Chapter Text
Ailish paces away from the open window of her tower bedchamber, irritation radiating off her like steam off the Anketilian Hot Springs. The morning had already gotten off to a disappointing start. One of her only confidants, the juvenile raven she’d managed to befriend – earning his trust with a soft, calm approach each time he appeared at her window, slowly, carefully building a bond through investing many hours in their interactions over the past months – had not visited her for the eighth consecutive day.
Now, Idony, her maidservant and only other confidant, has been the bearer of bad news.
‘Another one?’ Ailish hisses, crossing her arms under her breasts.
Idony dips her head in deference, eyes averting to the ground as if she is to blame for this misfortune. ‘I am afraid so, Your Royal Highness,’ she says meekly.
Ailish sighs, immediately regretting her reaction. Her father is the real target of her aggression, and Idony should not have to suffer her wrath in his cowardly absence. Any of her father’s lackeys, yes, but not Idony. Idony, who is lovely and kind, and endlessly patient, and who has always fulfilled her duties with more care and compassion than is strictly required.
She drops her arms by her side, deliberately loosening her posture and smiling warmly. ‘We’ve been through this. Please, call me Ailish.’
‘I mustn't,’ Idony protests, eyes still averted. ‘It isn’t proper.’
So, she cannot have a friend. Not one single friend. The bird she calls Branán may never come back – may have even died, for all she knows, and she cannot even enjoy the meagre intimacy of being called her real name by the sweet girl who helps her dress every day.
Ailish bursts into tears.
‘Oh, no!’ Idony runs to her side, touching her arm in a gesture of fondness, the unguarded kind that they’d begun to share of late. ‘Ailish, please don’t cry.’
This earns a snotty chuckle from Ailish. She is infinitely relieved to feel the warmth that still sparks between them, to know that she hadn’t imagined it. Idony really does care for her. She is just a stickler for the rules.
‘It’s just… I’m afraid that if I get used to calling you by your real name,’ Idony explains softly. ‘I might slip up and do so when it could get me in trouble.’
‘Of course. I understand. Never mind,’ Ailish says, wiping her face. ‘Tell me, then. Who is it this time? Another dragon slayer? Another daring soldier? A distinguished knight? A brave adventurer?’
Idony’s eyes brighten. It vexes Ailish to see that she is excited. ‘All of those things, if we’re to believe the accounts.’
Ailish scoffs. ‘Good. Let him try.’
The bad news is that Ailish’s father, King Colban of Bannolach, has employed yet another “guardian” (she prefers the term “captour”) to enforce her confinement here in the highest of the castle towers. This edict had been in place for six months, since her mother, Queen Etheldra, and her twin brother and heir to the throne, prince Eamonn, had been kidnapped and murdered by a band of elite assassins sent by the ogre chieftain Vrazig of Helzar.
Her father’s new recruit will be the fourth such individual in this role.
The first had been a Constable of the Royal Guard. With nothing better to amuse herself, Ailish had delighted in developing an obnoxious new personality just to torment the Constable. The spoiled princess persona had spent her days whining and making ever more ridiculous demands; a chess set carved of black and red obsidian, a lacquered gold-plated beechwood stand for Branán to perch upon, innumerable richly embellished gowns embroidered with thin strands of beaten silver and gold, pearls, and jewel beads.
The problem was, her father actually granted each wish, yet Ailish longed for nothing but the return of her family, and her freedom. Worse, she was forced to face the painful realisations that the gifts were a shameful waste of the kingdom’s funds, and Constable Petronilla had seemed unperturbed by being the intermediary. Ailish had needed to steadily escalate her bad behaviour, affecting some truly spectacular tantrums, screaming until her throat was raw, smashing and shattering her possessions and throwing things out of the turret windows until finally, Petronilla had had enough and resigned.
The second person in the position had been a celebrated dragon slayer. Ailish had been intrigued to discover he’d developed a significant phobia of fire after his experiences. This, of course, worked in her favour, and she enjoyed unleashing her destructive side. All it took was setting her heavy damask curtains on fire, and Gunhild the Great had fled in blind panic.
The third guard, a Crusader Knight, had lasted three weeks before Ailish had learned his weakness. Spiders. With glee, Ailish had busied herself collecting any arachnids (never the dangerous ones, she wasn’t fundamentally cruel) she could find in the shadowy nooks and crannies around her chamber, storing them in an albarello jar, and letting them loose whenever Laxus the Loinheart arrived to commence his shift.
