The Placeholder

I entertained the thought of running. Away from the responsibility that had been dumped at my feet. Away from my duty to protect my home, to protect my people. Away from a promise that I had made to myself many years ago—which transformed into something I hadn't fully understood the consequences of, when I had allowed it to creep discreetly within my morals. I could run far from the marriage I have no heart in. The marriage I fear as well as see necessary. I could yank the velvet curtains that are drawn before my bedroom window off of its handle. Knot them into a makeshift rope, so that I could lower myself down from my window, as far as physically possible, and drop to the large expanse of grass below. Then, once fallen, I could pick up my feet and escape, far and fast into the wilderness. In a matter of minutes, I could disappear. I gaze longingly through the transparent glass, clutching the windowsill with cramped fingers. The sky is light, but cloudy. Gusts of wind whip bare branches; the thinnest ones clashing with the thicker. Perhaps, the weather is a bad omen. It is unfortunate that one can never know for sure if the universe is giving them a sign, or if they are left to tumble alone with the dark uncertainty. Not even royalty. Clumsy footsteps patter noisily towards my bedroom door. I shut my eyes tightly, knowing I had missed my opportunity. Allowed it to pass me by, like a heavenly cloud; coming and going in a clear, blue sky. Unlike the dismal grey I eyeball now. A gentle tap of hesitant knuckles sounds on the other end of the wooden door. I sigh heavily, allowing the weight of my destiny to compress onto my shoulders. This marriage needs to be sealed, I attempt to settle myself. You did what you had to do for the greater good. For the peace of your people. "Princess Rhoswen?" I hear my maid, Mabel, call to me. "The queen has requested your presence before you are due to depart." My breath hitches. My mother must want to say a private goodbye while we still have time. "Very well," I reply evenly. "I'll be downstairs in a minute." "Yes, your Highness," Mabel calls back hastily. I listen to her footsteps scurry away down the hall. I fall silent for a moment, giving myself a brief minute to appreciate the room I had slept in my whole life. When I was a baby, it had been a nursery with a crib and stuffed animals all lined neatly on top of shelves. As I grew older, my room had developed into the room of a young woman. I have a large vanity mirror hung over a mahogany dresser. My closet is filled to its utmost potential with dresses, undergarments, and other articles of clothing. Most of it I rarely ever use. The walls in my room are painted a mint green, as I requested when I was nine. I matched my dress with it today. So I can carry a little piece of home, clinging to my skin as I face my fate. I tie my hair into a practical braid and toss it carelessly so that it hits my back. Then, I square my shoulders and exit my room for the very last time. My maid would come to me with my luggage later. Though, I had insisted I could carry my own bags. Mabel would have none of it. I take my time descending down the familiar spiral staircase. The many cleaners my father, the King, had hired, are persistent in maintaining spotless surfaces and neat organization. The staircase is polished and shiny. The wooden flooring is almost glossy. I pull up my skirts an inch off the floor as I make my way downstairs. It occurs to me that Mabel hadn't told me where my mother is. I will have to search for her on my own. Our castle is quite large, but I hope my mother is in the dining room, or the garden. Many of the rooms in the castle are vacant, never used. It narrows my focus considerably. The sweet scent of chocolate assaults my nose as I drift towards the kitchen. I pause when my stomach rumbles. The chefs working for my family are exquisite, talented. They never fail to awaken my appetite. I decide my scavenger hunt can proceed once my stomach is full. I enter the kitchen, feeling a pang of hunger, followed by a pang of dread. Who knew how long it would be until I could step foot into my own home again? I would be traveling far to a foreign place, alone. And I don't have a clue when I will be able to return for a visit. It could be years from now. One of the cooks notices me, his name is Theodore, and smiles. "Hello, Princess. Did you have a good sleep?" The sweet, rich aroma wafting in the air is enough to soften me. "I rested well," I lied. I observe Theodore as he mixes thick batter in a large bowl. Truthfully, I had tossed and turned last night. My mind refused to shut off. I hadn't been able to fall asleep until the sun was peeking over the horizon. My stomach growls again as Theodore dumps a bag of chocolate chips into the batter. That must be the source of the smell. "It's good that you are well rested. You have a long journey ahead of you." I nod absently, ignoring the reminder I do not need. "Are you making pancakes?" I inquire, staring pointedly at the sugary contents being stirred with a humongous spoon. One of the other