Soul Bound

Every person is devised of the atoms of stars that perished millions of years ago. When two hearts created from the atoms of the same star find each other, we call them soulmates. Two such souls were enjoying their time together in the afterlife. It had been a millennium since their last reincarnation, and one was becoming restless.

“My love,” cooed Celeste, batting her eyelashes at her other half.

Nova groaned, anticipating what was coming. They had this fight every thousand years like clockwork.

“Just hear me out, Nova,” she pleaded.

“No. I don’t want to go back. Let me enjoy my afterlife,” Nova huffed.

Throughout each of their many lives, they inevitably found each other. Though they possessed no recollection of previous lives whilst amongst the living, their souls were always drawn together like atoms begging to collide.

“Please, my love, it’s been a million—”

“Thousand,” Nova mumbled.

Celeste pretended she hadn’t heard. “—years. I miss the world. I miss the excitement. I miss getting to fall in love with you all over again. I miss people, and smells, and food! I miss food, even strawberries.” She pouted, making a face that she knew was hard for Nova to say no to. She played dirty, but this time he would be firm.

“No, something bad always happens. And you hate strawberries.” Something bad did, in fact, always happen. Perhaps they were destined to live cursed lives. Perhaps the stars desired to have their atoms returned to their skies. Nova would not be the one to deny the stars’ longing. He was quite content to stay exactly where he was. Celeste? Not so much.

“But we’ve had good times as well!” she argued.

“No. That’s my final answer,” he stated firmly. His resolve was strong. He would not break.

Celeste thinned her lips, her face becoming thoughtful. She knew she would need a different approach to overcome this battle.

Nova feared what she would come up with. Last time, she threatened to find a way to attach herself to a different soul. Ha, as if.

Suddenly, she grinned. The sight did not bode well for Nova.

Celeste’s eyes glazed over as she began reminiscing aloud about their first life together.

* * *

Pomaria, 1632

“Hear ye, hear ye! Her Majesty Roselyn of House Crane, Queen of Pomaria, shall host a betrothal tournament for the hand of the Princess. All men in the realm between the ages of seventeen summers and twenty-five winters will be eligible to compete.”

* * *

As she did most mornings, Rosalina woke to Margaret pulling back the curtains on her windows, letting in the sunshine, which hit her face. Margaret patiently waited for her to rouse, but she pretended to be still asleep. When Margaret realized what Rosalina was doing, she sighed in resignation. They went through this most mornings.

“Time to rise, Rose,” Margaret urged.

“Half a candlemark more,” Rosalina mumbled sleepily, burrowing further into her blankets.

“No, your mother and father are expecting you to be prompt for the morrow meal. You know what your mother says, a princess—”

“Must be punctual,” Rosalina groaned, completing the accursed phrase. “Very well, I shall rise if I must.” She sat up and stretched her arms above her head, opening her eyes for the first time that sunrise to Margaret smiling at her compliance. Margaret was Rosalina’s handmaiden. She was young, two summers older than Rosalina’s sixteen, and her best friend, though at times, she was more like a nagging elder sister.

Margaret’s mother, Jacqueline, was the Queen’s royal advisor and closest confidante, so Margaret and Rosalina grew up side by side. Rosalina considered Margaret to be her closest confidante and decided at a young age that Margaret would be her royal advisor when she was crowned Queen.

Once Margaret saw Rosalina’s eyes were open, she went to retrieve a dress for her from the wardrobe. As soon as her back turned, Rosalina flopped back onto the pillows and closed her eyes.

“I think the lavender dress this morrow,” said Margaret, peering into the wardrobe.

“Mm,” Rosalina hummed in reply.

“What do you think?” she asked, still sifting through dresses.

“Mm.” At this, Margaret spun around suspiciously.

“Rose!” she cried out anxiously.

Realizing she had been caught, Rosalina sat up again, this time swinging her legs out of bed and standing up. “My apologies, Daise.” Rosalina loved flowers and nicknamed her friend when they were children after marguerite daisies. “I could not resist,” she said sheepishly, joining Margaret in front of the wardrobe.

“Nuisance is what you are,” Margaret grumbled, shaking her head at Rosalina’s antics. Anyone else would have interpreted her tone as aggravated, but Rosalina could hear the underlying fondness. She’d always been able to read Margaret.