They had been wicked, spiteful acts, but Ailish had been driven almost mad with boredom, and since her father now refused her audience, it was the only way she could think to protest, to maintain some semblance of control over her life. All along, her plan had been to cause enough trouble that her father would eventually get sick of replacing her guards and give up, granting her a modicum of liberty again.
‘Is it a “him,” this time?’ Ailish asks.
Idony nods. ‘None of the servants have met him yet, but the king–’
Ailish bristles. ‘The king, who does not deign to convey this news to his daughter personally.’
Idony does not say so, but Ailish can tell by her expression that she strongly disapproves of the king’s estrangement. ‘Mmm,’ she mutters, tight-lipped. ‘The king briefed the seneschal and the chamberlain, and ever since, the servant’s hall has been all a chatter with stories. This new guardian is quite, quite famous, evidently.’
‘His name?’
Idony winces. ‘I don’t recall. I’m sorry. But he will be here presently, milady, and we must get you dressed. Do you favour the periwinkle blue gown to meet him?’
‘Certainly not.’ Ailish bares her teeth in a smile that is positively villainous. ‘If I am to face a new opponent, only the scarlet velvet will do.’
‘Very well,’ Idony concedes wearily. It seems she’d hoped perhaps Ailish had grown tired of her crusade of chaos.
She coaxes Ailish’s arms above her head, removing her silk chainse nightgown to set about the complicated, time-consuming ritual of bathing and dressing her mistress.
After assisting Ailish to bathe in her copper tub with fresh spring water poured from oyster shells and scented oils to perfume her skin, Idony towels her dry and drops a linen shift over her head. Next, she is seated to don her silk stockings which are held up by ribbon garters, and this is followed by stays, a farthingale, and petticoats. Ailish then helps her into the outer layers of her rich velvet gown, the voluminous skirts first, then the bodice with its slashed gigot sleeves and golden embroidery.
Her hair is braided into an intricate design and finished off with a garnet-adorned netted cap. A single, long string of pearls is hung around her neck, and once she has stepped into her silk slippers, she draws herself up, attempting to assume her most regal, powerful pose. Inhaling a deep breath, she enters the vestibule at the front of her quarters and gives a slight nod of her head to indicate that Idony should admit her latest adversary.
Idony knocks to alert the guardsmen, and the many bolts can be heard unlocking, before the huge oak door creaks open. After a brief commotion, Idony swiftly jumps aside as if swerving to avoid a stampeding bull, and all at once Ailish can see why.
She is utterly blindsided, and not quick enough to conceal this fact. But how could she not be astounded? Her new guard is an orc, and that’s… different. Very different. Her mouth hangs agape as she stares in stunned silence.
The Dea-thoil Treaty, an orc-kin-human alliance and vow of peace, has now been formally ratified, but only so recently that the ink could have barely dried. Ailish herself had never, until this moment, laid eyes on an orc in person. She had no idea they’d been welcomed into the citadel so soon and would never, in a thousand years, imagine her father would trust one with the protection of the Princess Royal.
Naturally, Ailish had heard the reports. Orcs were a proud and mighty race, towering in stature, and brutal on the battlefield. But no such knowledge could have prepared her for this encounter. The massive green man now standing in her vestibule has to be over seven feet tall. He is built like a boulder, with shoulders so wide he’d had to turn sideways to get through the door, and arms and legs as thick as tree trunks.
He has large tusks jutting between his full, wide lips, and pointed ears, each pierced with several gold hoops. His long black hair is braided down his neck and over his tunic and leather trou he wears a modified version of the guardsman’s tabard emblazoned with the royal crest. A wide belt encircles his waist, upon which is slung a scabbard encasing an impressive sword.
Ailish quickly regains her composure, shutting her mouth and narrowing her eyes. Immediately, she is alert for clues as to what might be the most effective method of driving this orc away. She will need to consider this carefully. It will take some time to assess him. In the meantime, she decides, like with the rest of them, a good dose of vitriol will suffice.
From outside, the head guardsman murmurs a question at the orc, and in response, he waves at them to close the door, leaving Ailish and Idony alone with him.