chefs, Leslie, chimes in cheerfully. "We are, your Highness. Your favourite, chocolate chip. We wanted to make a special breakfast for you. Since today you are leaving to get married," Her tone thickens as she adds, "This is our way of showing you that you will be missed." A lump forms in my throat as I look into the eyes of the two cooks. Both possessing the same blue eyes and dark hair that marks them for their blood relation. "Thank you," I tell them earnestly. "It is a kind gesture. I very much appreciate it." "Anything for you, Princess." Theodore exclaims. "Now, why don't you take a seat at the dining room table? You and the Queen will be served when the pancakes are finished. She is waiting for you there." I don't want to disturb the kitchen staff any longer, so I am quick to agree. I say goodbye to the cooks and depart. When I arrive at the dining room, my mother is waiting for me there. She sits at the rear of the rectangular table. A black cloth covering the glass surface. The table is already set with utensils and face cloths. I notice that the table is prepared for only two, when there is supposed to be three. "Is father not joining us for our morning meal?" My mother shakes her head. There is a sadness in her grey eyes. "Unfortunately, your father has errands to run. He will not be able to attend." I bristle, because I have a sneaking suspicion that she is not just referring to breakfast. My father most likely will not be present when I leave. I smooth my face into a mask of indifference. "Very well," my voice contains iron. "He will be the one missing out on pancakes." As if summoned by me, one of our waiters places two steaming plates in front of my mother and I. My mother smiles at him. "Thank you, Brian. Kindly insure that the staff keeps out of this room, please? I would like to have a private meal with my daughter." The waiter bows, though the gesture isn't necessary. "Yes, your Highness. No one else will step inside this room." My mother thanks him again and he leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him. I don't hesitate to coat my pancakes in the thick syrup placed between us. This dining room is the smaller one, meant only for my parents and I. There is another dining hall nearby for my father's workers to have their meals. Otherwise, the grand dining hall is saved for celebrations. When there are visitors. My mother follows my lead, cutting into her pancake and popping a small piece into her mouth. Like I, she is not wearing her crown. Her hair, strawberry blonde that I had inherited from her, waves loosely down her shoulders. Her gown is the colour of icicles. We lock eyes, and I realize that my mother had been observing me as well. "Your braid is a mess, Rhoswen. Did you even bother to comb your hair?" I pick up a napkin and dab crumbs off my lips. "I did, actually." My mother scowls at me. "This will not do. You will wear your hair down when meeting the prince, understand?" I want to laugh at her. Though, that might simply be the cause of nerves. But how would she be able to control the way I wear my hair when meeting my future husband? She won't be traveling with me. Who's to say I won't tie my hair the minute my carriage is out of sight? Actually, that's exactly what I will do. "As you wish, Mother." I only agree to placate her. "Is there anything else about my appearance you would like me to fix?" "No," She replies coolly. "The rest is fine. Only, you must wear your crown." That I had expected already. My mother wants me to make a good first impression. I am not sure how to go about impressing anyone, much less a prince and his royal family. Even more, I don't care to. My marriage is a political alliance. It is not a marriage I look forward to, and I am not engaged to a man I care for. The land of Verduschkir is my birthplace, my home. I have lived In this country my whole life. There are children who go to school here and play In the plenty spring meadows. There are women here who sing; a current of their own for when the wind is still. There are men who laugh with their hearts as they gather with friends at the local pubs. Mothers, fathers, cousins, brothers, best friends, husbands, and wives; who work, and play, and love here. This isn't just my home. This country belongs to the people. But, these innocent people had been placed in constant danger. What felt like never-ending bloodshed had painted the roads and Town Squares roughly twenty two years ago. Children were slaughtered, women were assaulted, men were abducted. It was no longer safe. My grandfather had become enemies with a neighbouring country, Bardulm. War was declared. Hatred was spewed. Mercy was lost. And so were innocent people. It wasn't only Verduschkir that suffered. Both countries were evenly matched in weaponry, skill, defense, and strategy. Neither opponent could dominate the other. Townsfolk from both ends, and the warriors who fought to protect them, were the ones who paid the price. Then, my grandfather passed away. Bardulm's ruler, King Oliver, died soon after. My father had taken his own father's place. With the crown