Rosalina combed through her wardrobe, pulling out dresses and discarding the ones she didn’t want on the floor. Margaret made exasperated noises as each one fell. She pulled out her lavender dress and held it up to her body. Perfect.

“I think I will wear this one,” she informed Margaret. “What is your opinion?”

“Oh, yes. Excellent choice,” said Margaret, hidden mirth in her eyes. She helped Rosalina dress, pulling strings tighter and lacing them together until she was a properly suffocated princess. Rosalina had learned to breathe through her unease at a young age. Pain is beauty, after all, and she was quite beautiful. Her skin was tan and flawless, long eyelashes adorned almond-shaped brown eyes, and her lips were full and pouty.

Margaret picked up a brush and gently untangled Rosalina’s long, wavy black hair from the top of her head to where it stopped at her lower back. It was Rosalina’s favorite part of their morning routine; the repetitive motions lulled her into a state of pure relaxation.

“There,” Margaret announced half a candlemark later, setting the brush down on a dresser. “You look marginally presentable.”

Rosalina bumped Margaret’s shoulder playfully, used to her teasing. “My thanks, Daise. I shall see you anon.”

Margaret bid her a good day and set about her duties for the morning, which included studying and shadowing her mother. Rosalina stretched, yawning, and her stomach gave a most unladylike growl. She deemed that her cue to join her parents for the morrow meal.

* * *

As Rosalina expertly navigated the massive corridors and hallways of the palace, servants stopped to curtsy or bow their heads in respect. She smiled and nodded at each. The royal family was beloved. Queen Roselyn, Rosalina’s mother, usurped the throne from her tyrannical elder sister, Lucinda.

Lucinda was cruel and greedy, and their people suffered terribly under her reign. Roselyn waged war on her sister with the support of six out of the seven seats of power, not including her own House. The seven seats were held by Houses Gaveren, Kent, Manton, Caliban, Vilela, Astor, and of course, the royal House Crane. But even with the numbers in Roselyn’s favor, Lucinda refused to surrender, and many lost their lives in battle, including Margaret’s father, Thomas. He was a good man but died not knowing his wife was with child.

Roselyn could not bear the continued bloodshed and called for an honor duel, staking the outcome on the crown. A noble could not refuse an honor duel from someone else of noble standing. Even Lucinda’s crazed mind still held onto the traditions she’d been raised with. An honor duel was not usually to the death, but Lucinda did not survive the encounter. The Queen claimed it was an accident, though there were murmurs of foul play when Roselyn seized control of the kingdom. At first, the people were wary, but she earned their trust by ruling with a firm yet fair hand. She had the respect of her people and, more importantly, their loyalty.

Rosalina’s parents were sitting at a table far too long for three in their enormous dining hall. Queen Roselyn, seated at the head of the table, was a woman who radiated power and commanded respect. She had a natural elegance and grace that was envied by many. King Consort Victor was a lighthearted, kind, and funny man. The perfect balance to her mother’s more serious temperament. His hair and beard, once jet black, were peppered with streaks of gray. By birth, he was the second child born to House Gaveren in Selon, where his elder sister Victoria reigned as the Marchioness.

Her father smiled brightly as Rosalina sat down to his left, but her mother frowned. As Roselyn motioned for the staff to serve the meal, she asked, “Did Margaret not wake you on time?”

Rosalina had the decency to blush. “No, Mother. She woke me on time. I was just slow to rise,” she explained.

“What have I told you regarding the importance of being on time? A princess must be punctual.” Rosalina mouthed the phrase in time with her mother.

Roselyn caught the action and pursed her lips in displeasure. “Rosalina, you must take this seriously. You are the future Queen; lateness is unacceptable,” she lectured.

“Please accept my apologies, Mother,” said Rosalina, a bit unapologetically. Her response did not seem to satisfy the Queen, who opened her mouth to continue berating her daughter.

“Furthermore, it is—”

“Ah, Roselyn,” Victor interrupted, “leave her be. It is of little consequence to be occasionally late. In any case, who would scold a princess, besides her mother?” He winked at Rosalina, chuckling to himself.

Roselyn made another face but did not continue her lecture. She privately thought her husband coddled their daughter far too much, but she did not often go against him, for he did not often voice his objections. She knew he was prone to letting Rosalina have her way because of the circumstances surrounding her birth.

