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Holy gasp. Some other chapter than number 1. o___o; <3 Go you.
Chapter 2
Tira’s eyes traced along the tile floor toward the person she’d crashed into only moments before, her eyes following up the large tall laced boots, across the pants and tunic, and to the dark almond eyes that gazed inquisitively down at her—her own curiosity overpowering the humiliation she felt. She held her tongue, untrusting that she would say something she would regret, smiling a bit in hopes that he would speak first and she could save herself from more discomfiture.
The darkness in the eyes surprised her, the tone of the pair resting somewhere between hazel and brown and like the rest of his face they seemed inquisitive of the entire world—though hiding that tone of question within a wide lipped smile as he parted them to speak, “Where do you think you’re going on a day like this?”
“I don’t know? Exploring I guess.”
“Today is the hunt! You should be with your fiancé or the queen, not your friend or roaming the halls like a child.”
As he offered a deeply tanned hand to her she took it without question, allowing him to swing her to her feet. She paused before releasing the hand, eyes locked upon his own almond shaped coffee eyes that seemed to mirror his skin in a darker tone. The eyes mocked her, their sparkle leading her to wonder what thoughts held behind them—he seemed curious. Was she really someone to be curious about—her actions so simple and plain as she judged…normality was not something to be curious about? Despite his awareness a smile seemed to grip the corners of his mouth genuinely as he pushed away the anxiety that rested so obviously on his face.
“Now, Princess, would you mind if I escorted you to the fields?” He smiled at her, through the confusion of what exactly she was doing. He offered his crooked arm to her and she slid her hand in it and took to following his lead in showing her the way to the fields she had been informed she was expected to be at.
As they began to walk and she saw him turn away from her she felt herself begin to blush. This world and its people seemed so big to her; she looked up with curiosity and they looked back as if to question what interest she would be likely to have. Next to her the man appeared at her glance about eight inches taller than her, and last she had measured Tira was a solid 5’6. His build was thin but sturdy—broad shoulders and a bright smile that looked even brighter against his skin.
She examined the time-hardened muscles and wondered how many years he had spent outdoors—she had seen the effects of the sun and those who worked in it. His complexion did not seem natural but earned, a tan that refused to fade after years—and she assumed those years still continued somehow—of work outside. His eyes traced to her again as she looked about the hall they walked along, examining each detail with wide-eyed curiosity. As she turned her head back toward him she caught his smile and returned it helplessly, causing him to chuckle in response.
Tira felt the heavy weight of his strides as they walked, long but slow—she guessed so he would not end up walking faster than she, allowing her to still keep up with him. Her eyes trailed off again toward a tapestry of bright red that caught her eye, a deep bleeding red depicting a spike being driven through the heart of a creature that looked dead already—she felt the throb in her chest and followed the tapestry as they passed.
His voice startled her back, hearing it causing her head to snap forward, “Did you send your bow ahead, with an assistant?”
Her heart pounded heavily in her chest. A bow…was she supposed to string a bow; she’d never seen a bow before her in her life, so the idea of being able to string one seemed asinine, like this young man intended to play a cruel trick on her.
“Yes. Someone came by my room this morning,” She lied, before the thought of the words she was speaking actually came to her mind; she felt her heart throb in her chest, what had she said?
“Good. We’ll find them once we’re to the fields,” She saw his expression change for a moment as he looked away. Did she sense a tinge of darkness in him?
Tira felt her eyes drop to the floor as they walked for a time, until the darkness of the hall and the staircases faded, and the light came to her eyes again. She felt her chin lift and blinked against the bright light that came to her eyes, feeling the color bleed into them as the blur faded. The veil of tall trees that dimmed the sunlight to only shining patches that danced between their branches came to her eyes, and beneath them beside all of the paths she could discern through the trees that shrouded the entrance to the gardens were sturdy flowers of bright colors. When they emerged into the sun again tall topiaries became visible—she recognized the creatures of raging centaurs and unicorns, Elfish royalty and sorcerers performing hasty spells. The wind blew, swirling about her and ruffling her hair—she smiled, throwing her arms out to let the breeze engulf her. ((Comment, I know this needs to be reworded, but I really don't feel like it right now. gonk ))
“It’s just such a beautiful day! Even in the summer Kentucky is never like this…” She smiled, arms falling as the breeze stopped. “Not a cloud in the sky.”
