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This morning, as the sun breaks over Mount Ignatia, I fall asleep in the rich silken sheets of the sole heir to the throne of Pyrthia. I can't help but feel as though I'm falling through water as sleep claims me. The mattress embraces my body like a lover's arms, a world apart from the unyielding canvas bedding of the army.
I think it's then, in those blissful moments before slumber takes me, that I realise that I could handle this princess bullshit. For the first night in months, I sleep without dreaming.
Now as I drag myself back to consciousness, it's to a feeling of such warmth and comfort that for a cruel moment I expect to find company beside me. Perhaps one of the drafted soldiers I've been courting. Possibly Esra, if I've been drinking and she's been swayed by impulse. It will be Paige if this moment truly is as heavenly as it feels.
Then the cold knife of realisation slices through my insides as I remember they're all gone forever. Their blood still clings to my nails. Flesh dried into my scalp.
I sit up, heart suddenly racing. The curtains to the balcony are pulled open, the Father's light outside showing the room to its true splendour. Gold is reflected back at me from almost every surface, from the tapestries draping the bed to to the enormous map painted on the wall. A small wooden door to my left leads to what looks like a private bathing chamber. The idea of scrubbing myself pure has never appealed so much.
Murmured conversation draws my attention to the floor and I see Ash and Emity sitting amongst piles of sorted clothes. They look up as I struggle my way out of the blankets, a smile already breaking out across Ash's face in greeting. Emity looks like she'd rather have strangled me than allowed me to rest. I glance at Ash's eager expression suspiciously.
What did I promise him last night? My memories of those late hours are buried in a fog of sleep deprivation and fear for my life. The last thing I recall is the meaty thwack of Emity's fist on the corner of my jaw. I brush my fingers along the point of impact, but there's not so much a bruise left behind. With my magic free to course uninhibited through my veins, I'm finally able to heal rapidly again.
"I want a bath, clean clothes and an explanation," I inform them both as I walk over, stifling a loud yawn. My stomach growls painfully and I reconsider. "And some decent fucking food."
"You might wish to reconsider how you address Princess Alysha and a member of the Pyrthian Royal Court," Emity chastises as Ash climbs to his feet.
I inspect a large silken robe atop one of Ash's many misshapen piles of clothing and slip it on. The soft white fabric slides across my warm brown skin with an ease so unlike anything I've worn before . Tossing my matted tangle of hair over one shoulder, I shoot her a wolfish smile. "Last time I checked I was Princess Alysha, serf."
I glance back at Ash, taking in his similarly dark hair, the Cirilean complexion and wide shoulders. In passing I can see how someone might mistake us as siblings. "That's the plan, isn't it? Identity theft?"
"Not theft if it's given willingly," he replies, walking past me to the side chamber. His proximity flutters the silk against my calves. He's either forgotten I tried killing his guard last night, or this marriage truly has made him recklessly suicidal. "The bath is through here. Em can fetch you some breakfast."
"Aly, I'm not leaving you alone with a blood witch," Emity hisses, her memory obviously in tact. Her eyes find mine. "Not after what you tried last night."
"In all fairness, I was relatively sure you hadn't been lying about the Confinement," I assure her, fighting only half-heartedly to keep the smugness off my face.
The sigils that had flared bright across her body last night have faded back into her smooth freckled skin. The Confinement. A process of branding hundreds of magic sigils into her like Ivruthan tattooing, drawing off her own inherent magic to grant her immunity to spells. At the cost of her own ability to cast.
I can't help but pity her and all the others who've gone through the rare ritual. Not many would have their power bound willingly. Emity's either being paid a sum that would make even the most gold-draped cardinal envious or is as much a slave as I was.
I eye the holy mountain pendant around her neck. For the price of religion, why not be both?
"I'm fine, Emity. I'm sure Sasha doesn't need reminding of the consequences of being the blood witch that kills poor old Princess Alysha." Ash ducks his head back out of the chamber and winks at me. "Are you washing or not, heathen?"