They had tried long and hard to conceive, and after Rosalina was born, the healers discovered the Queen would not be able to carry any more children. Roselyn and Victor were devastated; they wanted to have a large family. Though their parents arranged their marriage, they grew to love one another dearly. They found happiness in the fact that their only child was a daughter, and their pride at having a female heir radiated off of them in waves.

Shortly after Rosalina’s birth, Victor suggested hosting a betrothal tournament once she came of age. The competition would allow them to secure the finest spouse in the realm for their daughter and ensure the continuation of the royal bloodline.

The servants carefully placed platters of food on the table. Rosalina helped herself to fluffy scrambled eggs with thickly sliced salted ham dripping in a rich maple glaze and bit into a warm, flaky roll.

“Excited for your birthday ball, my flower?” Victor asked her. He had taken to calling her that after her love of flowers developed.

“Very. I am to meet with the seamstress anon to try on my dress,” she responded.

“A sunrise ahead of schedule,” said Roselyn approvingly. Rosalina rolled her eyes at her father when her mother wasn’t looking, and he hid his smile behind his goblet.

“Will Aunt Victoria be attending?” Rosalina asked.

“She sends her regards and love but has taken ill, naught too serious, but she is unfit to travel,” Victor informed them.

“Send her our best when you next write,” said Roselyn. They were all fond of the Marchioness, who was very similar in personality to her brother. Rosalina was disappointed her aunt would not be joining them and hoped she would be fit to visit next season.

“Are you keener on the ball or seeing how Dmitri’s grown?” Victor asked Rosalina, waggling his eyebrows playfully.

“Father!” Rosalina groaned, unsure whether to laugh or duck her head in embarrassment.

“What? Can a father not ask these sorts of things?”

“I should think not,” Rosalina huffed.

“Charlotte wrote recently and said she is very proud of how hard he has been training,” said Roselyn in a pleased tone.

Charlotte Banes, one of the Queen’s oldest friends, helped seize control of the kingdom and, according to Roselyn, saved her life in battle. When Roselyn was crowned, she repaid Charlotte’s loyalty by naming her Duchess of Venzor, instating House Banes into the seven seats. The previous Duchess, Lady of the former House Astor, lost her title and land by being on the opposite side of the war. After the Queen and King Consort decided to host a betrothal tournament for their daughter’s hand, Roselyn wrote to her old friend, advising her to train her son, Dmitri, born a year before Rosalina. The Queen hoped he would win and combine their bloodlines. However, she would only accept the best for her family, and he would have to prove himself.

Rosalina met Dmitri once when they were small children, and the Duchess visited the palace on official business. He gifted her a freesia that he picked from the gardens, and she had kept the wilted petals all this time. That freesia led to her fascination with flowers. She studied the different meanings they held and found joy tending to the gardens when she wasn’t in lessons. Freesias symbolize innocence and thoughtfulness, which Rosalina thought fit the circumstances. She longed to marry the type of man who would bring her flowers for every occasion and at times without need for a reason.

Although Rosalina had not seen Dmitri in many seasons, their mothers encouraged them to keep in contact, so they frequently wrote letters. Their correspondence was fairly platonic, but Rosalina harbored romantic notions, imagining he’d grown into a handsome man. She longed for the kind of romance she read about in books, often dreaming of a faceless man who would be crowned champion and declare his love for her. Dmitri was not very romantic in his letters, but maybe he would be different in person. She wouldn’t have to wait long to find out. He was to arrive in a fortnight for her birthday ball, which preceded the start of the tournament. The thought was both exciting and anxiety-inducing.

What if he is defeated in the competition? What if a pompous cox-comb wins, and I must be tied to him for the rest of my life?

Rosalina stamped down her negative thoughts. She knew she had to have faith that the right man would win the tournament—and her heart.

“Have some strawberries,” Roselyn ordered in a nagging tone, placing the bowl of fruit in front of her daughter.

Rosalina fought the urge to grimace. She loved her mother, but she could be overbearing at times. “No thank you, Mother,” she replied politely.

“Strawberries are nutritious and will keep you healthy,” Roselyn persisted.

“I loathe strawberries.”

