When things are tough, think happy thoughts…
That’s what Princess Aveline Farrenbone chanted like a prayer in her mind as she made her way down the aisle.
The elaborate veil concealed her view of her groom, but she could already feel the tense aura from the other side of the hall.
He’s not even supposed to be hers.
This wedding is for someone else entirely.
So, how did she end up here?
❀
One of her happiest memories, ironically, wasn’t actually a happy time in the kingdom.
Aveline recalled the time her mother sneaked them out of the place, away from the scrutiny of others, to forage herbs and pretend that the future of the kingdom didn’t lie on their shoulders.
It should have been peaceful.
They should have kept a low profile, but Queen Selene had a warm heart, and she had to help others.
“Mama, what’s going on?” Aveline was only nine as she clung to her mother’s apron as their once-quiet path became loud with cries of suffering and despair.
She’d never seen anything like this.
People, more like beggars, lined the forest path; their ashen and ruined clothing almost blending in with the mud.
Some were upright against a tree, some were on the ground, seemingly dead to the world (or maybe actually dead).
Some had bandages over their eyes, bloodied and crusty; open wounds that were festering in the dusty air; even limbs missing, but the blankness behind their eyes showed no pain.
Just numbness.
Not the most appropriate thing for a princess to see.
Much less approach.
“Ma!” Aveline gasped when her mother approached what looked like a family.
A father with a broken arm in a makeshift sling from a leaf.
Despite a laceration on the right side of his forehead and the defeat in his posture, he looked like someone who once held high status.
His head was resting on his son’s lap.
From the intense fire in his eyes, the boy seemed to be a teen with a chip on his shoulder.
He too had a laceration, but on his nose.
Two streaks of scarlet trailed down his chin, looking threatening yet pitiful at the same time.
The son cradled his father’s head like it was sacred.
“Here.” Queen Selene held out a pot of medicine that they had mixed earlier.
“This will help with the healing.”
The young boy stared at the small, earthen pot like it was insulting his eyes with its presence.
He remained stiff as he turned away from the woman.
“No, thank you.” His voice was deep despite his limber form, yet expectedly rough from what he went through.
No one rejects a queen – even if he was polite!
Aveline could not contain herself.
Her chestnut hair bounced in the wind as she put herself between the boy and her mother.
“Have some manners! Do you know who this is?” Her outburst gained some unsavoury stares from the weary refugees.
Aveline quickly composed herself before taking the medicine pot from her mother.
“Take it.” She thrust it in the boy’s face.
He didn’t even flinch.
He eyed it again.
“Why should I trust you?” That’s why he didn’t want to take it.
Hearing him talk more, Aveline noticed that his accent sounded distant – he really was from another kingdom.
Clearly, he had no idea who was in front of him.
Aveline needed to keep their identity hidden, but this boy also needed help.
Why can’t he just accept?
Their eyes met, grey to hazel ones as they entered a standoff.
Both refused to look away first.
❀
When they came back, Aveline asked her mother why she helped the boy when he clearly didn’t want it, but her mother replied:
“Sometimes people who need help don’t necessarily know how to ask for it.”
That day, Aveline learned an important lesson in helping others.
Like helping those in need, those with less than you, and even those who don’t deserve it.
An ominous stone formed in Aveline’s stomach every time her sister, Princess Blessed Astra Farrenbone, talked to her.
It was illogical, as she was the elder, but she was also the one who lost her birthright to the former.
Astra was everything Aveline wasn’t.
While Aveline was everything warm from her brunette and hazel eyes, Astra had the trademark ashy blonde of the Farrenbone lineage.
Her emerald eyes seemed god-appointed to match the Farren Kingdom’s crest, like she was the rightful heir.
Perhaps that’s how it was supposed to be.
Astra had the poise, grace and coy charm one would expect of a princess.
Most of all, she was the daughter of the king’s beloved Queen Celia.
Aveline was not.
She held her mother’s mischievous but adventurous spirit inside of her.
Stifling balls and boring political discussions were not to her taste.
She yearned to be away from the palace; to explore and forage, making herbs and tonics that cured people.
Yet, the one who needed a cure was Aveline herself.
Because she couldn’t say no to those in need.
“I’ll only say this once,” Astra’s smooth, flawless palms burned Aveline even through the brocade of her sleeve.
“Please, Lina? I’m not as… bold as you are.” Her voice softened when Aveline raised a questioning brow.
“Do you think I’ll survive marrying a man like that?” Astra’s grip tightened against Aveline’s arm like a chain she couldn’t shake.
Despite her sweet tone, Astra knew exactly what she was doing.
“Could Farren really lose their heir to a man like Magnus?”
The open letter lay passively on the solid gold table as if it hadn’t caused the most monumental shift in the Farren Kingdom.
King Stellan had read it hundreds of times to make sure that the request was correct.
King Magnus Theo Yarrowheath demands the hand of Princess Blessed Astra Farrenbone in return for the end of the Hundred-Year War between Paxmouth and Farren.
May your highness choose peace and prosperity.
Even Aveline read and re-read the letter until she was sure it was real.
She gulped, “King Magnus, as in the man who already murdered his previous three wives?”
“Exactly.”
Both sisters stared at each other.
Neither had to say it out loud.
Better the discarded princess than the beloved one.
❀
Deep down, Aveline should have said no.
She should have saved herself instead of those willing to throw others in the line of fire.
But when she looked to her father – the man who once proclaimed her heir and dearest princess of Farren – and found him avoiding her gaze as her eyes practically begged for help.
Her fate was already sealed to the man who could be her murderer.
Aveline made it down the aisle.
She felt her groom’s intimidating presence opposite her.
He felt tall and broad.
Fitting for a man with a warrior’s reputation.
He smelt like the earth and ash.
Something smoky yet intoxicating lingered on him.
When things are tough, think happy thoughts…
The organ stopped, and the people took their seats.
The priest began the speech, and Aveline tuned it all out.
Something about peace… something happiness… something something…
Just think happy thoughts.
Just think happy thoughts.
Suddenly, sword-worn fingers reached under the lace veil.
Aveline fought the instinct to panic and pull back but froze once she saw it.
Grey eyes.
So familiar yet different.
This is my first ever post on here!
How did I do?