The scorned princess

Princess Margaret

Unable to move or even think, Maggy never heard the heavy footsteps behind her. She didn't hear the chimes of the knight's chainmail, nor did she notice when he stopped right behind her.

The moment she did, it was too late. His big gloved hand fell on her shoulder, making her jump and yelp in surprise. The yanked her closer to him, and swung open the door, revealing them to the two men silently arguing.

The stranger had his back turned to the door, but Maggy's mentor looked at her immediately. He held a sight. This was not what he had in mind.

The Princess's deep green eyes met his and he could see the fear. A fear she could not even hide. For a moment there, he felt bad for her. What had they made her go through in that palace, far from the public eye?

"Found her eavesdropping. What do I do with her ?" asked the knight to the messenger as he was turning his attention to the girl.

she looked nothing like a princess. Her pale brown hair was greasy and dishevelled, and her white skin was spotted with dirt and some other things he could not identify and did not wish to. Oh, how poor people always made him sick. She was wearing a tattered brownish dress made of rough cotton. But her face? Oh, she looked like her mother so much. Delicate features, a small nose, and pretty green eyes, just like the empress. She even had that soft gaze the empress always had when looking at her subjects.

To anyone who knew Empress Marissa, it was obvious that the girl, even in her attire, was the Empress's daughter, Princess Margaret. But even if the imperial messenger had no doubts about the girl's parentage, he had to make sure of it. His emperor had told him to verify the identity of the one he would bring back. He told him that Margaret had a birthmark right above her right breast. It was supposed to look like a bird with its wings stretched.

"Rip the right side of her corset."

A peculiar demand, of course, but the knight obliged. He wasn't the boss, so he wasn't going to refuse. The messenger was sent by the emperor himself. Even if he thought his actions to be unnecessary, there was no way that he'd say it.

The clothes didn't offer much of a resistance, they were quite worn out already. And both the messenger and Leon could see it, her birthmark. It was small, it was there. A bird stretching its wings.

"I suppose that Princess Margaret didn't go as far as you thought, old man," said the messenger, with a bit too much fun. He then reported his attention to the knight and said: "We got what we came for, let's go."

Leon tried to stop them, rushing as fast as he could toward his protegee, but the knight shoved him aside like he was nothing more than weed in the wind. The old doctor fell to the ground. Not only was he old, but he also never had any training in fighting or self-defence. He knew he was no challenge to any of them.

Margaret, tears in her eyes, said softly, between two sobs :

"Don't. They ... They'll get ... They'll get whatever they want."

If she wanted to fight, to scream, to try and free herself, seeing Leon on the ground, looking like the world had come to an end, dissuaded her. She didn't resist as the knight started to drag her away. She couldn't make it worse for him, because if she fought, he would have tried to fight more. Both of them would just have ended up injured ... or worse.

She was shoved quite indelicately into the carriage, which made her groan, but she didn't say anything. The young princess wanted to know what was to happen, of course, but she had a feeling that she'd understand everything once she was back home.

It took a night and a whole day to reach the capital.

As soon as she arrived, a few maids grabbed her, hid her face or any part of her that could be seen, and then, got dragged away to the gods know where. She was shoved into what seemed to be a wooden bath in which the water was cold. So cold in fact that her skin hurt. She bit her lips. She wouldn't let anyone know about it. It would just become munitions against her. That she was sure of.

She was roughly scrubbed by those same maids, who were complaining about their tasks. Something like it was even much more than what she deserved.

Margaret closed her eyes, focusing her attention on the scent of the soap. Roses. It must have been her mother. She was the only one who wore that scent proudly. A scent that she was quite fond of, probably because it reminded her of the time she had with the Empress before her disgrace.

She tried not to shiver, but her body wouldn't let her have that victory. It made the smallest maid chuckle.

"Even someone as mighty and disgusting as her can be cold."

She didn't even seem to care that the Princess she was insulting could hear it all. Which made Margaret think that it was Consort Arabella's maid. They were always the meanest to her. They were backed by the emperor's support of their mistress.

Once her hair was clean, they got her out of the bath, dried her, made sure to use the roughest towel, and rubbed her raw everywhere they could before getting her dressed in an itchy dress - in which she felt the prickle of a needle. The princess thought to herself that it was a bit much. Were the rumours worse now that she wasn't there to defend herself? Most likely, she concluded, with a sight.

She was then guided to the throne room, which was all plated in gold but deserted, except for her father's most trusted advisor, standing at the right of the Emperor's throne.

"Princess Margaret is to be wed to Alistair Oakley by the end of the summer. She is to serve him with the utmost faithfulness, but she also is tasked with keeping an eye on him and making sure that he never goes beyond his responsibilities towards the crown."