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The kingdom of Yerdom had always favored the strong. Strong men were to lead; strong sons were to take the throne once their fathers had tragically passed in battle. Kings who did not fight were shamed, dethroned, and exiled. For men who did not have the courage to risk their lives for a cause, were not worth the title of King.
That was, until a man by the name of Leopold became King. For the first time in 300 years, the kingdom of Yerdom knew peace. Leopold ruled as a gentle King, who loved his wife, his children, and his people. And the people loved him, for he brought prosperity and order in the capital of chaos.
Leopold’s wife, Arabella, gave birth to two healthy twins, Theodore and Thena. Theodore was the prince, raised to be the heir of his gentle father, while Thena was the princess, raised to smile politely and to never wander alone. Arabella was a smart woman, cultured, lucky to have a husband whose views did not entail women having to be ignorant. She taught Thena about fables, with fairies and knights. As well as about history, how, before her father, the kingdom had suffered great losses in the name of useless pride. Theodore was taught how to be patient and kind, while asserting his ideas when needed. For 25 long and glorious years, Yerdom achieved something it had forgotten between wars – evolution. Technology flourished, medicine advanced, art was abundant, and the economy prospered.
Then, tragedy struck. Leopold had been trying to negotiate with the nearby Ubindom Kingdom for the fair division of the shipping lanes of their shared sea. But Ubald, King of that land, had no intention of backing down. He declared war on the Yerdom Kingdom, knowing the peaceful King would surrender immediately, given his peaceful habits. But the king had grown tired of Ubald, who had taken far too much from his people already. For a few years he had been training an army, one led by his daughter’s protector and his first knight, whom he trusted with his life.
Leopold was ill, quickly withering. He was aware that war would have stripped away the few years he had left, and he could not bear the idea of leaving some business unfinished. Alas, he was forced to send his son to represent him on the battlefield. Although, and this he knew, Theodore was not a fighter. So the king set out Theodore to pretend to lead the charge as the first knight battled in his place. Ubald quickly retreated, not expecting an army to be ready, and accepted Leopold’s conditions, but the damage had been done. Theodore was scarred, lost in the horror of the short battle he had fought. Furthermore, the commoners were ecstatic. The fighting spirit of the kingdom, despite Leipold’s best efforts, had never died. Rather, it had subsided, hidden under the prospects of the flourishing economy. The spark of perceived victory, along with the stagnant economy, had reignited it.
Leopold confided in his knight, the true hero of the battle. Yerdon’s people had not been subtle about the planning of a war. They were loud, disorganized, had different views on how to proceed, but they all agreed on one thing – Ubindom would pay the consequences of their years of prevarication. And if their prince was not with them, as he appeared less and less in the public eye, they would find another heir to the king who was nearing his end.
The knight suggested a risky plan, taking Theodore’s place in the initiating battle, pretending to be him, as he remained hidden and trained so that he be fit for war.
The King was reluctant. His son was not a fighter, he had always despised the idea of killing another, and the battle he had suffered through had only furthered his hostility towards the concept. He was not a leader, either. Leopold had seen him, in the privacy of his chambers, paint, write, sing, as a way to deal with his grief. Theodore was an artist, whose family name and consequent responsibilities weighed heavily on his delicate shoulders.
The knight should have taken his place. Strong, both in body and in mind, sharp as a blade, strategic. Able to command a room, but kind, in the way a leader should be, in the way Leopold had been. By marrying into the royal family, the knight could have become the prince the Kingdom needed. But the knight was no prince. She was strong, smart, better than any man on the battlefield. But the curse of the body and mind she was born with, a woman’s, and the mentality of the people of Yerdom, forced her to hide herself.
No one knew her face other than the king. She wore her helmet everywhere, even inside, as she cared for the princess. She never spoke outside of giving orders, with which commanded her troops with regality and precision. She fought, despite it all, for her people, for her king, and for her beloved.
Her biggest challenge was ahead of her. To disguise herself as not just any man, but the prince himself, to win the impending war, and to keep the pride of her Kingdom high.
Thena was an incredibly intelligent woman. She knew at what hours to roam the castle, knew the secret passages she could take to escape for a short walk, and she knew how to eavesdrop on her knight’s conversations with her father. The first time it had happened, the princess couldn’t believe her ears. She had been sneaking around the castle, intent on stretching her legs, when she heard the ushered voice of her father, talking to someone else. From a crack in the wall, she had seen the unmistakable armor plate of her knight, the figure that had been protecting her for 5 years without ever uttering a word or revealing her face. Talking to the princess’s father, the knight’s face was free from her helmet. Scars, deep and uncared for, ran along every inch of exposed skin, her neck, her ears, across her face. Thena remained in silence, listening to her rough voice which was music to her ears.
The princess yearned for a chance to see her, hear her again, so she waited every day for her father to have another meeting with her.
When her knight was swapped out for another to keep an eye on her, the princess knew something was wrong. The new knight was the same height as her knight, wore the same armor, but his movements were different, colder, and he spoke, though rarely, which gave him away immediately, though she was not certain he was trying to keep his identity a secret, unlike her knight.