bestowed upon his head, he waited for the prince of Bardulm to possess the neighbouring throne. Once King Oliver had passed, my father made an offer. My father is smarter than my grandfather had been, and more compassionate. He knew his loyal guards and knights were being killed at a rapid pace. He also knew that the same situation was plaguing Barldum. If the two countries continued to battle, there would be no one left standing; the war would be meaningless. Fortunately, Barldum's new king, Ryker, had caught wind to the dreadful outcome awaiting both countries as well. My father, and Ryker, had agreed to end the war. There was only one complication. Neither King could trust the other. After all the unspeakable crimes that had been committed, how could they be certain that the war was truly over? Their solution was to tie the two countries through marriage. Both kings were already married, so they declared a temporary peace bond until the first son and first daughter were born between the two countries. One child from each side were offered to the cause. King Ryker and his wife birthed a son. Two years later, I was born. I frown as I spear my pancake. Weighing my life over the thousands of lives, who would find solace after my wedding, who should tip the scale is obvious. It would be selfish to resist what will save two entire countries. This doesn't mean that I am devoid of an ulterior motive. Protecting my homeland is important, yes, but I have a reason of my own for relocating to Barldum. "I am proud of you, Rhoswen," My mother announces suddenly. I look up from my meal, surprised. My mother is not a woman of many words, and finds it difficult to display affection, even to her own kin. I know she loves me. It just isn't something she vocalizes often. She preferrs to express herself with actions. When I don't reply, she adds. "You are doing the right thing. I am glad you agree with this arrangement." I nod absently. I don't particularly 'agree' with my marriage, as my mother had put it. I simply understand the reasoning behind it. Would I rather my father and King Ryker simply put an end to their father's feud, without the wedding being a necessity? Of course, but both Kings are paranoid, thanks to their parents. There is no possibility that either rival can be trusted until we are all bound. Then we can share resources, become a united front. I can't stand to see anymore people hurt. The rest of breakfast is eaten in silence. I take my time, deliberately prolonging the inevitable. When we both finish, my mother rises from her chair. I follow her lead without enthusiasm. Our empty plates are left behind. Dismay churns inside my chest as my mother leads me to the front entrance to our castle. Mabel is standing there, clutching two suitcases under each hand. Her hazelnut hair is tied back into a knot at the nape of her neck. She beams at me as I approach. "Here is your luggage, your Highness." I am gradually becoming sick of being called that. Or maybe it is broader than just the title. Perhaps I am sick of the crown and all that it entails. I take the bags from my maid. "The rest of your belongings will be delivered to your new location in one weeks time," Mabel chirps. Her tone sounds forced. A ball bounces repeatedly in my throat. "Is this it, then?" I demand, almost angrily. "Am I really leaving this soon?" I turn on my mother, whose face is grave. "It is time, Rhoswen. We need this done as soon as possible. You know that." I say nothing more. It is true, I am aware of what is to come. Still, I had only turned eighteen three days ago. The wide double doors open, revealing the large vortex that will swallow me whole. The vortex of the political alliance. My roots are about to be yanked harshly out of the earth I had sprouted on. Soon after this, I am sure I will wither. My heart hammers. For a second, I am scared that I will be thrown out of the castle. That servants would come flooding out of rooms and corridors to toss me away, as if I am trash. Instead, I am greeted by familiar dark eyes. Followed by the stony expression of my personal guard, Erick. He marches into the castle. The light from the morning sun dawns on the polished floors, sending sharp rays reflecting into my eyes. I recoil briefly, shuffling away from the open entryway, my luggage in tow. Before I can take cover from the sun, I see a flash of a serpentine dirt road. The path that would take me to a new kingdom. A new beginning. I'm not ready, I want to holler at the top of my lungs. I can't commit to this right now, I won't. I am lying to myself. I will, because I don't have a choice in the matter. After my eyes adjust to the brightness engulfing the room, I once again lock eyes with Erick, who is still watching me. His expression softens as I stare back at him. "You won't be traveling alone, Rhoswen," My mother attempts to soothe. "Your guard will be accompanying you all the way to King Ryker's doorstep." I clench the handles to my two suitcases, gripping them so tightly that my knuckles turn white. A roaring erupts in my ear drums. The sound of a raging ocean, and