The man with her stared at her for a moment as she jogged to catch up to him.
“You surprise me.”
“You have no idea.” She smiled, walking ahead of him.
The fields began to become visible before her through a perfect cut hole in the wall that surrounded the gardens, opening up to a path of cut grass that led to the small village of tents off in the distance. Tira stooped her head delicately to reach with both hands and lift her skirts enough that both feet were visible so she could step through the morning dew without wetting her skirt and petticoats. She lifted her head again, eyes following along the tents, and the stream of people leading from all directions heading toward the already bustling huddled mass of tents.
The young girl walked ahead into the crowd, as if one of the many plebeians to saunter about the tents until the voice of the young man reached her ears and she saw toward her a small figure running with great haste.
“Your Highness, your Highness! The Prince Dante, he has been asking for you. He requests your presence in his tent. And Arto, sire, you have been requested at the Noble’s Box,” she bowed quickly. “Your Highness, please follow me.”
“Uh, okay,” she blinked, turning to the young man—finally she had learned his name. “Thanks, Arto, it was nice meeting you.”
When Tira turned away from him the small figure was moving away from her at the same hastening speed that she had moved toward her. She lifted her skirts with both hands and shot off again after the attendant, dodging between the countless peoples that attempted to stop for her and move away from her. The tent the pair had been running toward was off in the distance, far away from the rows of merchants and the bustle of people. It was a tall and wide tent, the rim of whose layers blew in the heavy breeze, revealing woven wooden furniture hidden in a porch-like layout. The attendant stopped not far from the tent and gave a short bow.
“I will leave you here, unless you would need something else, your Highness?” The attendant met her confused glance.
“Uh…who exactly is this guy? I’m sorry, I’m confused…” Tira blinked.
“Who? Who but your fiancé?”
Tira blinked—her head beginning to spin, swimming in a helpless endless ocean of information she did not comprehend—and nodded slowly, watching the attendant turn and scurry away, returning her attention to the booming oversized tent that stood ahead of her. She took a step forward, feeling something materialize in her stomach, something that was not quite nerves, and something her body did not recognize. She peeked her head inside the first rung of the tent, turning her head right, then left, and stepping inside. This area seemed comfortable, two layers of fabric behind her seeming nearly invisible from the inside, but covering this sitting area with just enough delicacy from the outside. Tira heard a voice—thick, deep, and rich—extending from within the tents layers. It was muffled, and she could not decipher its words, but she stepped closer hesitantly, parting the curtains and stepping inside the inner-most depth of the tent, glancing about again.
“Larina…” The same silky voice found the word she’d heard again and again. She lifted her head to it, meeting a pair of icy crystal blue eyes. She felt a heavy pained throb in her chest, and a slight burn touching her cheeks.
“Larina? My Princess, I am glad you came.” The thick silky voice belonged to a man who towered over her the way Arto had, his features all dark, reflecting darker against his smooth porcelain skin, accenting the muscles that rippled across his bare upper body. He wore long laced boots and heavy armor from the waist down, and one hand was gloved, the other bare. He paced toward Tira, placing his bare hand on her shoulder, the large palm and fingers engulfing it.
“Why have you not come to me in my time of need, my love? When I left your side I begged you to come to me, and it was your promise to do so. Why have you not?”
Tira blinked, trying to shrug away his hand; instead when she tried he moved nearer to her, pressing his body against hers, leaning his head against her neck, pressing his lips to it and parting them slowly. Tira felt the same unknown feeling emerge stronger, but her eyes widened and she grit her teeth against it. Her body did not reject this, but her mind did, and her eyes widened, bucking against him, falling to stumble away from him. His hand had fallen as she did, catching against her waist, pressing her back against him.
“Please…let me go…” Tira whispered, breathing heavily…sweat beginning to peal down her forehead in thick droplets.
“Let you go…?”
