The Princess I Was Sworn to Guard

Ink and parchment—this pen I’m holding, waiting to spill my deepest thoughts—are the closest proximity I’ve had to you in almost a year. The blank page has screamed at me for hours, but every time the grain touches me, all I can think of is your skin.

I only felt it once: the day I was appointed to the King’s guard. Echoes of vows to serve the crown not only with my sword, but in all actions, had barely rung out when I swore to never betray my station. No noble woman, or god forbid a Princess, would be the object of my affection. As the words left my mouth, your silky glove slipped from your grip. It only dusted the floor for a moment before I snatched it. In the haste of duty I was utterly unprepared for the eyes waiting for me when I straightened.

My hands were unclad, torso alike for the ceremony. A knight bearing the weight of the Kingdom has to show their strength for their vows to hold. So there wasn’t a thing in between us when I handed you the glove.

Every millimeter of the skin you grazed sparked for that split second. Your gaze burned. It gave me pain greater than all the ritualistic cuts I’d suffered at the altar moments before. When I regained my attention and fell back in line, I had a new ache. One that has stayed within me to this day.

I bite the end of my pen. This is the first time I’ve actively attempted to break my vows. It goes against every ounce of sanity in my body, but my heart can’t take the agony of your absence anymore.

One would think that feelings like these would fade if they’re not fed. That not seeing your face would make me forget. That your lavender essence would be aired out of the castle. Instead, each corner I turn attacks me with fresh bouquets of purple flowers. They laugh at me. The King believes the best way to miss someone is by surrounding yourself with their whole image. It’s driving me to insanity.

Moving even an inch in these corridors submits me to endless flashes of the things you used to ask me to do. You weren’t supposed to, and it wasn’t my job to help. You had heaps of servants and teachers for all your needs. But I could never say no. I taught you sparring. I carried your picnic basket. I even stood guard when you went to swim.

It became my most treasured sound, hearing you knock on my door. Your recurring wants for company kept me at your side, and I wanted to be close to you. With you always asking me and no one else, I sometimes allowed myself to believe you wanted that too.

Finally I’m hit with every perfect thing to say. Each feeling I’ve longed to pronounce in your presence turns into sentences. They flow from my brain to my fingers, spilling onto the page. I can’t help but smile, ignoring the way my armor digs into my wrist as I write.

I was silent when you were still here. I bit my tongue all through your courtship with the Prince of the West. I didn’t even bid you farewell when you left. Any word to you would’ve ended with my head on the chopping block. But when this letter finds you, I will be long gone from punishment. With its dispatch, I too will leave court and this life behind. I just need you to hear it—read it—once. That’s all. Then I will submit myself to the mercy of the forest.

The chair creaks as I lean back after signing my name. My cheek stains with ink as my hand drags over it, and with it comes another wave of doubt. A laugh escapes me. I can’t send this. These scribbles are the work of a madman.

What am I hoping to accomplish? You wouldn’t drop your whole life to come to me. Best case scenario, you don’t even remember who I am. You’d skim the letter and promptly flick it into the fire. But worst? The feeling actually being mutual. Then you would realise that you are trapped in a foreign land and an unhappy life, seeing that there was another choice all along.

I couldn’t do that to you. No matter how slim that risk is, knowing the torment I’ve suffered through, I would do anything to keep that from you. I couldn’t deliver it to your doorstep.

The candle dances on my desk. It’s laughing too, just like the lavender. What a beautiful hole I’ve dug for myself. I move forward and the flame eagerly eats the parchment. Orange light springs to life, shining brightly even as I drop it to the stone floor. It burns hot for a few seconds. Then it dies as if it never existed, only with a little sheet of soot remaining.

Sighing, I reach for the stack of mail on my desk. I haven’t had the energy to read any of it for a whole week. It’s too boring. Even more so than my guard duty.

The first letter has an odd seal. It seems somewhat familiar, but I can’t place it. I rip it open and ready myself to skim the contents.

News from the West Kingdom.