the sound of abandonment. I barely register Mabel's arms being wrapped tightly around my torso, her face burrows into my left shoulder. "Have a safe and comfortable trip, Princess," I hear her sniffle softly. "Thank you, Mabel. For all that you have done for me." "I'm simply doing my duty," She replies modestly. "And don't worry, I will make sure the Harkins family is delivered their goods weekly." I give my maid a tight-lipped smile. A couple years ago, I had begun to investigate a family matter. A missing younger brother, whom I remember with crystal clarity. One day, him and I had been running down the countless corridors, chasing each other with sticks we had plucked from outside. The next, he had vanished. With no sign that he had ever existed. My parents denied that I had any siblings at all, and blamed my memory of the boy on a wild imagination. Claiming I had simply created him in my head. I had been in an internal turmoil for years, debating on what I could do, as well as what I should. At the time, I had no proof that my parents were lying, so eventually I began to question some of the villagers in Town Square. Exchanging for money or for food. Sometimes even jewelry. I had used my own allowance to pay my sources. The Harkins had given me much of the information I needed. Mrs. Harkin, a wife with three children, had once been a cleaner for my family until shortly after she had gotten married. I had struck a deal with her. A lead in the right direction for an assortment of commodities, such as milk and eggs, for her and her relatives. I deliver them personally to Mrs. Harkin at the beginning of each week. However, since I will no longer be living here, I had asked Mabel to take over the task. My parents have no clue that I am seeking for my brother, who I managed to confirm did indeed exist and is not a figment of my imagination (a few of my sources, including Mrs. Harkin, had met my brother, Timmy personally). Relocating to Barldum will take me closer to his last known whereabouts. As for the deliveries, I had played them off as gifts to a woman I admire, and nothing more than that. My mother and father had accepted the explanation, for my mother makes similar gestures. My mother masks her expression into chipped ice. She opens her arms to me and I stride into them. Her warmth embraces me like a velvety cloak in the winter. "You will be able to come visit soon," My mother says confidently. I feel long strands of her silky hair tickle my cheek as she leans down to whisper in my ear. "Once you reach Barldum, head North. Your brother should still be there." I gasp soundlessly, pulling away abruptly to stare at her, bewildered. Did she just say what I think she did? I burn into the grey of her irises, demanding an explanation. But I am not given one. In return, I receive a dismissive tilt of her pointed chin; lifted high to display her royalty. I blink furiously. Timmy is not my mother's son. My father had betrayed her 15 years ago, impregnating another woman by accident. Timmy had been raised in the castle, at first. The hope being that Timmy would look like our father, so that none of the villagers would question who the child was. He had the blood of a prince running in his veins, but if he did not look the part, my father simply wouldn't accept him. Citizens would begin to gossip if there was suspicious cause. My father has dark hair and brown eyes. The other woman my father had been intimate with, Timmy's mother, looked nothing like mine. Like her, Timmy was dealt blue eyes and golden hair. My parents had kept my younger brother hidden inside the palace for four years. Those who had been working for my father at the time had been ordered to keep their mouths zipped tight on the child born out of wedlock. They, including Mrs. Harkins, had been threatened with the loss of their jobs. Many could not afford to be fired. This didn't stop the secret from blossoming beyond the palace walls. My father had put a stop to this immediately. Paying Timmy's mother, whose identity remains a mystery to this day, handsomely to take her son and flee Verdushkir. Similar to how I am about to be shipped to Barldum, a car had taken her away in the black of night. My brother had been forced to go with her. The three people who I had managed to dig information from that had met Timmy before his disappearance, had all been fired. Once my father had discovered the rumor he most feared, he put all of his worker's under investigation. He couldn't unveil the culprit. Because of this, many of my father's leading suspects lost their jobs. Some were punished in harsher ways, such as whippings. The rumors died out of intimidation. The King's second child was forgotten. I not only pull away from my mother, but I also pull away from the present. So she knew of my plans, but how? What had clued her in? Did one of the villagers I question inform her of my investigation? If so, who? And why? Had they been hoping for a reward? Did they get a reward? I feel my shoulder length braid unravel down my back, and my waved hair is arranged about my shoulders. A heavy object