Wanting for Wildflowers || Tess & Chris
He’s up and left. Tess takes the news as she must; graceful bow of acknowledgement, step out into the corridor, allow her upset to blossom as she all but storms to her quarters. No one will see her–and if they do, everyone in the castle knows by now to leave the Princess well alone when she’s angry. Few and far between are such occurrences, but Typically, Lord help you if you try to stop her from finding a place to calm down. According to the other Kingdom’s King, the Prince had thrown quite a fit; rambling about lies, about the parliament being in ruins, about marrying into a life of filth and illegitimacy–and then he’d snuck away in the night. Bed after tantrum, straight out the door, and now he’s nowhere to be found. Truth be told, if that’s the sort of man she’s been betrothed to, Tess would rather marry a horse. This changes things on a massive scale, of course–she won’t take the throne unless they find someone else to marry her to, her father will stay in rule, the kingdom will continue to crumble under the weight of his heartless demands. People starve in the streets, children fall ill with no one to tend them, and King Warren demands tax increases by the month. The Prince being the type to throw public fits wouldn’t be a good fit as her husband, to stop this sort of nonsense, but it’s a rather weighty disappointment for Tess to consider; another year under her father’s power. By the time she makes it to her quarters, Tess is calm–a serenity of acceptance is easy to find when you live under a man that turns to a terror at the slightest hint of backlash. A seat by the window does her well; tea in hand after a moment of waiting–the countryside looks gorgeous, today. Wildflowers amongst thick grass, animals hunting and dancing alike under the midday sun. It’s…freedom, Tess decides, warmth of sweet tea on her tongue; it’s where she longs to be. One has duties, she supposes, but that cannot possibly stop one from dreaming. The day goes on, as days are wont to do–and a pageboy arrives at the gates by horseback by sundown, with a message from King Edward tucked into a neat little scroll. The boy stands before the court–Queen Julia, King Warren, Princess Tessa-lee, a host of parliamentary folk; the boy speaks with a trembling voice, no doubt fantastically new to the job. “The King, he…he wishes to send his greetings, a-and…he would like to announce a continuation of the Royal wedding. A suitable replacement within the family lines has…has been found, and by a fortnight’s passing, Princess Tessa Lee of Aurivos Isles will be wed to Prince Christian of House Carlisle. King Edward and Prince Christian will be arriving by sun-up to discuss this development with the Royal family of Aurivos Isles.” Well then. You learn something new every day, don’t you? Her father takes the news with a heavy sigh; clearly irritated by the boy’s stutter, and dismisses him with a snap of low voice and wave of hand. Tess watches him go, with a slow curl of near-sadness settling in her stomach–another man she’s never met, promised to her, and her ruin of a kingdom. King Edward knows that Aurivos Isle has all but drastically fallen–and the hope throughout the land is that the wedding between the families will start repairs on the crumbling remains of the economy. Prince Christian will be dealing with her father, her people, her inadequacy–sometimes, Tess wonders if she and everyone else would be better off if she were to turn into a wildflower; sit under the sun, sway in the breeze as the world carries on.
The next morning comes with a slow rise of the sun, and Tess awakes to a chiming of bells in her window. The breeze wakes her every morning, and as she lies in bed, she allows her mind to wander slow through the castle. It’s easy now, but it hasn’t always been–her consciousness spiders itself through the walls; into the far reaches of what, in two weeks time, she will have under her wing. Cooks in the kitchen have already started preparing breakfast; bread rising, meat baking–one of the men is sick. Nothing dreadful, but uncomfortable nonetheless; she’ll deal with that tonight. The gardens are being tended in wait for the guests–ohh, the sensation of flowers blossoming under the sun. She feels alive like this; spreading her mind through the world; catching every breath, every heartbeat. A secret is a secret, and no one can know what she’s capable of–but in the quiet of her own space, Tess can be anything. She can feel anything. A witch? Perhaps. She’s never been able to find out. The wizards and astronomers of the court call her blessed. Her father calls her a freak. Her mother–like her, unbeknownst to her father–says that she is what she’s meant to be. It is what it is, my love, her mother would say; brushing curls from Tess’ eyeline as the Princess sobbed into her pillow, there’s no shame in being different, so long as you use that difference for good. Your father…is a man of opinion. Allow yourself to be a woman of good. Good, she hopes for. kinder than her father? She craves. Her maidens arrive midway through her thoughts–and Tess slips from bed to washing, washing to dressing, to having her hair curled and pinned up. Makeup is light–she’ll rub it off before she reaches the main hall, but ah, let the girls have their fun. Modern times call for her to look impeccable–but Tess isn’t fond of what the world has become. As has become custom, by the time she stands with the King and Queen, waiting for the arrival of their guests, her face is clear. Freckles stand out from pale skin, blue eyes bright and framed by thick lashes. Her lips are a touch redder than normal–from biting them in uneasy anticipation, no doubt. Hair spills over her shoulders, loose, messy curls tamed slightly by a dampening of air around her–she looks a touch wild, she supposes, but well put-together enough. When the doors open, the room falls silent. An announcement is made–this, this is the issue with the clash of modern times and medieval ones. There’s no need for all this fanfare, it’s 2017 for God’s sake, and just because Kingdoms want to feel important doesn’t mean they need to be announced with trumpets and a full band. People pour into the hall, and the announcement is over–Kings greet Kings, and Tess and her mother wait. There is no queen, in House Carlisle. There hasn’t been for many years–and so they stand back, and scan the crowd for the person Tess is really meant to connect with, amidst this chaos and hoi polloi. The influx of heartbeats, of minds and nervous systems and cells–it makes Tess dizzy. She can handle it–she’s dealt with worse–but in the interim of relaxation, she breathes slow, and focuses on watching for her intended.