It was then, that the princess ran through the tunnels until she could hear her knight’s voice. Then she heard it, the devilish plan her father had envisioned. Her knight, going to battle in place of her brother. The princess was furious. Not at her knight, never at her knight. Not at her father either, not as withered as he looked. Her rage fell on her cowardly brother. How dare he stay in his chambers, when her bravest knight risked her life in his place? How dare he take her glory, as he was locked in his chambers, doing nothing?
The following night, the princess saw her from her balcony. The knight was set to leave for battle the day that followed. Her sword, unsheathed, lay heavily at her side. For a moment, she was alone with her thoughts. Inadvertently, she had wandered under the princess’s balcony. The princess would have jumped out of the balcony, if it had been safe for her to land. She did not want to risk further burdening her bravest knight. Instead, she traversed the secret passages until she was outside, where she found her knight, head free from her helmet, which lay in the grass alongside her sword. She was looking at the moon, which bathed her in white light that accentuated her strong jaw and nose, as well as the scars running along them. Her hands were joined together in prayer.
“Hello, my knight.” The princess’s voice carried through the still night. The knight turned sharply, eyes darting towards her helmet, willing it to magically appear back on her head. Alas, it was too late. The princess had seen her, the true her. The knight bowed, looking down, fearing the judgement the princess had in store for her. “My princess, I can explain.” She spoke to her for the first time.
The princess smiled. Her voice sounded sweeter without the tunnel’s wall as a barrier. The princess gently tilted the knight’s chin up, locking eyes with the woman that had inhabited her mind for the longest time. The knight was quite taller than her, but bowed lowly as she was, they were face to face. “What’s your name, my knight?” The princess asked, softly, seeing the face that had been shaped by battle soften. The knight had never spoken, never shed the helmet, but she had held her tenderly when the princess was scared, or saddened, or joyful. The princess had wished to marry the knight from the moment the knight had entered her life.
Knowing behind the helmet there lived a beautiful woman only further cemented her want.
The knight’s lips parted. “I’m not supposed to say.” She said, her voice intending to be imperious, but failing. The knight had trained to resist any torture, physical and mental alike. She had nothing to lose, her family had left her, she had no loved ones. She was the perfect war machine.
But the king had taught her to hold on to her humanity. And the princess had activated a cog inside her brain which never stopped turning, generating a fundamental need to never disappoint her, no matter the circumstances.
Alas, love was not a kind of torture she had trained to handle.
The princess smiled, watching intently as the knight straightened herself out, putting physical distance between them. She sent the knight a challenging look, before shifting her weight to the tips of her toes, holding onto the knight’s broad shoulders for balance. “I won’t tell,” she promised, searching for any crack in the knight’s facade.
The knight’s sharp gaze betrayed nothing, but the way her hands hovered over the princess’s waist, ready to catch her if she lost balance, showed the knight’s true colors. “If it is a name you seek to use to refer to me, Alaire shall suffice,” the knight caved, gently taking the princess by her waist and moving her backward, ignoring the spark the touch ignited in her fingers, or the way the princess blushed.
The princess’s pupils were blown wide. She was so taken by the small contact she nearly forgot what she came to say. Breaking eye contact, her eyes locked on the blade and helmet on the grass, and her gaze soured. “Do not charge in my brother’s name. He shan’t take your glory for himself.” She said, her eyes finding the knight’s once more.
Alaire let a small frown appear on her skin, a clear sign of the immense weakness the knight had for the princess. She did not bother asking how her princess has come to find this information, as she knew too well how smart she could be, how many secret passages she had explored when she thought no one was looking. Alaire was. Always. Always ready to take action if need be, but otherwise too weak to report the behavior to the king. “It is not for the glory that I fight.” The knight explained, head held high. The princess tilted her head, eyes narrowing. Her face scrunched in ways so unlike how a royal is taught to behave, but in that moment she was not a royal. She was simply a woman, wanting to understand another. “What do you fight for, then? Money, vengeance…” she paused, taking a step forward. “...love?” She asked, a soft smile pulling at her lips as Alaire’s breath caught almost imperceptibly.
Alaire sighed, shoulders slumping, tired of carrying the burden of perfection. “I fight so that the kingdom can be safe.” She said solemnly, substituting the word ‘you’ for ‘kingdom’ in a ditch effort to be guarded, even as she felt her resolution slipping away.
Thena bit the inside of her cheek, a gentle hand hesitantly coming to cup Alaire’s cheek. “If this is your last night before your dispatch, oh knight, shed your armor, and confess what you truly desire.” She whispered, eyes glossy.
Alaire leaned into the touch despite herself. She let out a sigh as she closed her eyes. In this moment, she was not a knight ready to battle. She was simply a woman, wanting to kiss another.
As magnetic forces do when met with their polar opposite, their lips touched, sending shivers up their spines. Alaire’s short hair was Thena’s refuge as her hands wandered, gentle, at the base of her neck. Alaire’s hands stood at her own side, unsure of what boundaries to cross, the lines getting muddled. She felt Thena’s hands guide her to her waist, and anchored herself there, softly caressing the spot with her thumbs. Soon, they parted, looking at one another like they had all the answers to the problems that had been plaguing them their entire lives. But they did not.
The knight was still going to battle the following day. The princess was still stuck pretending to be useless in a fight she knew more about than her brother.
Life was not perfect, far from it. But in that short respite before the storm, the two women had each other, and that was all that mattered.