Young Writers Society

Rana turned towards Father, bewildered. She kept her hand on her side, the throbbing of her ribs outweighing the pain of Father’s blow. She didn’t know what he was talking about, or why he’d slapped her. “What?”

Father slapped her again.

“That’s alright,” the man said, putting his hand up to keep Father from hitting Rana again. “It’s good to hear a woman that knows her war strategies. I’m rather partial to flanks myself.”

“Yes… of course,” Father stammered, trying to regain a measure of dignity. “This is my daughter, Darrana.”

“Lady,” the man said, inclining his head. “I am Esmond Synakrein.”

“Prince of Gnamrey,” Father added.

Prince. No wonder Father hit her for speaking before she’d been addressed. Rana hesitated a moment, glancing back at the prince. She’d never met him before — and she’d thought she’d met most of the princes. Then again, the Gnamreyians came to gatherings even less frequently than the Niapians did and she’d never met their prince either.

She curtsied. “How do you do, your highness?”

“Fine, thank you.” He studied Rana every bit as closely as she examined him. The others stood in an awkward silence, watching the exchange. “Do you care for a dance?”

Rana glanced towards Father. His glare told her that she had no choice but to accept. She looked back towards the prince reluctantly and forced a smile. “I would be delighted.”

Rana followed Prince Synakrein out to the dance floor, silently allowing him to lead her until they were on the edge furthest from both the band and the balcony. He finally turned and pulled her into his strong grasp.

She didn’t like the feeling of being in his arms. Typically, she liked hugs — the feel of Wyl’s or Jaerek’s arms around her made her feel safe. Synakrein’s made her feel trapped, like she was completely at his mercy. The roughness in his demeanor and harshness in his eyes didn’t make him feel like a good person to be in control of her safety.

Rana took a breath and forced herself to stand tall. She tried to ignore how much her side throbbed as he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her uncomfortably close to his hard chest. She focused her gaze on the tunic of his sky-blue tunic, doing her best not to grimace.

“So… Darrana,” he started casually, stepping into the first movement of the song the band currently played. “May I call you that?”

“Yes, Prince,” she answered respectfully.

“How about you tell me about yourself,” he suggested.

“Yes, sir,” she answered obediently. Her heart was racing, mind desperately searching for something to tell him about that wouldn’t get her in trouble. Every interesting aspect about her was forbidden either by her father or by the unspoken rules of polite society or a mixture of the two.

“I, ah… live here, in Algnes,” she answered awkwardly, avoiding his gaze as she spoke. “I have one little sister. And I am currently studying classical literature under Lord Dekin.”

“I see,” Synakrein answered thoughtfully. “And what do you like to do for fun?”

“I, ah… I quite enjoy reading,” Rana answered truthfully.

“Of course. Is that how you learned military strategy?”

Rana looked up at him guilty. “I, uh… well… I also quite enjoy fictional stories.”

Esmond smirked. “Right. But fictional stories are more difficult to practice, mm?”

“Sir?” Rana asked, frowning slightly.

“You practice those techniques you learn, don’t you?”

Rana’s eyes got wide for a moment, before she hurriedly avoided his gaze again. Her mouth went dry. She’d not expected the accusation, and she didn’t have a prepared answer that wouldn’t get her in trouble. She either had to lie or admit her cardinal sin. “Of course not.”

“Or how else did you hurt your side so badly?”

Rana frowned up at him. She didn’t appreciate how much he somehow knew about her, and she certainly didn’t appreciate the smirk he maintained throughout the interrogation. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking ab-”

Her sentence broke off as he firmly pressed his knuckles into her side, making her cry out in pain. She stumbled forward, lightheaded from the sudden surge of agony.

He pulled her close to his chest, voice lowered to a whisper. “Don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, huh?”

She pushed away from his chest and forced herself to continue following his lead in the dance, as she panted for air. The throbbing in her side was redoubled, making it hard to think clearly. She looked up at the prince resentfully.

“Well?” he asked after a moment. “How did you damage it?”

“An accident,” she answered icily.

“I see. You’re a stubborn one,” he answered, a steely glint in his eye. “You’ll do just fine.”

“I’ll do what?” Rana questioned as the prince suddenly stopped leading the dance and stepped away from her.

“Good evening,” he answered, bowing slightly before turning and striding away. She stood for a long moment, staring after him dumbly, trying to catch her breath. Her shoulders were heaving with the effort it took to keep the pain from overwhelming her. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively, unsettled by the feeling that Synakrein left in his wake.

Rana uncertainly walked back to the balcony. Wyl and Jaerek looked at her curiously as she returned, cocking an eyebrow at her disheveled appearance. Wyl noticed she was holding her side. “Rana, you can’t—”

“Who is that man?” she interrupted, teeth clenched.

“I’ve never seen him,” Wyl answered. He put his hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. “Why? What did he do?”

“He started asking me questions,” Rana said breathlessly. “And then started accusing me of practicing swordsmanship.”

“What did you tell him?” Wyl demanded, eyes wide.

“I denied, of course,” Rana snapped. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

“No one thinks you’re stupid, Rana,” Jaerek said gently, stepping nearer. “We’re just concerned.”

“Yes, well… he somehow knew my side was hurt, and decided to dig his knuckles into my ribs to prove it…” she swallowed hard, shaking her head, angry with herself. “I cried out. I couldn’t make myself not.”