“Since when?”

“Since the moment of my conception,” said Rosalina sarcastically.

Victor choked on his laughter, and Roselyn mumbled something unintelligible under her breath.

When Jacqueline entered the hall, Roselyn immediately became serious in her disposition, transitioning into the Queen. “Ah, my favorite family of royals,” she greeted cheerily, inclining her head in respect. “I trust you have had a lovely morrow meal and are ready to be productive.”

Rosalina gave her a bright smile. Jacqueline was like a second mother to her and treated her no differently than Margaret. She excelled in her role, and Roselyn was grateful to have her as an advisor.

“I do not suppose we have much choice in the matter?” asked Victor in mock reluctance.

“You suppose correctly,” replied Jacqueline, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement.

“If we must, so it must be.” Victor sighed dramatically, throwing an arm over his daughter’s shoulders. Rosalina enjoyed her father’s easy affection and soaked up the warmth he emitted.

“What is on the agenda this sunrise, Jacqueline?” asked Roselyn, shaking her head slightly at her husband, who gave her a sheepish smile.

“The General and guard Captain have requested a meeting to go over security measures for the tournament. The treasurer requests a meeting to account for the funds we have utilized for the ball. If I am not mistaken, Rosalina has a fitting for her dress and then refresher lessons on the nobility who will be attending.”

“Victor will meet with the treasurer while I speak with the General and guard Captain.” Roselyn looked to her husband to see if he was agreeable to his assignment. He nodded in acceptance.

“If I may speak freely?” Jacqueline requested.

“Always,” Roselyn said, motioning with her hand for Jacqueline to continue.

“I think Margaret and Rosalina should have extra defense lessons.”

“Aunt Jacqueline,” Rosalina groaned. Her mother flashed her the look all parents used to warn their children, and she bit her tongue in compliance.

“Have we heard of any possible threats?” asked Victor urgently. His daughter’s safety was of the utmost importance to him.

“No, no. Naught of the sort. It would just put me more at ease to know that the girls can defend themselves should something happen,” Jacqueline said, the protective mother in her shining through.

“We can already defend ourselves!” Rosalina exclaimed defensively. “We have been training since we were old enough to hold a sword.”

“Extra lessons never hurt anyone. I think it is a splendid idea,” Roselyn declared.

“But—”

“As do I,” Victor stated firmly before she could protest further. Rosalina shut her mouth. If her father was agreeing, she knew they would be doing the extra lessons no matter how much she argued.

* * *

Rosalina,

I should arrive to the palace not long after you receive this letter. It was very kind of your mother to offer us hospitality in your home. I know most, if not all, of the nobles coming will be staying at an inn in Aramore. While it would be a fine time to assess my competition, I would much rather be at the palace getting to know you in person. I am grateful for our written communication, but face-to-face conversation will allow us to a deepen our connection. I confess myself nervous for the tournament, but my mother seems to believe I will be more advanced than anyone else. Hopefully she is right. I can think of no better wife for myself than the future Queen of Pomaria. I will see you anon.

Sincerely,

Dmitri

Rosalina frowned at the letter in her hand. At first glance, she was disappointed as Dmitri usually wrote lengthier missives, but she understood he probably didn’t see the point when they were to meet in person in a few days. After reading what was written, she wasn’t sure what to think. Giddiness was her initial reaction reading that he wanted to get to know her better and forge a more profound connection, but the way he ended his letter left her feeling unsettled. She couldn’t help wondering if he wanted to marry Rosalina or Rosalina of House Crane, future Queen of Pomaria. She hadn’t gotten the feeling that he was only interested in her title from former letters, so perhaps she was just misinterpreting his words or reading too much into them due to her anxieties.

“Another letter from Dmitri?” asked Margaret, entering Rosalina’s quarters.

Rosalina wordlessly held out the parchment. Margaret plucked it from her hand and read. Rosalina could tell when she had finished by the look of disgust that crossed her face, and she reached for the letter, but Margaret held it out of her reach.

“Daise,” Rosalina huffed.

“What is he playing at, Rose?” Margaret demanded.

“I do not know what to make of it,” Rosalina confessed.

Margaret accepted her answer and handed over the letter. “It seems as though he is more interested in being the next King Consort than he is in you.”