The Prince moved his face into view of hers, the tall figure seeming crouched over her, the crystaline eyes piercing. He paused for a moment, as if expecting her to retract the statement entirely. Tira felt herself begin to shake, eyes going slightly wider.
“Please…” She tried to speak, the voice emerging barely above a whisper.
“How dare you. I ask no more of you than you offer me…and when I need you, you refuse me. You refuse to give your body to your fiancé!” The soothing silk tone that the voice had once been was gone, and Tira felt the hand at her waist grip painfully about her. She winced, shrinking back as best as his hand would allow.
“LET ME GO.” Tira cried, feeling the shaking in her body intensify, turning her head away from him, eyes closed.
Dante’s eyes narrowed, glowering at her, fury seeming to melt the crystalline eyes into a heavy rage that seared within them. The hand at her waist tightened more, and Tira let out a tiny gasp of pain; Dante swung his armored hand back as he released Tira from his iron grip, bringing the hand down upon the cheek that was turned to him, sending the small figure smashing against the ground of the tent, landing against her hip first, and then collapsing farther as her head thumped weakly on the ground.
Tira felt the pain surge through her—throbbing in waves—and forced her eyes open as pain seemed to trickle down across them as a droplet of liquid snaking between the pair. The tall prince stood over her, his back slightly arched. She tried to push herself from the ground, hearing the voice boiling with anger.
“Get out.”
She pressed her hands against the ground, glaring at the ground in place of the man who had done this to her—it had been a long time since her body had been in such sheer agony; the pain of tormented muscles surprised her. As she came to her knees, wincing at the pain that her side caused Tira began to feel the tingling wetness against both the outside and inside of the injured cheek. The tingling drug slowly down her cheek and wrapped around her tongue—she cringed and spat the blood to the ground, pushing herself the rest of the way to her feet.
“Go to hell, you b*****d…” She muttered, her words hanging on the air as they strung slowly across the room. She held his glance for only a moment, watching her words douse the fire she had herself started, feeling some pang of energy in her stomach, a gripping nausea that caused her to turn and run away from the tent as fast as her legs could handle, pressing into her hip painfully.
Tira ran until she came into sight of the huddled mass of tents, wandering amongst the rows until she found something she recognized. Behind her the sleeping tents loomed and ahead in the distance the Palace, its stone walls staring at her as if in shame of what she had done—Tira cringed. She looked about and tried to convince herself that it all would be alright, though the throbbing in her cheek spread farther into her head and began to seep to her brain…causing the left side of her head to pound. She groaned, “Not a migrane…not now…”
The eyes of many of those about her followed Tira as she wandered; she took account of them as she moved, noting that only those in thick robes with heavy dangling earrings and second pairs of dark studs looked at her with disgust. She returned their glance weakly, assuring herself that if she had been strong enough she would have yelled at them.
At last something she recognized came into view; the same maid that had brought Tira to the tent of the Prince Dante scurried toward her, single hand cupped to her mouth in horror.
“Please let me—“
“No!” Tira moaned. “I want to see Arto, please!”
She tried not to cry, though the pain was steadily getting worse, and beginning to cloud her vision. She waited unsteadily as the mouse-like attendant rushed inside the tent; only moments later did Arto appear, looking as if he had run out of the tent. When he saw her his face contorted in horror, though Tira could hardly make out his features.
“Larina…”
The kind voice was soft and delicate, hushed to hide the anguish that was locked within its boughs. Arto stepped toward her, lifting a hand to touch the chin gently, lift it slightly, eyebrows furrorwed in frustration.
“Dante did this?”
“Yes. He did.”
She could not hear Arto sigh, but she could see the desperate exhaling, and sighed herself. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes, blurring them beyond all forms of vision, and Tira began to cry.
“Oh Larina…I’m so sorry.”
Tira felt the gentle touch of fingers against her skin, brushing continual tears away from closed eyes, and the arms surround her and pull her against his chest. She breathed deeply—almost gasping—burrying her face in his tunic, and letting the aching in her chest overwhelm her.
 animepurinsesu · Sat Apr 21, 2007 @ 11:45pm · 1 Comments |
