. When Ailanor saw how she returned the expression, the queen only had to snap once at the Olympian and he had caught Mai by the wrists.
Maisie attempted to free herself but found the man exceedingly efficient in outmaneuvering her every move. Nevertheless, he mounted them both atop a single horse, despite her dress, slippers and relentless fighting, "Who is this beast of a man and why on earth is he touching me?" She elbowed his gut the second he mounted behind her, "Do you know who I am, Cassius?" She hissed the name she heard the queen call him. His only response was a mixture between a scoff and a chuckle, infuriating the girl further, "Laugh all you want, cretin, my father will have your head on the butchers block for this." Receiving nothing from the giant man, whose muscle roped thighs she was immodestly smothered between, she directed her energy back to the queen, "Mother, are we in danger? Are papa and Alden coming with us?"
Nothing. Not a word, not a glance.
"Tell me something, anything. Please." She reduced herself to begging, "Are they okay?"
The elder queen flicked the reins and spurred the horse into a gallop, leaving her daughter and the stranger to catch up in her dust.
As the hours atop a horse passed and her countless questions numbed her brain, her consciousness centered on her kidnapper. Feeling him sway behind her, taking note of his heavy forearms, broad chest and thick thighs, she realized just how massive, how deadly, the man was. Based on this alone, she surmised his parentage had to have been pure, from the first settlers of the rocky coasts of Ves. All children had heard the stories of the giants who used to inhabit the isle. They were powerful beautiful creatures who happened, according to her brother, to eat little human girl's fingers and toes for good luck. Yes, he must've had giants blood.
Another hour in and the rain came yet they did not stop as she protested. In the midst of an unforgiving storm, they rode along the coast until a real road, the road to the west, crossed their path. There, awaited a small army of men loyal to Cassius who regarded her with an even mixture of harsh glares and lustful ogles before riding ahead. Only when they stopped for the night at the border town of Groga did Maisie finally get something of an answer.
"He is a distant relative, Cassius. A Hadrian." The queen announced while she wrung the rain water from her thick flaxen locks, "I am the only mother he's known."
An insult tickled at the tip of her tongue, far too sweet not to be uttered, "You're capable of being a mother?" The Princess cocked her head, "This is news to me." Despite her sharp words, her mind reeled. Cousin? Impossible. She had never met her mothers family, her father made sure of that.
The queen whipped her head towards her child, her eyes slanted into dark slits, "And unlike the children of my womb, he respects and obeys me." She turned back to the road, "There are some things you don't know. Things your father forbade you to learn." The queen paused. Maisie peered from the corner of her eye at her fidgeting mother. She was sure she already knew what Ailanor alluded to. The princess learned early on that her lessons were stark in contrast to what was written in the dusty books hidden on the top shelf of the library. "It is about what my father did to your papa, King Vaegon Hadrian?"
The queens eyes widened, "But..."
As if the girl could read Ailanor's thoughts she confessed, "Once, papa turned me over his knee and whipped me for asking why he would murder your..my family. That is all the answer an eight year old needs to never ask again." Maisie recalled the specifics of the book. When she was little she couldn't believe it was real, regarding it as fantastical lies at the word and honor of her papa.
Her father was a boy king, fresh from his own fathers funeral, when he strung up every man, woman and child of House Hadrian. It was a needless evil act. No declarations of war were delivered, no prior qualms warranted the Tomasi invasion of House Hadrian. To her knowledge, based on the book she had been reprimanded for, there was only one direct descendent left of the house, Ailanor, her mother. She couldn't have been any older than fourteen when Maisie's father claimed her as his war prize. In the place of the Vesi dynasty, a council, loyal to the whims of her papa ruled the lands in his stead. The prestige and power of the Vesi, their traditions and history were squashed out of existence in a fortnight.
The older the princess grew, the more repulsed she was by her own blood. She found her fathers atrocities reason enough to leech every resource and dime from his coffers. Alden, however, felt much differently about the subject. Her older brother was quite proud of their fathers conquests and would often claim that they shouldn't be ashamed of being from the greater house. Lust for blood must've been a symptom of having extra flesh between one's thighs for she could and would never understand.
"Mother," Maisilene stared into the mug of, now warm, bitter ale she'd barely taken a sip of. She had accumulated so many questions throughout the odd day that one vague answer hardly satisfied her, "Why are we at the border? Do Alden and Papa know we're okay?"
"El rei bastard i el seu fil idiota han morte." Cassius snarled before spitting on the tavern floor.
Maisilene looked between her mother and the man, understanding enough of the dead language to feel a bud of concern grow in her chest, "Morte? Dead?" Her eyes widened, "Mother...are they," her breath quickened and her gaze turned on Cassius, "did you..." then to Cassius's men they met on the road, "they..." her mind reeled, "You locked me in the parlor so I wouldn't go with them...so I wouldn't be..." she barely loved her brother, even less so her father, but they were gone and she, well, she had nothing if she was not a princess. Tears bubbled at the edges of her eyes, "What will happen to us?" Her lip quivered, anger unearthed itself from the pit of her stomach. Her mother had never cared for her as mothers should so why on earth had the woman spared her instead of her brother, who she was certain Ailanor loved, even if it was just a little, "What have you done?" Maisie shot up from the chair, kicking it back behind her. Without a thought her hand had found the bread knife and brought the tip level with her mothers face, only inches away, "You're playing a foolish game. Who will rule now? You?" She scoffed, "As if the church would allow it." She swung the knife in front of Cassius, "Him?" Another incredulous sound came from the girls throat, "Who even is he?" She rolled her eyes, "Distant relative my a-"
The man had snatched the knife from her hand and grabbed her by the upper arm, pinning her uncomfortably against the table, "The true king of the isle would have the last of his family returned to their ancestral home in one piece, Lady Maisilene."
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