Braxton is to be wed to a woman across the sea.
She seems more than beautiful enough to acquire his brother’s interest, but he has been throwing tantrums ever since he found out. It’s rather unbecoming, a young prince on the precipice of King-dom acting like a child, storming through the castle halls, screaming bout the inequity of it all. His cries turn towards anger at the malfeasance here, the crime against his own moral code.
King Edward, their father, has always respected their ideological constructs; purely because they were based upon his own, mere elaborations of the ideals he pressed upon them as youths. Of course, that meant he would respect Braxton’s wishes -- or so Chris thought. He expected this to be a simple enough matter. After all, when Braxton says no, he means it. He will not change his mind, no matter the evidence placed before him to convince his thoughts to sway.
Father was furious.
With his.. Condition, Christian himself was not allowed to wed the princess, even as the oldest son. Father believed the man to be fast asleep when he began his tirade against the younger of the two brothers, voice raised against the peaceful quiet of early morning.
“You will marry her, Braxton! I don’t care about your quest for love, or whatever you may call it. You will marry her, and you will like it!” His voice softened here, in an attempt to explain his thoughts more respectfully. “You know your brother can’t be the one to create this union between the kingdoms. He has himself under control for now, but what happens when she touches him without asking? When she doesn’t let him finish a task? When a puzzle piece goes missing?”
Ah, Chris remembers the origin for that example all too well. Sitting in a doctor’s office, back against a couch, legs crossed under a table. The puzzle before him stayed flipped upside down, yet he knew where each and every piece was meant to land. Until the last one was nowhere to be found. His brain fought against the rest of him, screaming with the need to finish, the need to complete what he had started. Soon, his mouth began to follow suit, with no regards for his internal prayer to stay calm. A young girl was his only refuge; she saw the puzzle piece he missed, and she fit into his life just as well. Justine and he have been friends ever since that faithful day, and yet his father still believes Chris to be incapable of creating a solid relationship with anyone, on the spectrum or otherwise.
Brax’s response to their father sounds filled with fire, hisses on every ‘s,’ sharpness of venom on his tongue. Christian misses most of his brother’s words -- besides the gentle reminder to their father that he is just as qualified to marry a princess as Brax himself is. More so, as the elder son.
The day was quiet after that. Words had been shared already, and neither wished to argue before Chris, in fear of upsetting him. The day was comfortable.
The night ruined it all.
Braxton ran away that night, off to hide away in the foothills without so much as a goodbye.
The morning arrives, and Christian is to get dressed in his finest garbs. Father has a task for him today, a very important one. Although they forced a change of names to distinguish the man from his own family, Chris was still the eldest son of House Carlisle. If Braxton wouldn’t accept his duty, Chris would be forced to take it over.
It changed the routine. Everything that morning felt wrong, his butlers, his Hand, they showed up much too early. They roused him from his medicated (at his Father’s request) slumber, and rushed him into the bathhouse. A few maids were brought along as well, to assure that the Prince of Oren would look his best for the Princess of Aurivos Isle. Ah, yes. Wonderful. The Princess--
Wait, what?
“My Hand, bring my Father to me, please.” Even though his mind has begun to stutter-step through panic, he keeps up a respectful tone. Father enter the room in his own finest garb, deep blues and dark browns strew across his frame. “What is this about my meeting the Princess of Aurivos?”
“Chris, you know of Braxton’s midnight disappearance. The Princess still needs a husband. You will be taking your brother’s place.” Before he could respond, Chris’ father turned and left the room.
From that moment forth, the morning was nothing more than a blur of colours; blues and browns turn to the reflective surface of water and the greens hidden deep below, the orange of fish nearing the surface only to be scared away by their ship’s rotors.
Fanfare as they enter the room, his mind scrambling to keep up with the sudden influx of stimulation. Father knows he cannot handle so many sources of noise at once; Father knows his mind reels at the presence of new people; Father knows he can’t breathe in moments like this. Father does not seem to care.
Chris is ushered forwards by the crowd, King Edward greets King Warren, Queen Julia has no Queen from Oren to greet, and there, standing behind her parents, stands the Princess.
It is as if all the air in the room is sucked out suddenly, for he cannot breathe, nor can he look away. The softness of a faint pink against her pale, freckled skin, the long curls of dark hair, her plush red lips -- Christian is not one to find himself interested in other people, and yet he has found himself enthralled with the idea of catching her eye.
All other sound drains away from his ears as he approaches her, a sense of calm flooding over him.
“..Hello. I am Christian of House Carlisle.”
