Braizen

Twelve Years Previous

I hardly slept last night, too caught up in the image of her face and those fawn eyes. I wanted to kiss her when we were in the aviary. I wanted so badly to press her lips against mine, but timing is a fickle creature. Maybe it’s a good thing that Theodore overreacted to her brother’s tiny wound; maybe kissing the girl you like in a birdcage isn’t as romantic as I thought.

My mother told me that I wouldn’t like her and that she wouldn’t like me. She said that Verdanian women are eyesores, and their voices are cat nails against iron. Then she said it wouldn’t matter whether Idalia and I favored one another; the Princess was here to stay. Her parents were bringing her to be raised in the way of Baellileans, whatever that means, and when we’re eighteen, we’ll be wed.

“Marriage is a contract, no matter what you hear said otherwise,” she said to me more than once. “Romance is not for royals, or the poor, or those in between, for that matter. Romance is a dead idea, as empty as a starless sky. We marry to seal alliances and make bargains. Men need heirs, and women need protection. Marriage is not based on romance or love; it is a product of duty.”

I suppose my parents never felt anything but a duty to each other. They don’t hold hands or steal glances like I see servants do. They don’t even speak to each other unless it concerns the Kingdom. I thought that’s how it would be when I met her, the Princess of Verdana, but I was wrong. Mother was wrong.

I do like her. And she isn’t an eyesore, not in the slightest. Her voice isn’t grating; it’s like a bird’s sweet melody. Verdanian or not, she’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. My body experienced all sorts of strange things when she was near to me. I’d never felt them before, but many of my father’s guards have spent countless days speaking on such subjects. Like the way women make them feel, though, they don’t always speak of it kindly. When they mention women, it’s loud and rough. When I first saw the Princess, I felt light. I felt awake.

When we gather for breakfast this morning, I must pretend that we’re meeting for the first time. I don’t think this will be all too hard. Her perfect features will draw the same happy reaction from me each time I see them. I’m sure my mother will carefully watch me during the entire meal, making sure that I behave like the proper prince she’s raised me to be. She prides herself on being a good tutor of etiquette. It’s quite funny that neither of my parents knows much about me. They don’t know of my love for trees or birds or dirt. They don’t see my skill when it comes to getting into locked areas. They believe my favorite weapon is the longsword because they ignore my passionate rants about the bow.