“It’s okay,” Wyl cooed. “It happens… what did he say?”

“He knows,” Rana said, finally looking up to meet his eyes again. “I don’t know how he knows, but he does. I claimed it was an accident, but I saw in his eyes that he knows better.”

“And what did he do after that?” Jaerek asked.

“He said that I’m a stubborn one and that I will do just fine.”

“What does that mean?” Wyl demanded.

“I don’t know,” Rana admitted. “I asked, but he just walked away.”

“That’s odd,” Jaerek said.

Rana and Wyl nodded in agreement. They talked for a while more, but none of them could make sense of the strange interaction. It all seemed too peculiar to be real. None of them had ever seen or really heard of Prince Synakrein before.

Sure, they knew that Gnamrey must have had a ruler and thought they’d probably heard the name Synakrein before – but he never hosted any social events at his palace, and he never came to any of the events hosted in other kingdoms. He was all but a recluse; a ghost locked away in his lonely castle.

Most people tried to avoid Gnamrey. If Cito was a forsaken island inhabited only by outlaws and strange beasts, Gnamrey was a desolation of war and destruction. Their military power was strong, as they reminded the realm from time to time with coups designed to do nothing but flaunt their power.

Occasionally a military official would come to counsels on the prince’s behalf. But on the whole, Gnamrey remained a mystery that no one dared to solve. Until now. On the balcony the three young nobles talked for the remainder of the evening, sharing all of the stories and whispers and tall tales they’d heard about the northern kingdom.

Eventually, they agreed to ask Lord Munen as soon as they could, and then parted ways for the night. The boys escorted Rana to the doors of her manor, then took their leave. She stayed awake for many hours longer, trying to shake the unsettled feeling that the prince had brought, before she eventually settled into her bed for the night.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Gnamrey?” Rana bellowed, throwing her napkin on the table.

“Yes, it is a very nice country,” Father said, face flushing a deeper shade of crimson. “And you would do well to learn how to respond politely to gracious invitations from your betters.”

“Have you taken a leave of your senses?” she asked indignantly.

“I do not appreciate the tone of voice you are using with me, Darrana Marie,” Father said harshly. “I suggest you regain control of your emotions.”

“My emotions?” Rana said, standing up abruptly. “How about you regain control of your intellect? Why in the world would you possibly accept an invitation to visit a man you’ve never met before, who lives over a week’s ride from here?”

“He is very wealthy,” Father said. “And he has expressed interest.”

“Interest in what?” she snarled.

“You,” Father said crisply. “Although I cannot fathom why, with your distemper and absurdly large waist. Nonetheless, he wishes to host us.”

“He’s more than twice my age!”

“I don’t see what that has anything to do with it.”

“I’m not marrying a man who is old enough to be my father,” Rana said, exasperated. “He should look for spinsters at his age. I’m barely more than a child.”

“You certainly act like a child,” Father snapped.

“I’m not going.”

“Of course you’re going,” Father said, scoffing. “Don’t be absurd. I’ve already accepted the invitation. We leave at sun up. Now sit down and finish your breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” Rana said, turning and striding towards the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Father snapped. “You’re not excused.”

“Noted,” she answered crisply, and pushed her way past the heavy oak door that shut them into the dining area. Mama watched the exchange silently, unsure which way her opinion should fall. On the one hand, she wanted to support her husband. On the other, she understood Rana’s outrage at the suggestion.

Gnamrey was far from their manor, and Rana had never been away from her family for that long. Sometimes they would go to Atraian events, which was nearly as far away, but then all four of them would go together. Mama was always there to soothe the tension between Rana and Father.

This invitation had been implicitly intended only for Father and Rana. Mama didn’t even want to imagine the distemper of both of her loves, after having been trapped in a carriage together for a week prior to their arrival. And then Rana would have the added stress of being in a new place, far from familiar people and familiar food, under the scrutiny of a prince she’d only met once in her life.

Fae gaped. She never understood how Rana always had the courage to defy Father so openly. Certainly, she felt frustration from time to time with his unreasonable expectations of them, but she’d never be so impudent as to bellow at him at the breakfast table and then storm away.

Rana started running the instant the door closed behind her. Her side still ached terribly, but in her informal dresses she didn’t have to wear a corset so she could actually breathe. She burst through the front door and ran up the hill, through the small stand of trees, and to their sparring ground.

She flopped down on the ground next to the huge oak tree that cast its shade over the sparring area. By the time she got there, her chest was heaving for air and her face was stained with tears. She rubbed them away angrily and laid a hand over her abdomen.

Rana didn’t understand how she was always the one who was faulted. Father was the one who had gone mad and decided to actually consider a proposal from a man he knew nothing about. Who was ancient. And lived so bloody far away.

There was a rustle in the bushes nearby. Rana looked up, brushing the rest of the tears from her face, and straightened her back. She waited breathlessly to see who’d been sent to fetch her. Surely Father was throwing a fit at her display at breakfast and planned to take it out on her.

Aldik appeared a moment later. Rana looked at him for a long moment, then slumped back against the tree with a deep sigh. Aldik watched her then strode towards forward. “How’s the side feeling?”

“Like I got whacked by a big stick?”

“Ah,” Aldik said, sitting down beside her. He looked at her face for another moment. “And are the tears caused by that, or the bellowing I heard coming from the manor earlier?”