Cursed Royal Blood

1

Eleanor storms off the room, as her aunt screams her name behind her. It sounds desperate and loud in the big walls of the palace. 'Elle' she says, heartbroken, and then, louder: 'Eleanor'.

But Eleanor doesn't stop walking.

The night outside the palace is cold, she feels it under her skin, the fabric of the dress too thin for the weather.

She takes a deep breath, as her hearts pounds against her ribcage.

What a disaster.

All of it.

She understands she has responsibilities, as the next in line for the throne, after her brother died. But Eleanor never thought it would come to this.

Her aunt, Leyla, was the one to break the news to her. Leyla told her what the king and queen of Lasten, had decided for her future and the future of their nation.

Marry him, to end war.

War. What a tragic and powerful word that is.

And what a curse it is to marry the enemy.

Lasten and Asnya have been at war for years now. Her brother died fighting for Lasten, and now, Eleanor has to marry the prince of Asnya, heir to the throne, to bring peace to both countries.

A tear streams down her face but she is quick to get rid of it, too proud to let her emotions show, even in the darkness of the night. She didn't cry at her brother's funeral, she won't cry now.

A hand touches her shoulder softly.

"I'm sorry" Leyla whispers. "I know... it is not easy".

"He murdered Henry" she spits, angry, as her eyes finally meet her aunt's. "Of course it is not easy".

"You don't have to forgive him for that, Eleanor. All we ask for is..."

"To marry him". Her throat hurts, and maybe, just maybe, the memory of his brother is the cause. "I refuse to marry that monster".

She doesn't appreciate the sympathetic look her aunts gives her, as if there's no other way to deal with the situation. Eleanor shudders at the thought. There must be another way. This can't be it.

"Go to sleep" Leyla says softly. "Rest. Then tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow what?" Eleanor blurts out, losing control of her own breathing. Leyla tries to smile to ease her worries, but her lips end up in flat line in her pale face.

"Tomorrow the engagement will be arranged in Asnya's palace" Eleanor's eye are wide open. "I'm sorry, Eleanor".

However, there are no words on the face of the earth capable of reassuring or making the situation seem better. It isn't. Eleanor contemplates her options, terrified of what in her thoughts she unearths.

She complies with her aunt's orders which, though she knows they come from a good heart, she cannot accept with kindness. Eleanor walks back to the palace without another glance at her, anger and resentment growing in flames within her.

She has always known that one of her responsibilities as a candidate for the throne is to marry; that has never been in doubt during her life. Even if she was not the heir until Henry's death, her parents had been decisive on the issue from the beginning.

However, marrying the enemy... Marrying a man she can only relate to war, pain and death. Everything she hates compiled in one person, who at that very moment must be arranging for Eleanor's arrival at the palace in Black Hills.

Her pillow is not wet with tears that night, despite how much she wants to release the tension and impotence accumulated in her heart.

That killer doesn't deserve her tears. It is the last thing she plans to give him.

The next morning brightens her bedroom, against her most puerile hope that the day would never come. She lies in bed for longer than necessary. Finally, after what feels like a fleeting eternity, Eleanor rises.

The dress was prepared by her maid. It is emerald green.

"It brings out your eyes, princess," Sophie says sweetly. Eleanor smiles at her, without really smiling. "The carriage is waiting for you downstairs."

"Thank you" she whispers. Her fingers caress the thin fabric of the long-skirted dress. It feels like silk against her fingertips.

She wants to tear it.

Her parents are inside the carriage when Eleanor is ready to leave. Leyla accompanies them and a line of carriages escort them to Asnya. The journey to the port is a moderate distance, taking no more than an hour.

At the dock, a ship waits for the Royal family.

Eleanor appreciates the sea below her. The swell is gentle that day, despite the clouds unfurling in the gray Lasten sky. She hears her parents talking behind her back during the ride, trifles she can't believe they are discussing when she is only hours away from marrying the most despicable man in the world.

She wishes Camille were beside her. Her dear friend has always known how to improve her spirits, even in her worst moments. She's been almost the only support she's had since Henry's death, and she can't help a lump forming in her throat at the thought.

Leyla approaches her on the edge of the bow.

"How are you feeling?" she asks her softly. Eleanor smiles wryly.

"Feeling like throwing up."

"Are you seasick?"

"No."

Leyla rolls her eyes. "That's enough of that. Don't act like a child, Eleanor. I know how you feel, but-"

"No," Eleanor interrupts her, angry. She hates talking to Leyla like this, but she doesn't think she can take any more of this false empathy she's built up. "You don't know how I feel, you'll never know. The fact is, you're not the one who will become queen."

Her aunt blinks, stunned, almost... hurt. Perhaps if Eleanor could be compassionate in that instant, she would take it back immediately, but she does not. She's tired of the comforting words. She's tired of the pity-filled looks from her parents. She has never missed Henry so much, he always knew how to react.

So even though her heart doesn't break for her aunt, it does with the realization that things will never go back to the way they once were.

(...)

Eleanor notices two things when the carriage stops in front of the two sheets of dark railings, adorned by the Black family insignia.

One is that Asnya's palace looks twice as big as Lasten's palace. About its proportions you can never be sure, the infrastructure differs for the most part, but at first glance, it is.

The other is that the Black family insignia of a fierce golden lion adorns from the pillars to the top of the entrance.

The gates open for the carriage to enter Black Hills territory. Even at this distance, Eleanor is able to recognize the three figures standing in front of the massive castle gates. The kings of Asnya and the crown prince.

Cedric.

Dark hair, blending with the deep black of his attire. His stance is tense, imposing, and Eleanor gets a fire in her gut.

Her hands clench into fists as the carriage pulls up in front of the castle steps. She forces herself not to think about it, not to think of Cedric running her adored brother through with a sword. But she's not good enough at it. She surprises herself with desires she has never had, that she never thought possible to harbor. If ever given the chance, she would not hesitate to give him a taste of his own medicine.

She doubts that marriage under such conditions would be good for either party.

She chokes on her instincts and climbs down from the carriage after her mother and father, who formally greet the kings of Asnya.

As they walk through the grand palace into a hall, Eleanor wonders why this meeting has to take place in the enemy country, and not in a neutral zone. Perhaps the border is a dangerous option, however, it would have sufficed if it was in a nearby fort, Kentamades or Saal, where the war does not reach its walls.

Being away from Lasten, walking side by side with the man who murdered her brother, is by far Eleanor's worst experience. Too much longing, too much fear, becoming one.

She can feel Leyla's sympathetic gaze behind her back and doesn't know if it makes the whole situation better or worse.

Eventually the hall opens before them and Eleanor swallows.

Her mother is the first to break the silence.

"Regarding the marriage...".