“But he did say he was looking forward to ‘forging a deeper connection,’ and he has never written anything like that previously,” said Rosalina defensively.

Margaret frowned. “Do you favor him that much?”

“I am undecided. We have been writing letters back and forth for a number of seasons, but it just feels as though something is… missing. I am hoping once he is here in person, it will fall into place.”

“Just be careful, Rose. Many of the men competing will only be doing so for the glory. I do not want you to get hurt if Dmitri is one of them,” Margaret said protectively.

“I will,” Rosalina promised. “You have to as well.”

“I have to what as well?” asked Margaret in confusion.

“Be careful, Daise!” exclaimed Rosalina, as if it were obvious.

“Careful of what exactly?” asked Margaret slowly.

“There will be scores of eligible men, and you are a beautiful woman.” Margaret gave her a blank look, and Rosalina made a noise of exasperation. “Margaret! I am certain some of the men will try to win your affections as well.”

Margaret’s eyes widened. “Oh. Really? Err- well. Do not concern yourself with that.” She quickly pulled out Rosalina’s training uniform from the wardrobe and threw it at her. “Get changed.”

“You are hiding something,” Rosalina noted. “Do we have to go?” she asked, though she began changing her clothes. She had learned that listening to Margaret was usually for the best.

“I am not hiding anything,” Margaret denied in a shaky voice. “Since my mother took the liberty of roping us into extra lessons, I think she would be displeased if we failed to show up.”

The thought of defense lessons distracted Rosalina from Margaret’s odd behavior. “We could skip, just this once,” said Rosalina mischievously.

“No.” Margaret waited until Rosalina was finished dressing and dragged her from the room.

“You want to take extra lessons?” questioned Rosalina incredulously, allowing Margaret to lead her.

“Not particularly,” answered Margaret.

Rosalina could tell by Margaret’s tone that there was more she wasn’t saying. “Then?” she prodded.

Margaret hesitated. “I feel the lessons could be helpful.”

“Helpful for what?” asked Rosalina suspiciously.

“Well… there will be a score of trained men competing.”

“Yes and?”

“And if any have notions of trying to take advantage of you, you will be prepared.”

“Not you too,” said Rosalina with a sigh.

“Apologies, Rose,” said Margaret, not sounding very sorry at all.

* * *

Their training area was in a small clearing outside of the palace. Katerina, their defense instructor, was already waiting for them. She was a former soldier in the royal army. Her skill and expertise landed her a place in the House guards. The Queen wanted only the best to protect her family, and Katerina was undoubtedly one of the best. She was well-muscled, and not many could defeat her in a duel. Rosalina and Margaret had begun training to defend themselves under her tutelage when they were children. Unfortunately for them, she was a hard taskmaster.

Katerina’s squire Vera, a friend to Margaret and Rosalina, stood at her side. Vera was eighteen winters, fair-skinned, and had long blonde hair. She was kind-hearted and almost always smiling, but her sword skills were deadly. Katerina couldn’t have been prouder of her squire if she’d birthed her.

“Your mothers ask me to intensify your training, and you show up late,” said Katerina with a blank face once the two young women came to a position of attention. Neither spoke to offer apologies or excuses, knowing it was futile. “Hm, I believe extra laps are in order.” Margaret and Rosalina held their positions. “What are you waiting for?”

“Instructions to stretch, mistress,” answered Rosalina. Vera looked on with pity in her eyes.

“Stretching is for those who come on time, like Vera. Get moving!” yelled Katerina.

“Yes, mistress!” they shouted in unison, taking off in a sprint.

Once they were far enough away, Rosalina said, “I fear this will be brutal.”

“Cannot speak … must … conserve … energy,” panted Margaret. Rosalina snorted with laughter, which set Margaret off until they were both giggling and struggling to breathe.

“Squandering energy to laugh during training is the jest of fools. FASTER!” screamed Katerina, from where she was watching them across the clearing. They sped up, still trying to fight their hysterics lest they should anger Katerina further.

Vera joined them after completing her stretches, surpassing their slower pace with no visible struggle. When Katerina was satisfied with how much they had run, she signaled to stop. Rosalina and Margaret collapsed onto their knees in the grass, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Vera stayed on her feet, jogging in place. She winced in sympathy at her friends’ discomfort.

