Prologue
They could hear the cheering from the opposite end of the city just as the sun had started to set. The sounds of their voices were bouncing off the faces of the mountains that towered above them. Jemima grimaced, drawing a sharp breath as she clenched her fists on the windowsill. She hadn’t even been able to see the army of men that her father had been defending their people against, and yet she could hear the sounds of their loss before she knew why the war had started.
Her people never stood a chance. It was like some scene taken out of a novel: massive ships were hovering above the ground, tethered to boulders as if they would drift away without some sort of anchor, a low humming coming from them. Ships were meant for adventures on the sea, not for the sky. But there were dozens of them, crowding the entrance to the hidden valley that her people resided in, and with them more destruction seemed to follow. The sails were a rich shade of amber that contrasted the bronze of the ships, and on the main sails she could see the embroidered insignia of a swan, its wings splayed out as if preparing for flight.
The sound was too much to bear. She turned and marched away from her spot in the window, began anxiously pacing the floor, her brows pressed together in thought. What was to happen now? What had happened? Her father had assured her and her mother over breakfast that morning that this pointless war would be over, their people safe and protected, and everything would go back to the way it had been before. Had he extended an olive branch to the enemy? Did they make a truce? What had happened on the battlefield?
Millions of questions raced through her mind, becoming a scrambled mess almost immediately. She prayed that nothing horrific had happened, and that her father was okay. While she had been hoping that they would emerge victorious, each passing month chipped away at that thought.
The sound of footsteps brought her out of her thoughts. She looked around the hall she had been pacing in, her gaze falling on one of the maids as she approached.
“Your Highness,” the maid said politely, pausing for a moment to curtsy before moving closer.
Jemima sighed, perching on the edge of the window that she had been looking out of moments before. “What has my father done now, Mary?”
Mary, who had become more of an aunt to her over the years, went silent for a moment as she thought, pursing her lips. Her worn, hazel eyes rested on her after avoiding her gaze, and she tucked some of her graying black hair behind her ear. “Your father,” she finally started, “has asked me to get you ready. You are to dress in your finest formal wear. He and King Stephen of Tephate are in your father’s private study, and you are to join them as soon as possible.”
Jemima’s eyes widened as she followed beside Mary. Out of all the nations she had expected them to be fighting, the Tephatians certainly were not one of them. “But- You mean to say it was King Stephen’s men that we were fighting against in that war?”
“Oh, yes. And let me tell you - I have been in this worn-out castle for many-a-year. I have never seen a man’s army attack another kingdom with such conviction as King Stephen did in his war against us. Nor have I seen those machines they have brought with them.” Mary shuddered, her eyes going distant. As they rounded a corner, she glanced over at her and gave a soft smile, reaching up and softly patting her cheer. “Your father commanded the army well, dear. Don’t you worry. The Great One was with our men on that battlefield, I assure you.”
“Oh, I believe it.” Jemima nibbled at her bottom lip. “The entire kingdom was praying over our men day and night, I’m sure.”
“Forget the kingdom. Every time I passed by your mother, she was praying over them. And over your father, too. Poor thing was worried sick.”
They arrived at her room just moments later, and Mary pushed open the door. The next hour passed by in a blur. All that was on Jemima’s mind was what awaited her in that study.
If the war had just ended, then why was King Stephen here? Yes, they had been fighting against Tephate for several months for who knows why, but surely one of the kingdoms had emerged victorious. The only logical explanation for why they were talking in her father’s private study was that they saw no end to their fighting and were looking for a peaceful way to call a truce and dissolve the entire matter.
However logical it was, it wasn’t likely. Tephate was at least four times their size due to all the wars that they were constantly waging. They controlled most - if not all - of the eastern side of Edreín, claiming most of mountain ranges and seasides. For a few years, now, the Tephatians had been claiming other kingdoms left and right. She should have suspected that eventually Drunad would fall within their line of sight. Was that what this was about? Had Tephate been after their land for the past year and a half?
Before she knew it, her long, mousy brown hair had been put into an intricate braid that just barely touched the floor, with her floral circlet crown placed atop her head. She had been dressed in one of her nicer dresses - a pale, green dress with a long train and several layers of fabric, with a queen anne neckline and flowing sleeves. There were yellow fabric daffodils covering the skirt. Once she was entirely done getting ready, Mary led her out of her room and through the castle to her father’s study.
Mary left her just front of the door. Jemima hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and knocked lightly before pushing the door open. Her father was sitting at his desk, his crown resting in the center of it. His brows were furrowed in concentration, lips pursed. His dark hair was unruly - she assumed it was from the stresses of the battle.
Beside him stood another man she didn’t recognize, dressed in battle armor with an amber colored cloak - much like the ones from the flying ships - hanging from his shoulders. Velvet black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, a bronze crown sitting on top of his head as he spoke in a hushed voice with her father. But the crown didn’t look right. It looked like a hodge-podge of miscellaneous pieces of polished bronze, the points of the crown almost looking as though they were the intricate hands of a clock. A bronze colored brooch that matched the swan insignia on the ships was pinned to his cloak.
She waited for a few moments, trying to gauge the seriousness of the conversation the two men were having, and stood taller, taking a deep breath and folding her hands in front of herself as she walked towards them. “You asked to see me, father?” she said as she neared.
Her father lifted his head and gave a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes, standing from his chair. “Ah. Yes. King Stephen, my daughter,” he said tiredly, gesturing to her as she came to stand beside him. He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Jemima, sweetheart, this is King Stephen of Tephate.”
Jemima turned to face the man and tensed, nodding a moment later. “Oh, I see. It’s nice to meet you,” she said as politely as possible.
King Stephen had folded his arms in front himself as he looked down at her, his face in a near scowl. “Likewise, Princess Jemima. Your father and I were just talking about you.”
She couldn’t help but raise her brows a little at this. Curious, she looked over at her father. “You… You have? What about, may I ask?”
Her father sighed heavily, glancing over at King Stephen for a moment. “You were aware of the war that we were fighting with Tephate?” He phrased the question as more of a statement. Both of them knew that the entire kingdom had been aware of the war, thanks to the humming of the sky ships and the shouts of the enemy’s army. The vast majority of their people were unable to have a decent night of sleep because of the sounds.
She nodded slowly.
King Stephen nearly rolled his eyes. “To end the war, you are to marry my son,” he said roughly. “Your father has just signed the paperwork, making this final. The two of you will be married by the end of next month.”
For a moment, Jemima could only stare at the man, believing for a moment that she had only heard him wrong. “I- I’m sorry. Would you mind saying that one more time?”
Her father put a reassuring hand on her arm, holding steady eye contact with King Stephen. “By the end of next month, you and Prince Wesley of Tephate will be married. King Stephen plans to take you back to the capitol of Tephate with him and his army two days from now.” He looked back at her, his gaze softening and he lowered his voice. “We had no choice. I will have Mary and the others start packing your things for you, so you do not need to worry.”
“If you refuse to comply, then you do understand that there would be no reason for the war to be put on hold?” King Stephen questioned, a knowing glint in his eyes.
Jemima felt as though her world was falling apart. Marriage? Was that why the war had ended? All because a marriage had been arranged? King Stephen had said that it would start again if she were to not go through with it. Would he really continue the war all because she refused to marry his son? Drunad wouldn’t last another war from Tephate. Especially not with the machinery they have.
After a full minute full of worried thoughts, she finally managed a small nod. If it was for the protection of her people… She had no other choice. “It… would be an honor, Your Majesty,” she managed softly, lowering her gaze to the floor.