is placed atop my head. My crown; a halo I don't deserve. That none of us royalty truly deserves. I shiver. My mother inspects my appearance for the final time. Accompanied with last minute tips on how to present myself, and how to maintain a peaceful marriage. Mabel respectfully takes a step back as Erick begins to guide me out the front door. My father made no effort to bid me farewell, to the best of my knowledge. If he did, he had been too late. The sun beams it's warmth on Erick and I as we approach the carriage. Frilly, white curtains conceal the inside. Two men sit in front, preparing to command a pair of horses, caramel in colour. My heart patters unevenly, sounding like soggy shoes slapping against shallow puddles as they run on pavement in an empty street. Erick doesn't speak. He collects my luggage from my tightened grasp. I almost feel embarrassed when his hands grip the handles. Now sleek with my nervous perspiration. I ignore the churning in my gut as I turn my attention back to the castle. Many of the cooks and cleaners had taken it upon themselves to run out into the courtyard. Roughly two dozen hands wave to me. I want to wave in return, but I am afraid that I will shatter to pieces if I do. Cry as much as you need to when you're in the carriage, I silently scold myself. But hold yourself together until then. I also can not allow myself to weep and wail once I arrive at King Ryker's palace. I may not have any knowledge on how to act as a respectable Princess, since I am not one, but I refuse to give anyone in Barldum a reason to believe that I am weak. Erick huffs as he lifts my second suitcase and stores it away. I frown. My baggage isn't very heavy. Even petite Mabel had managed to bring both of them downstairs. Erick is stronger than both her and I. He appears to be carrying my bags easily enough. So then, why is he grunting? Erick catches me observing him and gestures for me to join him by his side. I obey. Millions of little beads, alive inside of me, tremble across my veins. I can hear calling behind me. Cheering. Longing is intertwined with bitterness as I drift farther from the castle. Farther from home. You're not congratulating me. You're not just cheering for your peace, or for my marriage. You're also celebrating my loss of free will. I bite down my tongue harshly. Self inflicted pain is more tolerable than causing a scene. Erick completes the task of preparing everything we need. The two men who will be transporting us, are ready. "It is time to go now, Rhose," He speaks with the gentle touch of pillow feathers. I am too preoccupied with apprehension to be bothered by the disliked nickname Erick addresses me as. Instead, I allow my guard to open the carriage door for me. I hate when he does that too, but it won't matter for much longer. I try to keep my expression smoothly intact. My mind is the complete opposite, a scattered mess. I slip inside calmly, sliding far enough down the plush, padded seats to give Erick space to sit beside me. He climbs in after, shutting the door to lock it in place. I close my eyes, defeated. "Alright," My guard calls to the men holding the reins on the horses. "We are ready." A few moments later, the carriage is rolling down the flat road. I steal myself a final glance behind us before I am too far to see, throwing my head out of the small window. My hair flies wildly. The large crowd that had gathered for my departure, is quick to return indoors. They have their own lives, and their own duties. I remind myself that this is mine. One lone figure remains on the front steps. Tall and graceful in a gown made of silver frost. Her head raised high. Steel eyes lock with my light brown ones. My vision is strong enough to catch the slightest nod my mother gives me. I know there is more she wishes to communicate. We are already too far apart. My throat closes as she too, turns her back on me. Though I know she hates to do so, she wasn't given the choice either. My throat closes and I hiccup as the doors to the castle shut. Enclosing everything I have ever known inside. A warm hand touches my shoulder, tugging me back. The wind catches, nearly knocking my crown off my head. I hold it in place, touching the diamonds encrusted into it. I'm about to recede back into the carriage when a thought strikes me almost as harsh as a physical blow. Why do I cling onto an object that means nothing to me? Erick's hand releases my shoulder. I can hear him shuffle away, allowing me a moment to myself. I am grateful, because I need it. My hands tremble as I slowly raise my crown above my head. My eyes follow my movements. With deliberate slowness, I hold the base of my crown; placed flat into my palms. Why do I bother? I ponder this. Only, not for long. Nobody cared about what I wanted, so why should I? I shouldn't. And I decide then, that I wouldn't. I close my eyes, breathing in the fresh scent of grass. Erick resumes his tugging. This time, he is firm. He is too late. I lift my arms as high as they will go, using as much strength as I can muster. I send my crown sailing into the tall, untamed fields.