“Pathetic. Are you just going to collapse when an enemy is attacking you? Have I squandered my sunrises all these seasons?” demanded Katerina.

“No, mistress,” Rosalina and Margaret panted.

“I said, ‘HAVE I SQUANDERED MY SUNRISES?’”

“NO, MISTRESS,” they shouted.

“That is what I thought. PUSH-UP POSITION!”

As they assumed the dreaded formation, Rosalina silently cursed her honorary aunt, knowing they still had to get through weapons training. Margaret wondered if perhaps they should’ve skipped after all.

* * *

The days flew by in a flurry of activity. Rosalina had a final dress fitting and received her mother’s approval. Rosalina and Margaret continued their brutal training sessions, typically ending with them dragging their sore bodies to soak in the largest tub in the palace and complain about their misfortune. Margaret joined Rosalina in refresher etiquette lessons, which now included memorizing “important” information about the nobles they would soon interact with. Frankly, neither saw the need to learn which nobles were having affairs and with whom, but they both enjoyed the scandals. The Queen’s herald, Chives, worked with them in the mornings, lifting their spirits before Katerina crushed them in the afternoons. He was a portly, jovial man, the polar opposite of Katerina, which the overworked ladies were thankful for.

The palace transformed more and more each day as preparations for the ball came together. The ballroom was ready for one of the most significant events of the season. Everyone was buzzing with excitement, from the staff, looking forward to collecting juicy tidbits of gossip to trade amongst themselves like goods at a market, to the commoners entering the competition with dreams of grandeur and status.

The Queen and King Consort were busier than ever, ensuring everything was perfect for their daughter’s ball and the competition that would secure the future of their line.

At first light on the sunrise before the ball, Rosalina woke before Margaret came to rouse her. Her stomach was in knots, and she brought her legs against her chest. As she lay curled into a ball, she allowed her mind to escape her.

When Margaret pulled back the curtains on her window and saw she was awake, she hurried over to sit on the bed and pressed her hand against Rosalina’s forehead.

“What is the matter? Have you taken ill?” asked Margaret, fretting. She deduced that the temperature radiating from Rosalina’s forehead was normal but decided to check her neck as well, just to be safe.

Rosalina batted at her hand. “I do not have to be ill to be awake early, you know.”

“Are you acquainted with yourself? You would sleep in every sunrise if you could.”

“I fail to see the implied hindrance. Sleep is essential for one’s body,” Rosalina said, imitating her mother’s voice.

Margaret smirked. “Are you avoiding telling me what plagues you?” she asked.

“Yes,” Rosalina answered honestly.

“You are only prolonging the inevitable. You know it is only a matter of heartbeats before you tell me.”

Rosalina knew she was right. She and Margaret told one another everything. “It is just…”

“It is just?”

“The ball will take place on the morrow, and the start of the tournament is three sunrises after. I have many questions and fears.”

“Such as?” asked Margaret, encouraging her to speak.

Rosalina took that as her cue to begin listing her fears and venting her frustrations. “What will the tasks be? When will Dmitri arrive? Will he favor me? Will I favor him? What if he is defeated? What if I do not have a connection with the man who wins? What if he is dreadful? What if—”

“Fates have mercy! One at a time, Rose,” interrupted a slightly overwhelmed and concerned Margaret. “Let us address each concern individually, yes?”

“Yes,” Rosalina agreed.

“Firstly, our mothers would never willingly tell us what the tasks will be ahead of time, so we will just have to be surprised. I shall try to see if I can trick my mother into telling me something though I expect failure. I cannot say for certain if Dmitri will favor you or if you will favor him, but if not, I am confident there will be another man to sweep you off your feet.”

“But what if—”

“If Dmitri does not win and someone else does, that someone just might be the man for you.”

“But what if—”

“If he is dreadful, we will kill him and make it look like an accident.”

Rosalina’s eyes widened. She tried to gauge her friend’s seriousness. “Truly?”

“On my honor.”

Rosalina was overcome by Margaret’s loyalty and said a thank you, in her head, to the Fates for the gift of her unwavering friendship. She was going to express her gratitude when trumpets sounded in the distance. They simultaneously turned their heads to the window.

Margaret said, “To answer your second question, I believe Dmitri has arrived.”