Like a dog distracted by passing new prey, I turn my back on the heavily armed Emity and follow him towards the scent of soap and perfumes. I watch the swagger in his step as he walks through his own rooms. "Is that a threat, pretty boy?"
"Call me pretty boy again and I might just start believing you mean it."
I lean against the door frame and watch him as he fusses around the chamber. Soaps, perfumes and other strange vials litter the floor in a mess similar to the main bedroom and he skirts around them barefoot to approach a gleaming bronze bath set into the floor at the room's centre.
A gilded mirror spans the length of an entire wall and Ash pauses to slick back his hair and admire the sight of himself in it. He's still dressed in quite possibly the least princess-like garb I could imagine. His dove-feather grey doublet is scandalously unfastened and tucked into loose brown breeches. The effect is not unbecoming, but I can't imagine it's one approved of any royal official. Another of my suspicions slowly becoming confirmed.
The sound of the bedroom door closing signals Emity's departure to gather breakfast and I breathe easy again with the threat of her gone. I slowly approach as, with a brush of his hands, Ash activates a series of complex sigils set into the metal of the tub. Immediately steaming water begins to pour through slits set into the bath's side, slowly filling it. Castle Avamere's plumbing system. Fancy.
Standing up and brushing himself down, Ash raises an eyebrow. "Enough to your liking, your Highness?"
"We'll see."
There's an awkward moment as we pause, facing each other as if finally confronting something unspoken. The bizarre realisation that I'm to become him. Looking to the mirror I realise he could have fared much worse in picking a duplicate. His dark curls are tighter and softer than my greasy waves, but our faces are almost identical in profile and given adequate sun his complexion could even darken to the deep brown of my own.
Truly the starkest difference between bleeds through from our respective natures. There's no mistaking the highborn in Ash. In the golden light sunlight drenching the room he looks nothing short of holy in aura. Wide eyes are draped with heavy black lashes, his lips are full and cherubic. The soft skin arching over his high cheekbones begs for a lover's caress. Only a handful of acne scars dare to mar the edges of his face.
In comparison, I look absolutely wolfish. Wind-blistered skin clings to my bone structure like wet cloth. Wine coloured eyes are deep-set beneath my untamed brow, glinting with the cruelty and danger of an adder's. My lips never quite close, always hanging just slightly open over long canines in a permanent snarl.
Perhaps we could have been twins, had Ash spent his last ten years crawling through the Wickede Dread's abyss itself.
Ash is clearly following the same train of thought. His eyes meet mine in the mirror. "You've utterly no idea how hard it was to find someone like you. I've spent the last two weeks scouring every bar, theatre and brothel for women with the right age and heritage."
I snort, shocked that this the first time I've ever felt like laughing in weeks. "Yes, I can imagine how taxing those nights in brothels were for you."
"Well, a disreputable criminal was my last choice."
I roll my eyes, watching the faint lines of a smile appear around my lips. They disappear as soon as I conjure the thought, dragged away by the weight of memories. "So, how's this going to work, exactly?Are the other Avamere's aware of this little wife-swap of yours, or am I expected to fool your own flesh and blood too?"
Ash's jaw clenches. "My parents? They'd never let me out of this arrangement. Of course asking was the first thing I tried. Even Emity wasn't supposed to find out until last minute. But we've still got luck on our side."
"That so?" Sick of seeing the ghost of battle in my own reflection, I turn away and strip from the robe and smock before Ash has time to complain. There's a long pause as I sink into the warm water of the bath, without looking I can hear him suddenly choking on a dozen things to say. For a man that cocky, he certainly acts humbled by the sight of ass.
Submerging myself up to the neck in the deep tub, I relish the sensation of hot water on my skin as it begins the long process of soaking the gore and grime from my body. Back at camp, foot soldiers and battlemages had priority over witches when it came to using the bathhouses. Often we were left with nothing but reeking lukewarm water to wash in. In return however, I enjoyed the experience of not immediately dying the instant we stepped into a vampyre attack.
Finally, in a strained voice he continues. "Do you know about the tradition of the Avamere veil?"
It takes me a moment to recall what he's saying but when the memory comes, it's laden with the poisonous thoughts of Paige. The Avamere monarchy has a bizarre custom when it comes to raising their heirs.
In an uncharacteristic twist of humility from a family that claims to be directly descended from the Gods, those directly in line to inherit the Avamere throne are kept veiled head to foot from infancy until they're of age to be crown heir or married off. The idea stems from Pyrthia's rulers belonging not each other, but the Gods and the citizens themselves. Therefore they're kept hidden away to only bare their face when they're called upon to serve.
Throughout her teens Paige had been obsessively in love with the late Avamere heir and apparently Ash's brother, Marcel. Despite being a despised blood witch condemned to serve the army until death, she'd clung to any shred of royal gossip and kept me awake at night concocting stories in which fate would bring them together. The veil he wore had been a symbol of sensual mystery to her, the canvas of our tent's walls covered in sketches of how she had imagined him to look underneath.
An unfortunate twist of fate then, that Paige only ever got to see him on the day he died. I remember the sight of him, still fully disguised in white as he rode into Fort Ulstark claiming he would fulfil the prophecy of The Scourge of Nightfall and defeat the invading vampyre forces. He'd instilled hope in every witch, soldier and peasant in sight... Except for me. I still wonder how I'd sensed the way that night would end.
Pushing the memories aside, I twist sharply around to stare at Ash, reassessing under new circumstances. It's no wonder he's able to get away with presenting as he does. All short hair and men's clothes. Inventing an outgoing alter-ego is hardly surprising if he's spent his whole life invisible to everyone around him.
"You mean to say even your mother and father have never seen you?" I ask incredulously. "Your brother?"
"I took the veil completely on my eleventh year," Ash confirms, lips twitching into a tight frown at the mention of his brother. "Only Emity and Marc- Only Emity knows what I look like. Even she's not supposed to. She could be executed if anyone found out- it's what keeps her loyal enough to follow a plan she hates this much."
So I only need to act and sound the part to pull this off... I inspect a bottle filled with a strange soapy lavender scrub and sniff it before rubbing it thoroughly into my skin. Dirt immediately sloughs off.
Ash's gaze burns against my back as I raise my upper body from the water. I'm used to bathing with a dozen witches around me, but for some reason the intimacy of him alone watching draws goose bumps up my arms.
Smiling sneakily, I embark on a different line of questioning. "Speaking of what Emity knows... Has she caught on to the truth about just how strong your feelings for being Ash are?"
There's silence from behind me but the way Ash moves that could mean anything. I still sense those eyes on me though. It draws on long enough for me to realise he's not going to reply.
"I mean, for an escapist dream you wear that look like it's your own skin. You wouldn't meet her eyes when she called you by your "royal name" and I just think-"
"What are you trying to say, Sasha?" His tone is curt, finally reaching the cruel coldness that suits his accent.
I feel a spike of rare guilt stab at my stomach. I remember Paige when she first began wearing the women's uniform, how long it took her to finally stand up and refuse for the officers to shave her hair. I'd already been her best friend for three years before she had finally opened up her heart and name to me.
I've barely known Ash a night and he's spent his entire life under more religious scrutiny than anyone outside Ignasfell's walls. He's probably fucking terrified.
Swallowing my gut instinct to solve any conflict with curse words and brute force, I force my voice to remain low and calm. "I only meant to ask... Shall I continue to call you Ash?"
"Yes. Call me Ash..." His voice is softer, kinder as he speaks again. When I turn to look at him he has two fingers pressed against his lips as if he'd spoken sacrilege. Beneath his touch however, the smallest of smiles lingers. He lays a thick towel and what looks like a dress on the floor at my side. "Ash is who... who I've been trying to be for years now. Who I want to be after this switch. Once everyone who ever knew me has forgotten that other name."
"So Emity is none the wiser as to the fact that this is why you can't marry this Ivruthan heartthrob?" I place my question as carefully as I can manage, but his brown eyes still narrow bitterly. When he speaks however, his voice is not cold with suspicion but burning with righteous fury.
"I can't marry Prince Valek because three years later he's still the disgusting coward who murdered my brother and destroyed this fucking country."
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